Jason had been all too polite about you not being ready for the main event. He understood the feeling of being an older virgin, considering the whole dying at fifteen. He had gone out of his way to show you that sex was enjoyable and comfortable. It made you brave and fall just a little more in love with him each time.

He doesn’t kiss you, at least not on the lips. His lips press to your hairline as he murmurs, “I am being serious, sweetheart. Be honest.”

“I am being honest,” you reply, leaning into the contact, “I wanna sleep with you.”

His lips twitch against your skin, a hint of a smirk that tells you exactly what he’s going to say, “you already sleep with me.”

“Jason,” you scold. You pull away from him slightly, and he has the same look from before when he said you were being cute, “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He chides softly, “If you can’t talk about it, maybe you shouldn't be doing it.”

You roll your eyes, “You literally ate me out last week.”

“Oh? Is that what you want?” His hands shift to tickle at your waist, then drag you into his lap. One hand drops to pop the button on your jeans.

You squirm in your new spot, “Jay, stop it.”

His hand slips away, and you shake your head. He shakes his head with that knowing smile. You know he’s not intentionally teasing. He just wants your words, your consent to the whole situation. 

“Jason,” you sit primly in his lap, and he focuses on you, hands smoothing up your waist, rucking up your shirt just to push it back down, “I want to have sex with you… please.”

“You’re ready?" he asks one more time as he pulls you forward on his thighs, hips to hips. You feel him already hard under you. 

You nod, “I am ready. I want it to be with you.”

“Whatever you want, you get, baby,” he murmurs and finally kisses you softly, a gentle peck that turns into another and another until you're melting into his lap and eagerly parting your lips when his tongue prods for exploration. Your hand slides up into his hair, curling and tugging at the nape of his neck as your hips grind down on him. 

The hand that had been pressing your shirt up and down finally slips under, fingers pressing into skin before pushing up to tease at your bra. You pull back slightly to pant his name against his lips. He stares back at you, not letting you go far and evidently as enamored by you as you are by him.

“Want it off,” He says, and you blink momentarily confused. You don’t know if he was asking you or telling you. Either way, he doesn’t wait for a response, pushing your shirt high enough that all you can do is lift your arms to help. The moment your shirt is off, he pauses to stare at you, pupils dilated but still loving.

Your hands smooth against his shoulder as you shift in his lap, “What is it?”

He shakes his head, hands respectfully at your waist, thumb stroking the skin. His eyes focus on your face as he replies, “You’re just beautiful.”

You huff with a shy smile, head tipping back as you roll your eyes, “You’re so sappy.”

“You deserve sappy,” he murmurs as he takes advantage of your tipped head. He presses soft kisses to your throat, trailing wetly down to your collarbone and chest. Your head tips up to look at him as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast. He meets your eye, “You deserve sweet and loving.”

“Jay,” you murmur, bringing your hand up to push back his hair from his face, “you deserve that too.”

He smiles, giddy and in love, as he ducks to press his face into your cleavage. You shake your head at his antics with a soft laugh before you shriek and cling to him as he stands up. He takes to kissing your skin again as your legs wrap around his waist, walking to the bedroom without even looking up. You laugh the entire time because it’s Jason, and you think he’s so silly and sweet sometimes. Your giggling eases after he drops you on the bed, but only because he’s pulling off his shirt and you're easily distracted.

He gently presses you down on the bed as he climbs over you, hitching your knees against his hips to slot himself between your thighs, “And you are sure about this?”

“Jason,” you playfully roll your eyes before you catch his seriousness, “Jason, I’m very sure. You're the only person I trust with this.”

His eyes flicker between yours before dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes, an unnecessary question, but one you nod to all the same. He kisses you again with a new fervor, one you return. His hand dips behind your back, and you arch as he undoes your bra, peeling it from your body and tossing it aside. He leaves your lips to once again trail his kisses downward. 

Your hands cling to his shoulder and hair as he dips down. A hand gently palms at your tit and you arch into it with a sigh, his thumb rubbing over a pebbling nipple. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, sucking soft marks almost worshipfully. 

“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, voice rough as he kisses around a nipple before delicately wrapping his lips around, sucking softly.

“Jay,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. Your hips shift up to chase more pressure. He settles on top of you, pinning your hips down.

He eases off your nipple with a soft pop that makes you shudder, his fingers replacing his mouth to pinch at the bud as he moves to your other breast with a “Be patient, sweetheart.”

You take a breath, trying to relax back down on the bed. You knew he’d want to take his time, but it doesn’t make you want him any less. You ignore the heat in your belly to focus on him, his weight atop you, his rough hands touching you so sweetly, and his lips reverent and explorative. Your chest heaves against his mouth, and your hand slides over his shoulder, thumb massaging into the muscle.

He groans against your breast and peeks up at you, “What’re you doing?”

“Waiting,” you give him a sweet smile. He laughs fondly into your skin before he’s pulling back slightly, calloused hand giving your breast a final squeeze.

“Taking too long, am I?” he teases as he finishes undoing your pants, pulling the zipper down and hooking his fingers into the waistband. 

You lift your hips with a shrug, “It’s okay.”

He snorts as he tosses the pants elsewhere, “It’s okay. Baby, tell me what you want. Said you get whatever you want.”

He presses a kiss to your hip, nose pressed to your skin above your panty line and breathing in your skin. Your first instinct is that Jason is so weird. Your second instinct, and the one that seems more right, is oh my god, I want Jason to fuck me right now.

“I want you,” you manage to keep yourself tame.

His eyes meet yours as he kisses your skin again, “Yeah?”

The heated pit in your belly grows as you stare down at him. You nod, biting on your lip to keep from bursting. 

“Let me get you ready,” he murmurs. He slips lower, nose dragging down the crease of your thigh. You stop him with a hand in his hair. He gives you a questioning look but obliges, moving back up your body with smattering kisses. You squirm before his lips find your mouth, kissing you gently like before.

“Change your mind?” He hums against your lips. 

You laugh at the notion, warm breath against his mouth, “No, I want you. I want you so much, I don't think you need to get me ready.”

“Ha, funny girl,” he mocks gently, prying your damp panties down your thighs, “I have to get you ready, first timer”

“Oh my god,” you laugh more, lifting your hips to help, "That's so mean, Jay.”

He tosses your underwear without thought, hand pushing your thighs open, “Mean or dutiful? Gotta make sure I don't hurt my girl.”

Your mouth opens to argue back, but the words are lost to noise, a sharp gasp as his mouth meets your cunt with a groan. Your hand slides over the back of his head as his tongue laps through your folds before sucking on your clit.

“Ya're wet,” he mumbles against you, the vibration making your thigh twitches, “not enough”

Your eyes flutter as he gets to work, licking into you eagerly as his nose bumps your clit. Your head tips back, then forward, chest heaving with moans as you try to decide if you want to bend to the pleasure or watch him. Your hips jump, and he easily pins you down. 

He pulls back for a moment to breathe, mouth and nose covered in your slick, “doing so good,” then he dives back in. 

His tongue flicks across your clit as he pushes two thick fingers into you. The stretch is barely there, slick enough that he slides in. Your fingers curl tight in his hair.

“Jay,” you whine as he focuses his mouth on your clit to slowly stretch you out. You were, by far, no stranger to Jason's mouth and fingers. If you were honest with yourself, sometimes you thought he might enjoy it more than having sex. You were eager to find out if you were right. That is, if he ever let up. 

Your thigh presses against his jaw as the heat builds steadily with each lick of tongue, every prod of his fingers inside you. Jason knew your body better than you did, and you had a feeling you would cum before the main event. Your hips press up against the hand pinning you.

“Jason,” you gasp, foot digging into his back. Your eyes sink to stare at him, and he meets yours with a determined gleam. You shake your head, “I- I want-”

You lose your train of thought as he moves faster, a moan catching your words. Your hand starts to draw tight in his hair, thighs pressing against his head. He remains focused on his goal of getting you ready, which kind of annoys you in the moment. Sure, you want to cum, but you want him inside.

You don’t have much choice in the matter, though, and who are you to fight your own body? Your head falls back, succumbing to the build. Your back arches, thighs shaking slightly as the heat in your belly starts to boil over.

“Jay, Jason! Oh!” Your body seizes with sweet release. 

Jason groans against you, making you whimper, his fingers moving slowly inside you to draw you out before stilling. He prys your hand from his hair, and you let him, hand cramping slightly from how tight you had held on. Ever so slowly, you melt down onto the mattress as his fingers slip from you. 

He climbs over you, squeezing your hip and bending down to kiss the corner of your lips with a sticky mouth. You don't have it in you to complain. Not when he’s there above you. You want him. You need him. Your shaky hands dip to undo his jeans, tight against his erection. His head dips to your shoulder as he groans at your touch. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop you, at least not until you have his jeans tugged under his ass and your hand attempts to dip into his boxers. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “Are you sure?”

You smack his shoulder with an echoed clap. He jolts up to look at you in surprise. You give him an irritated look, which he finds entirely unnecessary, considering he’d just made you cum.

“What was that?” he huffs.

You glare up at him, “If you don't fuck me, I’m gonna fuck you.”

A laugh, more of a cackle really, leaves Jason at your horny threat before he’s leaning down to kiss you while he finishes shucking off his jeans and boxers. His cock resting on your belly, hard and leaking. Your breath stutters, and you part from the kiss to look down at him. He kisses your forehead, the corner of your eye, before pulling back.

“I’m not gonna fuck you, baby,” he murmurs as his hand curls around his dick, giving it a tug, “I’m going to make love to you.”

You look back up at his face, settled now that his pants were off, and he was so close, “There’s a difference?”

“Trust me,” he nods as he shifts on his knees, spreading your thighs wider, “There is a difference, and I can show you after this, okay?”

“Show me?” you question softly, hands curling into the blanket under you, his lean back too far for you to touch him. 

He nods and finds one of your hands prying it from the sheet to press it on to the bed by your head, lacing your fingers as he hovers over you, “First time is for love making.”

He kisses your jaw, “soft,” your neck, “slow.”

Your eyes close as he presses kiss after kiss down to your collarbone. He sucks a soft hickey there before he nudges his cock against your entrance. Your eyes fly open with a soft gasp, but he doesn't press in, simply rubs the head of him up and down your slit. Your hips twitch up, cunt fluttering with want as he spreads your slick and his precum.

He pulls back from your neck to look at you as he notches against your entrance, “You tell me if it hurts or you need a second, okay?”

You nod, and he shakes his head, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell you,” you reply and press your thighs as wide as they can go, “Just please, Jay.”

He smiles down at you, like you're the sun, like he'd wait a thousand years just to hear your voice. He dips, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Please,” he murmurs, “you don't need to say that.”

Then he presses into you, impossibly slow, watching your face the entire time. You stare back at him, hitched breaths leaving your lips as he stretches you, warm and hard, you feel every bit of him. There's never a moment of pain, despite Jason's worry, only an uncomfortable sensation of your cunt accommodating. 

He sinks down on his forearm, hand still laced with yours, as he presses in deep. Your brow twitches at an odd nudge inside you, and he stills, hips not quite against yours.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, voice strained. You hadn't thought of how your own tight heat might feel around him. You give an experiment flex around him just to watch his eyes flutter. His hips twitch, and he nudges the spot that made your brow twitch with discomfort. 

“Feels… strange,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker back open.

“Bad?” He asks, pulling back slightly. Your free hand curls over his shoulder as you shake your head.

“Not necessary,” you murmur, then you admit, “but not comfortable.”

His eyes flicker down to where he presses in again, and you fight to keep your moan, and then he stops at the odd sensation. 

He nods like he's found something, “feel it too, let me move you a little, okay?”

You nod, and his hand, not holding yours, reaches for a pillow. He nudges your hip up slightly, and you follow, holding your breath as he stays in you. With your hips higher, he looks back to you and presses in and in. Your breath catches when his hips press snug against you, pressing against your sensitive clit.

“Better?” He asks like your mind hadn't just blanked from having all of him against you and inside you. You nod with a soft noise, and he pulls back slowly and presses back in. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, new, unfamiliar, but growing in pleasure with each thrust.

“Uh-huh,” you moan out as his hand slides up your thigh, hitching it up on his hip. You moan louder at a deeper thrust.

Jason's hand squeezes yours, and he drops his head to kiss you. It grounds you, pulling you back from the sensations that make your head fuzzy. Your hand curls against the nape of his neck to keep him close as you kiss him back, sloppy and uncaring.

Your focus makes you listen, listen to the soft wet noises of him pushing into you, listen to his voice, tight with quiet moans as he breathes against your mouth.

“Doing good, baby,” he murmurs before he sucks on your bottom lip like he thought you'd disappear, “tight and warm”

Your pussy tightens at the way he talks to you, and also not, like there's some higher power that needed to know. He leaves your lips to nose at your jaw, hips stuttering.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he laughs, with gasping breath.

“Wasn't trying to,” you reply, just as breathless and wanting. You tip your head, kissing his brow near your lip, wanting to show your tender love the way he does, “the way you talk is just…”

“I knew you’d like it,” he huffs against your skin, “making me read those romance books to you” 

His words are startlingly funny considering the moment, and you laugh, unintentionally tightening around him. He groans, pressing his face into your neck more. His hips thrust harder, leaving you arching at the motion and the way it rubs a nerve raw in just the right way.

“Jay!” Your hand clings to his hair, laughter gone.

His hand dips, thumb finding your already sensitive clit, rubbing against it as he repeats the harder thrust. You moan, your legs moving of their own accord, wrapping around his waist to drag him deeper. Gone was any uncomfortable sensation; all you had left was Jason and the simmering heat building with a newfound ferocity.

“It's okay,” he muttered, and you're not entirely sure he's speaking to you at first, “just a little longer. Take what you want.”

His words are the only thing that makes you realise that, as much as he's thrusting, your body is meeting in bucking hips, brought by the leverage of your legs around his waist.

“Sorry,” you moan as you arch and cling to him, still trying to meet his hips. He swallows your moans with a heavy kiss, hand caressing the skin of your thigh, hip and waist, just brushing your breasts.

“Don’t apologise,” he pants against your lips, foreheads pressing, “you're so hot” 

You laugh again, terribly breathless and needy, and Jason smiles against your lips, “My girl gets what she wants, she takes what she wants.”

“Want you,” you moan as your head falls back, body starting to tense again.

His lips move down to your chest, trailing wet as he speaks, “You have me.”

His hand presses yours into the bed, squeezing to remind you of his presence as if you couldn't feel him everywhere. And just like always, he reads your body before you do, thighs squeezing at him as you moan.

“Come on,” he moans into your skin, mouthing lower to the swell of your breasts, “I've got you, baby. Come on.”

That, along with the deep thrust and circled rub on your clit, has you toppling over in the most intense orgasm you think Jason has given you. Everything feels too much and not enough as your vision whites, the only sensation you know is Jason.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, fuzzy to your ears. His hips keep rocking his cock into your spasming cunt, dragging out your release, and then he disappears as he comes across your belly with a heaved moan, squeezing your hand like its life line.

You slowly come back to the land of the living, eyes blinking up at him in the dimming light of the evening in the apartment. He looks unfairly attractive in the sunset, but you let it slide for the way he smiles at you, panting for breath.

“Hi,” he folds back down over you despite the mess to kiss you softly.

“Hi,” you softly reply, worn out in a way you didn't know possible.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he shifts off you, gently prying your legs from his hips to lie beside you, blindly grabbing a shirt to wipe up your stomach.

“Okay?” You giggle as you roll on your side, shifting from the pressure of your thighs before settling comfortably. He copies you, lying on his side and curling his hand back in yours. 

He brings it to his lips and murmurs, "I didn't think you'd laugh so much. That bad?”

You shift again, faces close, “No, that good. It was everything a girl could wish for.”

You bring a hand up to comb through his sweaty hair and watch his eyes close, leaning into your touch. A peaceful quiet takes over as you both lounge bare on the bed, but together.

You nearly fall asleep like that before Jason shifts, picking you up bridal style. You wake right back up but don't argue, just lean your shoulder against him, “Where're we going?”

“The bathroom, “he kisses your hair, “aftercare, sweetheart. It's just as important as the sex.”

 You smile at his words, “How did I manage to get you?” 

“Being insane enough not to run from a shoot-out,” he laughs as he sets you on the counter.

“Oh, don't be mean!” You laugh with him. 

He holds his hands up in retaliation, “Alright, alright. The mean is only for when I fuck you tomorrow.”

You gap at his statement as he runs the bath, “You're planning?” 

“You asked,” he returns to gently hold your hips, smoothing you with more kisses, “and what my girl wants, she gets.”

---------------

Masterlist

He didn’t jump but it was a close thing. He was thankful for the helmet currently covering his entire face, hiding the way his eyebrows raised in surprise as he glanced over his shoulder to find you walking across the rooftop towards him. 

“I must be pretty rusty at staying inconspicuous then,” Jason grunted, turning his gaze back towards the warehouse he had been watching for the last few hours. Though, his body stayed completely aware of your every move as you came closer. 

“You can never hide from me, Hood,” you teased, though there was some sincerity in your words. If anyone was able to find him—even when he did not want to be found—it was you.

“What are you doing here?” 

You didn’t respond, simply dropping a bag beside him and letting the thump echo across the empty rooftop. He whipped his head to glare at you (though the helmet still covered his face) but you simply grinned in response. 

“What’s in the bag?”

You rolled your eyes. “Open it and check yourself.” 

Jason watched you for another few moments before he reached towards the bag, pulling the zip back and finding the duffel bag full of supplies. There were binoculars and cameras, ropes and grapple hooks, knives and smoke bombs. But the thing that caught his eye was the box of cookies tucked in the side. 

And somehow, you seemed to know exactly what he was staring at because you reached for the box with a knowing smile. “I got these because I know they’re your favourite,” you said, your voice a hint softer than it had been before. “I managed to snatch them up before everyone could scoff them down.”

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. “Alfie’s cooking does that to people.” 

“Well, lucky for you, you have your own personal stash,” you said, crouching down beside him and taking a spot on the rooftop like you planned to stay.

Jason wanted to say something. He wanted to ask why you brought them, why you had even bothered to box them up and hunt him down. He wanted to ask if anyone saw you, if anyone knew they were for him, if anyone tried to stop you. He wanted to ask if you knew he hated going home, that he hated the way he could feel Bruce’s heavy gaze on him, that no matter what it still felt like home in his heart and he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to ask so many fucking questions, it felt suffocating.

He didn’t ask you a single one. Instead, he turned his attention back to the warehouse and let the silence fall between you, and something in him settled at not having to do this stakeout alone.

The apartment always felt a little too quiet after midnight, the kind of stillness that made the hum of the refrigerator sound like a physical weight in the room. You were curled on the edge of the worn out velvet sofa, the cheap fabric scratching gently against your bare shins, with a blanket thrown carelessly over your knees. You were exhausted, the kind of bone deep fatigue that comes from staring at a screen for too long, but sleep remained just out of reach,, a frustrating half-inch away.

With a soft sigh, you reached down and pulled the hem of the faded, oversized gray cotton t shirt lower over your knees, burying your nose into the stretched out collar.

It smelled like leather, stale coffee, and the sharp, unmistakable metallic tang of Gotham’s rain. It smelled like Jason.

The shirt was massive on you, the shoulder seams dropping halfway down your bicep, the fabric thin and softened by years of rough washes and rougher wear. It was an old Blüdhaven University athletics tee he’d probably stolen from Dick a lifetime ago, one that had mysteriously gone missing from the bottom drawer of his dresser three weeks out. He’d grumbled about losing it for a solid ten minutes before forgetting it entirely, moving on to some new grievance about Bruce or the rising price of ammo. You had stayed entirely quiet during his search, your heart doing a guilty little flip against your ribs while the shirt sat safely tucked beneath your own pillows.

You didn’t mean to keep it. Not at first. But when Jason went away on business,, the kind of dangerous, off the grid business that left you staring at a silent phone for days on end,, the apartment felt entirely too large. The bed felt too cold. Having the shirt was like keeping a small, physical piece of his presence anchored to your space, a sensory promise that he would actually come back.

You closed your eyes, letting the familiar scent soothe the anxious knot in your stomach, finally feeling the heavy pull of sleep beginning to drag you under.

A sudden, sharp click from the front door broke the silence.

Your eyes snapped open, your heart immediately leaping into your throat. In Gotham, an unexpected sound at 2:00 AM usually meant a trip to the emergency room, or worse. You froze, your muscles tensing as you prepared to dive behind the counter, your eyes darting to the heavy ceramic mug on the coffee table to use as a makeshift weapon.

The door swung inward with an agonizingly slow creak, letting in the damp, cold air of the alleyway. A tall, broad silhouette filled the frame, the yellow streetlights from outside catching the sharp edge of a dark leather jacket.

The figure stepped into the dim light of your kitchen, pulling off a heavy helmet with a tired, fluid motion. A shock of white hair caught the ambient glow of the microwave clock.

Jason.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping in a massive wave of relief. "Jason," you breathed, your voice rough with sleep. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. You weren't supposed to be back until Friday."

He paused, hanging his helmet on the back of the kitchen chair with a heavy thud. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent in the shadows, his jaw shadowed with a few days of dark stubble. But as his eyes locked onto you sitting on the couch, his entire posture shifted. His brow furrowed, his gaze dropping from your face, down to the collar of your shirt, following the faded, cracked lettering across your chest, all the way down to where the hem pooled around your thighs.

A slow, dangerously sharp smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, well, well," Jason drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. He took his time walking over, his heavy boots clicking softly against the linoleum before hitting the carpet. He stopped right at the edge of the sofa, towering over you with his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. "Look what we have here. I spend three days tracking a lead in the Narrows, and I come back to find a thief in my living room."

Your face caught fire instantly, a furious heat rushing up your neck and pooling in your cheeks. You instinctively pulled your knees closer to your chest, trying to bunch the fabric up, but it only made the situation worse, stretching the shirt tight enough to display the familiar university logo perfectly.

"I'm not a thief," you mumbled, looking anywhere but at his smug face.

"Oh, really?" Jason leaned down, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. The smell of the actual rain and leather on him immediately overwhelmed the faded scent of the cotton. His blue eyes danced with absolute amusement. "Because that looks an awful lot like the shirt I spent an hour looking for last month. The one you swore you hadn't seen. The one you claimed the laundry mat must've swallowed."

"It's comfortable," you shot back, your voice entirely unconvincing as you buried the lower half of your face back into the collar, realizing too late that the action only proved his point.

Jason let out a low, dry chuckle, the sound rich and self satisfied. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers catching the excess fabric at your shoulder, giving it a playful, teasing tug. "Comfortable? Sweetheart, it looks like a tent on you. You're practically drowning in it. If you wanted to borrow something, you could've just asked. Didn't know you were running an special operation out of my closet."

"I didn't steal it to start a opperation," you grumbled, swatting his hand away. You shifted on the cushion, turning away from him to hide your burning face. "Just go take a shower. You smell like gunpowder."

"Hey, don't change the subject," Jason said, his voice dripping with an insufferable level of smugness as he walked around the couch, throwing himself down on the opposite end. He stretched his long legs out across the coffee table, leaning his head back against the cushions while keeping his eyes entirely locked on you. "Come on, confess. How long have you been hoarding my laundry? Is there a secret stash under the bed? Do I need to start counting my socks?"

"It's just the one shirt, Jason," you snapped, though there was no real anger behind it, only the intense mortification of being caught red handed.

"Why this one, then?" he pressed, his smirk widening. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying the way you were squirming. "There are plenty of nicer blankets in the closet. You’ve got your own sweaters. Why are you sleeping in something that looks like it went through a woodchipper?"

You bit your inside lip, the playful banter suddenly dying in your throat. You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting into the soft, worn out hem of the shirt. You could lie. You could tell him it was just the first thing you grabbed from the drawer, or that your own pajamas were in the wash. But looking at him,, seeing the faint, fresh cut along his cheekbone and the heavy exhaustion he was trying so hard to mask behind his usual arrogant bravado the lie felt useless.

"Because it smells like you," you said softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

The smug, teasing grin on Jason’s face instantly vanished.

The silence returned to the apartment, but it wasn't the cold, empty silence from before. It was thick, heavy with an unexpected vulnerability that caught him entirely off guard. Jason froze, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes widening just a fraction as the words processed through his brain. The playful, arrogant lines of his face completely softened, the sharp Gotham vigilante melting away to reveal something incredibly raw underneath.

"What?" he asked, his voice losing all of its gravelly mockery, dropping into something quiet and tentative.

"It smells like you," you repeated, forcing yourself to look up and meet his gaze, determined to own the confession despite the heat still lingering in your cheeks. "When you're gone for days, and I don't hear from you, and the news is talking about rogue activity in the Diamond District... the apartment gets really empty, Jason. And I get tired of staring at the ceiling. Sleeping in this... it makes it feel like you're actually here. Like you're safe, and you're coming back."

Jason stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. For a man who always had a sarcastic comeback or a witty insult lined up, he was entirely speechless. His chest tightened, a strange, profound ache blooming behind his ribs at the realization of just how much your universe revolved around his safety,, how much you missed him when he disappeared into the dark. He spent so much of his life feeling like a ghost, a dead boy walking through a city that had forgotten him, that the simple fact that his scent on a piece of old cotton could bring someone comfort felt entirely overwhelming.

Slowly, without a word, Jason uncrossed his arms. He shifted his weight on the couch, sliding over the cushions until there was no space left between you.

He didn't say anything about the shirt. He didn't make another joke. Instead, he reached out, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he caught your waist and pulled you into his lap. You didn't protest, sliding your arms around his neck, burying your face directly into the crook of his shoulder.

He wrapped his large arms tightly around you, burying his face into the crown of your hair, inhaling deeply. He felt massive, warm, and entirely solid against you, the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat pressing against your chest,, a thousand times better than any old t-shirt could ever be.

"You're an idiot," he murmured against your hair, his voice incredibly soft, entirely stripped of its usual armor. His grip tightened around you, pulling you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your two frames together. "You could've just told me."

"You would've teased me," you mumbled into his jacket.

"Yeah," he admitted, a faint, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed his hand in slow, soothing circles up and down your back, feeling the thin fabric of his own shirt under his palms. "I probably would have. But I would've left a fresh one behind, too."

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumb coming up to gently trace your jawline, his blue eyes incredibly warm in the dim light. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce devotion that he only ever showed behind closed doors.

"I'm sorry I was late," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "The tech took longer to crack than I thought. But I'm back. I'm safe."

"I know," you said, leaning into his touch. "I can hear your heart."

Jason let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss against your forehead, then your temple, before finally resting his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like a homecoming. When he pulled away, he shifted, adjusting your position until you were tucked securely against his side, your head resting on his chest while his arm remained wrapped securely around your shoulders.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers gently tangling in your hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.

"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.

"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.

Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.

Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter — your mother, to her getting married, and having you.

He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.

"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you — a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.

"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.

"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"

"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"

An hour passes by.

You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?

"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"

Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.

There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.

Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue tweed jacket.

There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.

' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'

Bruce let out a laugh— loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.

You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"

He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.

After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.

The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you — people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.

The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.

"Hi, there. What's your name?"

You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.

"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.

"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.

"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."

And with that, the VHS comes to an end.

Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.

Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you —his wife, the love of his life — had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.

Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.

A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.

"Your boyfriend is so nice."

You paused halfway through grabbing your drinks from the counter. What boyfriend?

The barista sighed, glancing across the room to your company for the afternoon. "My ex wouldn't even order my chai latte for me because he thought it was too girly. Your guy’s definitely a keeper."

She was of course referring to the fact that he ordered for both of you, but you suspected that she was making assumptions about whose drink was whose. People usually did.

Jason liked mochas, he considered them a little treat, an indulgence that he initially used as a reason to go out into the world and live as Jason Todd and not Red Hood. Red Hood only had time for instant coffee, canned coffee, or energy drinks. But Jason Todd? Now he had time for a mocha. Sometimes he’d even say yes to being given a marshmallow.

You on the other hand didn’t drink caffeine anymore. You’d hit your surprisingly low limit and made yourself feel nauseous and headachey one too many times, so you weaned yourself off of it for your own sanity. But you still liked the taste so you usually got a decaf.

The problem is, Jason didn’t look like a mocha person. So when he ordered for both of you, the usual assumption was that the mocha was yours. Swapping cups had become so routine for you both that you could probably do it with your eyes closed.

The barista’s complaint about her ex was still relevant, though. Jason truly wasn’t worried about whether or not his chosen drink was manly enough. It was one of many things you liked about him.

You looked over your shoulder, watching him type something on his phone for a second before you turned back to the counter. "Yeah, Jason's great."

And he was great. But he wasn't your boyfriend.

This had been happening a lot lately, people mistakenly thinking the two of you were a couple. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence really, it was just that... Well, Jason wasn't correcting them anymore.

Sure, he sometimes pretended you were his partner so people wouldn't flirt with him or ask him out.

Dying as a teenager had left him with a big gap in experience related to romance and everything it entailed, which made him feel awkward and clumsy in that particular department. He told you once that it was mostly the expectations made him uncomfortable. Some people thought that because he was attractive he had experience, which tended to make them... Bolder.

And an inexperienced Jason Todd had a hard time matching that energy.

But usually when well-meaning people with no ulterior motive called the two of you a couple he would correct them. Until recently, that is.

You liked helping him, really you did. You knew what it was like to have someone doggedly pursuing you and not really knowing how to get them to take a hint. But you were starting to worry that playing along wasn’t helping him or you with your respective dating situations.

You thanked the barista, taking your decaf latte and Jason's mocha back to the table. "I'm gonna have to start charging you."

Jason looked up at you with a wry smile and a raised brow. "I thought I paid for the coffee already."

"Not that." You sat down across from him, sliding his drink towards him.

"Then what?" He asked, taking a careful sip of his drink. “Because we’ve had this deal where I pay and you fetch for a long time now, so it can’t be that.”

"That's the third time this week that someone has thought we're dating." You tutted, nodding your head in the direction of the pretty barista. "You're my friend and I love you but you've gotta stop using me as a shield, Jason."

He coughed, swiftly putting his cup down. Some of his drink sloshed over the rim and onto the table. "A shield?"

"I know you're not very good at flirting but you'll never be comfortable with it if you don't practice or something." You barrelled onwards, not really noticing the look on his face as you reached for a napkin to mop up the spill. "And it's so easy, too. Lots of people flirt without even realising."

Jason just watched you in confusion, but you were too focused on cleaning up the mess to even notice the odd look on his face.

"I don't want to make you think that I’m mad at you or that I think you’re using me or something so of course so you can use me as a shield if you want." You continued, trying to decide if you needed another napkin or not. "But this is getting a little out of hand, I mean, you don't even correct people anymore."

He started to say your name, but you'd gotten into the zone now.

"So either you need to start correcting them again," you pause, reaching over to swipe another napkin, "or you need to take me out on a date sometime soon."

It was meant to be a joke. A light-hearted, somewhat hopeful joke. You were careful to keep your tone light and teasing, to not let any of your true feelings leech through lest he figure out that you liked him that way.

But none of that mattered because, when he finally got the opportunity to get a word in, Jason turned your entire world upside-down.

"I thought we already were dating."

You stopped everything. One damp napkin in your hand, another halfway to the same location to wipe up the last few drops, Jason's eyes on you, and absolutely no thoughts going through your mind.

He what?

The only response you managed to muster was an exceedingly eloquent: "Huh?"

"I asked you out to dinner three months ago." He explained, brow furrowing with concern. "Remember?"

"We go out for dinner all the time."

"Yeah, at a diner or a bar."

"I thought you were just being whimsical or something. Variety is the spice of life, and all that."

"I got you flowers." He pressed, his frown deepening. "We got all dressed up. I kissed you good night?"

It was your turn to frown now. "Yeah, on the cheek."

Jason scoffed. "Well I wasn't about to kiss you on the lips on the first date."

"Okay, from your perspective, how many dates have we had now?" You dropped the napkins, deciding to let them do the rest of the work all on their own so you could fully focus on this. "And how come you haven't kissed me on the lips after any of them?"

"I dunno. You didn't seem to want a kiss." He shrugged, mumbling his thoughts as he looked down at his hands. "I figured you just wanted to take it slow."

You stared at him, not sure how to even begin responding to that. Instead, you thought over the last three months in your mind with the lens of this new information.

In hindsight, Jason had been pretty nervous when he asked you to have dinner at that restaurant. You'd chalked it up to him worrying that you would hate the idea, because you'd always been a takeout and pyjamas kind of person.

But now?

Now you realised he'd been nervous because he thought he was asking you out on a date.

And now you realised that he'd stopped correcting people about your status as a couple right after that night.

Every single time you'd hung out with him now had brand new context. Every weird little thing he'd done that you'd brushed off as just Jason being Jason was suddenly a whole lot clearer.

Because it wasn't Jason being Jason.

It was Jason being your boyfriend.

And you just hadn't noticed.

"Damn..." You rested your head in your hands. "I feel so stupid right now."

"Yeah." He gave a dry chuckle. "Imagine how I feel."

Oh. Crap. He thought-

"I'm sorry." You blurted out, looking up so fast it's a miracle you didn't get any whiplash. "I'm sorry I didn't notice that it was a date. I really just thought... I mean, I guess I just never thought-"

"It's fine." Jason's smile was just a little too tight as he took your apology the wrong way. "Forget about it. We can just pretend it never happened, okay?"

You acted quickly, hoping you could still salvage this: "What if I don't want to?"

And now it was his turn to let out a very eloquent: "Huh?"

"Well you're like, what, ten dates-?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve dates ahead of me! That's just not fair." At that, you crossed your arms, shooting him a teasing smile. "I think I have to make it up to you. Since we're dating, and all."

"So you..." He trailed off, now baffled by your wanting to date him rather than your not realising you'd been dating him this whole time. “You do want to date after all?”

"Well, duh." You reached over the table, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers with his. "I would have been a way more enthusiastic partner if I'd realised. I might just become insufferable now, but there's no take-backs."

"Alright, I think I can live with that." Jason grinned, looking down at your hand in his with this giddy look on his face that you decided you had to see at least once a day for the rest of your life. For science. "So... Where are you gonna take me?"

Thanks for reading! I am an Inexperienced Jason Todd enjoyer so you can probably expect that in some flavour for most, if not all, of my fics for him. Also I think he deserves a marshmallow sometimes. As a treat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Jason stood by the front door a little longer than necessary, his helmet tucked in his arm, between his side and the crook of his elbow, and he just listened.

Until he heard it, the sound of running water from the bathroom. His entire face changed in a second. It should have been embarrassing how immediate it was. How one moment he looks like Red Hood, all tough edges, bruised knuckles, spit and anger and Gotham grime to last for days, and the very next he’s just … a boy.

A very happy one.

“Oh, thank fuck,” He whispered to himself, dropping his helmet on the couch as he passed. He was grinning before he even turned into the hall.

He appeared in the bathroom mirror behind you moments later, when you were half bent over the sink, toothbrush still in your mouth.

There he was. Hair messed up from his helmet, eyes exhausted, leather jacket half unzipped. You could tell it had been a rough night, and somewhere under his clothes bruises were already blooming. But he was looking at you like he had just walked through Heaven’s gates instead of into your slightly cluttered, too small, too expensive apartment at 1am.

“There’s my girl”

It comes out of him soft, and delighted, and terribly fond.

You barely have time to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth before he’s on you. Jason does not enter spaces normally when he’s this happy. He arrives in them entirely, every piece of him committing to it at once.

“Hi, baby” You laughed as his arms came around you from behind, picking you up and bringing you to the bedroom. He practically dropped you onto the bed, before plopping himself down on top of you. Heavy, warm, large. All dramatic deadweight, burying his face into your shoulder with a deep groan.

“There she is,” He mumbled, “I missed you”

“You were gone not even five hours” You replied, trying to shift yourself into a position more comfortable. But it was no use.

“It was five hours. And fourty-six minutes. And it was the worst five hours and fourty-six minutes of my life”

“You know you say that every patrol is the worst time of your life ?” You asked him

“Yeah. I do. And I mean it every time.”

He shifted, pulling his weight off you and wrapping his arms tighter around you as he spoke, like he all of a sudden developed a deep fear of somebody prying you off of him if he let go even for a second. He smelled like the city. Like smoke, and chilly air, rain damp leather, gunpowder, sweat and the faintest trace of blood.

But underneath it all, he still smelled like Jason. Jason who was home, and safe.

He pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw, then another, and another right after because he’s decided that taking a break was optional for him tonight.

You laughed, trying to push at his shoulder. He didn’t budge. “Jay”

“Nope”

“Jay.”

“Nope,” he repeated, grinning against your skin as he kissed you again, pressing a new one on every inch of skin he could reach. “Can’t hear you. I’m busy”

“Busy doing what exactly ?” You asked

“Kissin’ my girl.” He answered, as if it was obviously the most important thing in the world for him to be doing right now. The sheer amount of joy put into a single phrase made something ache sweet in your chest. Because he means it every single time he says it. My girl. Not in the sharp possessive type of way. He said it with reverence, in a Look-What-I-Get-To-Have-Way.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, hands coming up to cup your face, making sure your eyes stayed on him and nothing else. And there it was, that smile of his. The real one, the one where his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched up. The smile that was too big to hide, and too bright to try and play cool. But Jason had never been able to even think about acting normal when it came to loving you.

“You stayed up for me,” He said proudly

“I always stay up for you”

“I know” His grin somehow got even brighter “That’s the best part”

It was immediately followed by: “Do we have any snacks”

You laughed so hard you snorted. “You are unbelievable”

“Hey. I deserve them. I got stabbed a little”

“You did not” You gave a playful smack to his arm. You would have known the second he walked through the door if he got stabbed.

“Emotionally. Because I had to be away from you”

“That does not count as being stabbed, Jason”

“It should” He grumbled, flopping sideways again until nearly his entire body was draped over yours. Clingy in that absurd post-patrol way he allows himself to have when he makes it home. He propped himself half up on his elbow, and just stared at you. You stared back.

He started laughing first, warm, loud laughter. The kind that shook his shoulder and made him duck his head into your neck when he was catching his breath afterwards, still grinning helplessly because he had lost all control over it.

He couldn’t contain it. Not here, not with you. Outside of this apartment he could keep himself locked up so tight sometimes he feels like he might crack under all of it. But here ? With you curled up under him, the sheets freshly washed, the lights dimmed and warm, everything overflows. Affection, relief, want, joy so pure and earnest it becomes boyish.

He steals kisses between sentences, and smiles for no reason, and touches you over and over, every place he can reach.

When you brush his hair back from his forehead he melts. Eyes closing, face going soft, leaning into your hand with a little sigh that makes you laugh again.

“There he is,” You teased, softer this time “Big scary crime lord.”

“Don’t ruin my reputation” He teased back. But his reputation was clearly not as important as having his face pressed into the palm of your hand.

“You are laying across me like a large dog”

“Yes. A guard dog.”

“A lap dog” You corrected

Jason let out a dramatic gasp, head popping up from your hand before he grabbed your face and kissed you three times in rapid succession.

“That is defamation,” "A kiss “Slander,” another kiss “Character assassination” A third kiss.

You were breathless, still laughing, when he finally settled again, heavy with contentment, head tucked against your chest to listen to the sound of your heart beating.

Neither of you said anything for a while, instead Jason just listened. Breathing slowly, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against your side, still smiling.

He never really thought he’d get to this part of things. He got the dramatic parts of life, the life-or-death parts, the yearning so deep it ached.

But he didn’t think he’d get this. The coming home part. The being loved openly and dearly part. The getting to collapses into the arms of the girl he loves and hearing her laugh while the city spins outside and he is untouched and unbothered for a few hours.

His head tilted up again suddenly, eyes bright.

“You know what ?” He asked

“What ?”

“I think that I am devastatingly in love with you”

You smiled at him, fingers brushing through the white streak of hair above the center of his forehead.

“Oh yeah ?”