Dumb Bitch

Theres a easier way tho

I could take one for the team and get you pregnant

I'll be strong for you

It's hard rasing a kid on your own

To all of that, he'd simply replied, It's raising, then went right back to patrol like you hadn't just offered to impregnate him.

"Sweetheart, there's a send button," he replies with the patience of a saint. Gunshots erupt in the background and there's a curse thrown carelessly.

You’re attempting to send him the playlist you had made. It was a mix of songs perfectly curated to ones that reminded you of your best friend. There was a lot of dad music, a touch of heavy metal. You were tempted to throw in a love song, but dealing with the aftermath of doing so held you back.

"Don't sweetheart me, the fucking thing isn't loading now," you groan, tapping aggressively.

"You know, that doesn't make it go faster, right?" He grunts. There's a loud boom from his side.

"Says the guy who broke my TV because he thought hitting it would bring it back to life," you retort, squinting at your phone screen. You go to turn the brightness down.

 "'M still better at technology than you," he says, then shouts, "Robin, I said on my left!" 

You hear Robin's voice, but you can't make out the words. Something insulting, probably. 

"Little shit can't even listen to basic instructions."

"Me or Damian?" you ask without missing a beat.

"Both."

Once the playlist loads, you tap the send button without much thought. "Kay, I did it, listen to it now," you demand, lying back down on your bed.

"Sure thing, doll. Lemme just stop the Joker from turning Gotham into his playground."

"Gotham's already his playground," you mumble. 

For a while, you're quiet, listening as Jason occasionally shouts orders through the comms. It should be unsettling. The gunfire, the crashes, the constant danger he's in. Instead, it lulls you to sleep. He's here, breathing, and on call with you like he didn't want to part either.

"You done yet?"

"I'm putting it on. Happy now?" His hoarse voice brings you out of your thoughts. It's deeper than it was before. Nicer, too. 

You grin, sitting up as your blanket pools around your hips. "Only if you come over too." 

"Demanding little thing," he scoffed. But you know he's already on his way. 

A few minutes pass. You can hear the distant hum of his motorcycle through the comms.

Then he clears his throat. "Baby making music?"

Horror crashes over you. You snatch your phone off the bed so fast it almost slips from your hands. "Shit,' you whisper, frantically searching for what you sent. 

And lo and behold, it's that playlist, not the one you'd carefully curated for Jason. "Jay, I can explain—

"Fucked my way up to the top reminds you of me?" There's laughter in his voice now.

"No!"

"Guilty as sin?" He snorts.

"Oh my god, Jason, stop." Your hands are covering your warm face, phone lying on your bed. You're never living this down. 

He pauses. "There's a lot of Lana Del Rey,"

You swallow, your fingers curl around your blanket. "Well," you start quietly. "Don't get it twisted, you're pretty Lana Del Rey, but your dad? He embodies a Lana Del Rey song—

"Stop talkin' about Bruce like that," he groans.

"Your dad's hot." 

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Your older brother's also hot." You muster up the courage to add, "and don't call me that."

"Doll," His voice isn't teasing anymore. It's lower, like that comment about Dick took away all the humor.

"I've run out of age appropriate family members," you swallow. Except Jason. But you couldn't exactly say that. "Does Kate count? Bruce's exes? cause they're fine as hell too."

He grumbles under his breath. "Open the fucking window."

"You're here?" You freeze, voice coming out breathless.

The window snaps open with a sharp bang. The sound travels all the way to your room. You close your eyes. Why did it feel like you were in trouble?

The thump of boots echoes through the room. When it finally stops, you open your eyes to find Jason leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed in a way that makes his muscles more defined under the fabric. He’s taken off his helmet, his hair slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead.

And his eyes.

They’re on you, fierce and darker than what you're used to, like he’s a second away from hauling your ass straight to Arkham. It sends a pleasant feeling through you. 

You laugh nervously. "Heyyyy, you're not still mad about me finding your brother—what the fuck are you doing—

He stalks over to you until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to keep eye contact.

"You're acting weird," you tell him, trying to keep yourself still.

"That playlist—

"Was a random one I accidentally sent!" 

He tilts his head. “So. You wanna play me the right one now?"

He shifts, sliding onto the bed beside you, his shoulder bumping yours as he settles in. You grimace. No way he’s had time to shower, but you don’t move away. Not when he’s this close.

You give him one of your wired earbuds.

Your head bumps his when he puts his on. You bite back a smile at sharing earbuds with him.

You hit play on your phone, sneaking a glance at him, trying to read his reaction.

He’s already looking at you. Then he rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Can’t believe I remind you of a Radiohead song.”

“Would you prefer fucked my way up to the top?”

masterlist

once again i’m not sure what i wrote