FanFic Reblogs

Hello my loves! An incredibly smart anon suggested I make a Masterlist of my fic recs, and I thought, why not! I know thats why some of you are here, so I might as well make it easier to find them :)

FIC RECS LISTS:

FIC REC 1- Insecure/Soft!Bucky

FIC REC 2 - Feel Good Stories

FIC REC 3 - Enemies to Lovers

FIC REC 4 - Birthday Fics

FIC REC 5 - Cop!Bucky

FIC REC 6 - Biker!Bucky

FIC REC 7 - Merman!Bucky

FIC REC 8 - Hades!Bucky/Persephone!Reader 

FIC REC 9 - Mobster!Bucky

FIC REC 10- Boxer!Bucky and Western!Bucky

FIC REC 11- Royal!AUs

FIC REC 12 - A/B/O dynamic - Extra List

FIC REC 13 - Single Parent

FIC REC 14 - 40’s Bucky

FIC REC 15 - Soulmate AUs

FIC REC 16 - CEO!AUs

FIC REC 17 - Bodyguard!Bucky

FIC REC 18 - Baker!Bucky/Reader

FIC REC 19 - Vampire!Bucky

FIC REC 20 - Professor/Teacher Bucky

EXTRAS:

Favorite Authors and their work

Angst to Fluff

Fluff/Soft Bucky

Sugar Daddy Small List

Favorite AU’s

Anastasia AU’s

contents :: smau. established relationship. fluff. sexual content in jason's. reader gets a period, but no mention of gender.

— BRUCE WAYNE

summary : You’ve been struggling to adapt after moving into Wayne Manor and Alfred notices

tags : angsty(??), happy ending, Bruce doesn’t know how to maintain relationships, Alfred mentioned (multiple times actually)

words : 2.2k

a/n : Didn’t expect to finish this in one day, I think it turned out pretty decent! I didn’t really know how to finish this one so the ending might seem rushed

The Wayne manor was located at the outskirts of Gotham, large enough to be seen from across the large lake separating the wealthy from the common man.

Build on about 150 acres, it has everything a man needs. 18 bedrooms, 14 bathrooms, 3 entrances, library’s and studies hidden in every corner aswell as a yard stretching over miles on end used for hosting galas or a mans own entertainment with the build in pool that has never been used and the golf course named after Thomas Wayne.

Paintings and sculptures worth more than the average yearly income of a Gotham citizen decorate the halls and galleries located inside the mansion.

Built in the 19th century it has been passed down the Waynes for generations. Corridors and rooms that were once filled with staff and people have been left empty ever since the tragic passing of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Bruce Wayne returned to the manor in his mid-twenties after his travels across the world - still, it wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness that was left behind after numerous maids, butlers and chefs were let go on Alfred Pennyworths behalf.

Now you resided in the famous building alongside the two men. A massive switch from your usual life inside the city but a decision that you felt like would’ve come sooner or later considering you were now engaged to Gothams most eligible bachelor.

Bruce respected your choice of living at your own place for the majority of your relationship, even if he really did want you in his bed for more than one night.

A full month has passed since you moved in. You remember Bruce taking a day off to help you move all your belongings into the bedroom before returning back to work the very next day.

You quickly realised how lonely life actually was inside those walls.

Multiple rooms stood empty, decoration - aside from the lavish paintings and sculptures placed by his parents - was almost nonexistent. The mere size of the mansion made it worse. You still manage to scare yourself by the occasional loud creaks of the floorboard or poor Alfred just fulfilling his duties by cleaning the halls.

You tried to bring your own touch into this place without actually interfering with Bruces peace.

You started by putting some decorative pillows on the couch and a candle on the coffee table. Then you started putting up pictures of you and him in the bedroom.

Those were small things, tiny even, invisible to anyone that has never been here. But you hope that Bruce would notice - or more importantly; notice you.

You feel like you don’t see Bruce at all anymore. In the day he’s at Wayne enterprises while at night he’s out fighting crime left and right.

You knew what he was, what he made himself to be both inside and outside the black armour. But you feel like that everything was better when you were living alone.

In your old life you had errands to run, dinners to cook, dishes and clothes to clean outside of work. You looked forward to Bruce climbing in through your window like your prince in shining armour in the middle of the night, while now you just lay in the king sized bed enveloped by the coldness of the tall walls surrounding you.

Now you feel like Bruce has forgotten all about you.

You’re currently sitting by the pool that you had started putting to good use as soon as summer decided to bring a massive heatwave to Gotham, staring off into the woods in the distance.

You felt like a fly trapped in a room with the window wide open. You loved Bruce, you wanted to be with him more than anything - you just didn’t expect your life with him to be so… Dull, all of the sudden.

Alfred noticed. He’s always the first one to notice. He practically raised Bruce and knew exactly how he is.

He knew that Bruce loved you more than anything, more than the Batman persona itself. But he also knew that Bruce doesn’t know how to be with someone without hurting them, especially now that he let a woman ‘invade’ his space, to put it mildly.

He approached you with a pitcher of his homemade lemonade alongside a small glass with 3 ice cubes, placing it on the small table beside you with a clink.

You snap out of your thoughts and turn to face the older male.

„Here you go madam. It’s important to stay hydrated in such weather.”

You give him a small smile, accepting the glass of lemonade he has filled for you, „Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded but seemed to linger, looking at the large pool before you.

„Master Bruce made sure to clean the pool before you moved in. He’d be happy to see you putting it to good use.”, he says, straightening up and tugging the silver plater under his arm.

„I will, thank you..”, you say, taking a sip from the not-too-sweet lemonade.

Alfred hummed in approval when he saw your eyes light up the moment you took a sip, turning to enter the manor through the sliding doors.

Before Alfred could fully disappear inside the manor, you spoke up. „Uhm- Alfred?”

Alfred stops and turns to face you once more, „Yes madam?”

You swallow thickly, almost embarrassed to ask what has been lingering in your mind for a while now.

“Did I do something to upset Bruce?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. He’s not exactly surprised at your question, he himself has noticed the prolonged absences of Bruce.

“Bruce hasn’t mentioned anything to me, madam.”

You nod and turn to lean back on the lounger, face burning hot from embarrassment of having asked such a silly question.

“What makes you think you have upset Master Bruce?”

You can only manage to shrug your shoulders, scratching your right cheek with one hand. “It’s just- I- I’m worried he’s having second thoughts.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking at you laying there with your back facing him. He knows Bruce, he knows that he isn’t having second thoughts, Alfred is also aware that this isn’t his place to tell you that.

“I believe it’s best if you speak to Master Bruce himself.”

-

Bruce arrives later than usual. The meetings felt endless and the mountain of paperwork was just as draining. Not wanting to dump it all on his secretary on a Friday night, he filled them out and sorted each document himself.

His sleek black Mercedes parked right beside your old sedan that you refused to give away after moving in with Bruce, the only thing that still connected you to your former life.

He enters through the massive front doors, loosening his tie and discarding his black briefcase somewhere on the way as he walks to the kitchen.

Alfred stands by the stove, seasoning the meat he planned to use for dinner.

“Long day master Bruce?”, he hums, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before getting out a glass, “Water?”

Bruce nods, accepting the cold glass of water and taking a long sip before slumping down on a nearby wooden chair.

“You dont know..”, he huffs, running his hand through his dark hair.

“I can imagine.”, Alfred smiles.

“Where is she?”, Bruce asks after a moment, folding his white shirts sleeve up to his elbows.

“The library, I believe.”, Alfred hums, his smile dropping a tad behind the moustache at the thought of his earlier interaction with you.

Before Bruce manages to get up and leave the kitchen, Alfred stops him.

“Master Bruce, I believe you should have a proper talk with her before your meal, let alone your patrol.”

Bruce stops dead in his tracks at the butlers words, shoulders tensing in worry as he turns to look at Alfred again.

„Did something happen?”

Alfred gives him a look, not entirely stern but definitely one that speaks louder than words.

„Madam (name) is having doubts whether you want to break off the engagement.”

Bruces frown deepens at his words, “What makes her say that?”

“I assume your constant absence has made her fill with doubt. Let alone right after she decided to give her old life up to be with you.”

Bruce swallows, heat prickling up his neck and to his ears from both worry and embarrassment.

“I’m going to talk to her.”

Alfred eyes Bruce as he leaves the kitchen, turning back to the vegetables sizzling before him on the stove, a small sigh leaving his nose.

-

You’re seated on the big couch chair placed in front of the empty fireplace of the large library, the small light from the floor lamp beside you providing enough light to read your book.

You don’t notice Bruce entering, let alone coming up behind you - too engrossed in the book you started reading a few days ago.

“Hey sweetheart.”, Bruces deep voice makes you flinch as it echos inside the large library. You turn around and relax, a small smile managing to creep it’s way on your face at the sight of your soon-to-be husband.

“Hi.. Did you just arrive?”, you ask softly, marking the page you left on as he steps behind you, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck before placing a gentle kiss against your cheek, humming in response to your question.

His hands find your shoulders, moving to the nape of your neck, squeezing the slightly tense muscles there.

His eyes dart to your hands still holding the book, noting the engagement ring he had given you before eyeing the bracelet around your wrist.

"New bracelet?"

"No." you answer a little dryly, feeling his lips brush against the shell of your ear. "You bought it on our holiday in the Maldives a year ago."

Bruce hummed in response, "I enjoyed the Maldives."

You can’t help but smile at his words, "We left the hotel once.", you scoff.

"Then I enjoyed the hotel in the Maldives," he grinned against your skin.

You tilt your head to look at him. As much as you want to be mad at him for mistreating you and rarely spending time with you anymore, you can’t help but savour the moments when he’s there.

He leans in to close the gap between you two, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I missed you.”, he whispers against the softness of your lips, his hand gently cupping the back of your head.

Your eyes open to gaze into his, struggling to say those words back no matter how much you mean them.

Ofcourse the world’s greatest detective notices your lack of response and the look of doubt on your face.

With a sigh, he lets go of you, moving to sit down on the couch chair beside you. The small gap between you two is making you incredibly nervous. Is this it? Is this him calling off the wedding and telling you to move out after only a week?

He reaches over for your hand, gently kissing the diamond on your finger which cost a house or two. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Bruce Wayne struggling to keep eye contact with you, not in the few years you two have spent together.

“I… I wanted to apologise.”, Bruce swallows the lump in his throat, “For making you feel like this.”

“For making me feel like what, exactly?”, you retort, voice almost a whisper but stern in a way that makes him falter.

“For making you think that I don’t want you in my life.”, Bruce continues, finally finding the strength to look you in the eye.

“It hasn’t been going well for both the company and the people roaming this city. Crime has skyrocketed ever since Dent is back on the lose, I… There’s just so much going on and I know that this isn’t an excuse for the way I made you feel, but I don’t know what else to tell you other than I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You knew that Bruce Wayne wasn’t a man of big words, but you did hope for more.

He tips his head forward to rest his forehead against the back of your hand, “I love you. More than anything. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I lost you.”

You slowly get up from your seat, moving to sit down on his lap instead. His arms circle your waist in an instance, baby blue eyes meeting yours as he looks up.

“I’m sorry.”, he whispers, relaxing a tad the moment your hands brush through his slicked back hair.

You wish that he would tell you stuff like that immediately instead of making you second guess this relationship, but from what you’ve heard from Alfred, it won’t be easy - as if it ever was easy.

“I just… I miss what we had.. I miss you, Bruce.”, you say, gazing into the softness of his eyes that seems to be only reserved for you.

He pulls you down to rest your head on his chest, kissing the top of your head, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.. I promise to be better- to do better.”

You two stay in this position for a while, his hands wrapped firmly around you. You soak in his warmth and the silence coming from him.

You can’t bring yourself to forgive him fully just yet, but you also know that Bruce is a man of his words. If he really means it, he will change. You love him enough to give him this chance.

“…I think Alfred is waiting with dinner for us”, Bruce finally breaks the silence, making you chuckle softly.

"Cause when they act wrong, that's when you put it on."

I did this with jjk and now I'm doing it batboyssss. Ill probably do it with another fandom but idk what. Oki thank you let's start.

Warning - mentions of sex and suggestive material. MDNI!!!!

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Tim Drake

Duke Thomas

Bruce Wayne

😛😛😛😛 thats itttt. I hope you enjoy and always feel free to request anything!!!

We all love a man in love 💙💜

I miss Teen Titans (2003), there was so much potential for that show! The drama, the suspense - the romance 💗 (among other things of course, like Red X 👀).

I’m sure it’s been done, but this trend seemed to fit them

(Pics under the cut)

and the public is eating it up. you’re popular enough, give back to the community, and pretty to boot, so why wouldn’t you date bruce wayne?

and you would agree. he’s kind, and thoughtful in your more serious moments. always providing a great sounding board, but a wonderful support for you for your wilder ideas; always encouraging you to go after what you want, to never settle

he’s a great dancer, a smooth talker. he obviously has a job, and most likely isn’t a serial killer, so everyone wonders as the months go on, but there’s no official announcement of your relationship put out.

why wouldn’t you date bruce wayne?

but there’s something that’s like a red flag about him: all his various kids that keep appearing, disappearing and the general vague descriptions of acquisition of said children.

something’s gotta be wrong with a man who randomly brings kids of various ages, but never the same rotation, to the public functions. especially those hosted by the wayne’s.

even though, with every sunset drive with bruce, the wind in your hair, your hand intertwined with his, makes you second guess that.

a/n: idk i find something so funny about bruce wanting to be in a relationship with you, but he’s a red flag cause he’s a baby daddy to at MINIMAL 5, all within a relative short time period, with barely legal paperwork that anyone with two brain cells could tell is shoddy.

and bruce is genuinely confused since no one’s ever really cared or asked about it? it was just accepted. so he’s bewildered why him and his gaggle of children; who appear nice but give off weird vibes when anyone stares at their dad for too long

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader WC: ~300 Warnings: Fluff | Super hot super soldier alert | Bucky exercising | Bucky seducing reader | Soft!dom Bucky vibes | Allusions to smutty times | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: My submission for June Jukebox Scribbles | Prompt: "I can't control myself" Song: Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace | @societynsoelsscribbles | Here ya go!✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Grunt.

You ignored it.

Grunt.

Ugh! It was taking everything in you to focus on the screen rather than those huffs and grunts. But to your dismay, it grew louder.

Grunt.

This time it was less of a grunt and more of a moan.

"BUCKY, CUT IT OUT," you snapped, spinning around in your chair.

He didn't stop. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow as he continued with his set, showing off the muscles rippling under his sweat-slicked skin.

"What am I doing?" he rumbled, his voice hitting the pulse in your pussy.

They were ecstatic. Especially Bucky. Not only is he a life long fan but also because he made a lot of money off the games. A lot of money. His bookies and casinos worked overtime during the finals.

According to Bee, Mr. Tato also made a lot of monies. His people had lots of bets going. (And now she's banned from attending any of Bucky's meetings. Bucky's working on changing your mind about that.)

Bee had fun going to her first NBA game. Naturally Bucky got them courtside seats when the Knicks played in NYC. She loved it for all ten minutes and then spent the rest of the time people watching and sharing snacks with her mama. Bee is still talking about the halftime shows.

They watched the away games in the penthouse. The guys are superstitious. Looking for anything that might influence the game. Paying attention to the little things they normally wouldn't. That's how they discovered that anytime Bucky would pick Bee up, Jalen would make a shot. It got to the point where Steve insisted that Bucky hold Bee the entire time.

- Zombie

Oh not well. He's an autumn kind of guy. Bucky doesn't do well in the heat. He likes to strip down to his boxers the second he steps in the house.

The doors' still swinging shut when he starts pulling his shirt over his head. He's complaining about the fact that it was 80 degrees before noon today. And you're trying to focus. To be sympathetic. Pay attention. But there's a faint bead of sweat traveling down his chest, weaving a slow path between his abs and you can't help yourself.

"My eyes are up here," he teases, making his chest flex under the soft overhead lights.

"Uh huh. You know I should probably join you in the shower—", you say, stepping closer, placing your hands on his thick, corded biceps. Softening your expression into one of concern, voice soft as you continue. "—to make sure you don't pass out from heat exhaustion."

Construction worker!Bucky who collapses on the couch after a particularly hot day at work. No shirt. Jeans tossed somewhere. Just a pair of boxer briefs across his thighs. He's debating if he's going to leave them on or not. Trying to will himself to get a cold drink from the fridge but its so far away (not even ten feet).

He feels a cool breeze on his heated face. Pure bliss. It gets even better when a cool piece of ice slides across his lips. Bucky groans your name, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His eyes slowly open to find your pretty face staring down at him. A glass of water in your hand, condensation rolling down your fingers, splashing on his chest. You're too good to him.

"Marry me."

I wanted to get it for you

featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Wally West, Hal Jordan

warning: fluff

A/N: Thank you so much, I’m really glad you love the smaus🫶🏻 I’m always having so much fun doing these (especially writing wally’s part LMAO).

✧˖° 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑠𝑜𝑛

✧˖° 𝐽𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑜𝑑𝑑

✧˖° 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒

✧˖° 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑊𝑒𝑠𝑡

✧˖°𝐻𝑎𝑙 𝐽𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑛

Summary & CW: Fluff, implications of suggestive content (at the end), fake dating, friends to lovers, dickbin, creepy guy (nothing bad), reader likes chocolate covered strawberries (if you’re allergic I’m sorry), twinge of jealousy

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @mystiquevoid for participating, I loved both of your submissions too much and couldn’t choose, so here’s your second one! We only have three pieces left in the event! If this isn't up to par it's because I had a teensy migraine and it's rushed bc of finals, BUTTT I hope you enjoy <3

One of these days you were going to learn to say no to Bruce Wayne.

The billionaire playboy has been your best friend since you found him hammered at a college party over a decade ago. Harvey Dent was throwing a rager at his apartment across the hall, and you’d popped in for about half an hour before needing to get a breath of fresh air.

Sneaking out the fire escape and climbing to the roof, you found none other than Wayne heir starfished on the cement.

And well, the rest is history.

Currently you found yourself at one of his charity galas because the press was going on and on about him not settling down. Typically he didn’t let it to get to him, he never did before. That was until a little circus boy came into the picture.

Little Dick Grayson, who somehow was a mirror image of Bruce at that age, got harassed once by paparazzi after school, and he lost it. Bruce was seconds away from filing a class action.

The board, legal, and his PR Director, seemed to all come to the same consensus.

Bruce Wayne needed a happy ever after.

At least for the Gotham Gazette anyway.

While it was made very clear that Dick was not to be approached by the media again, Bruce begrudgingly agreed. That’s when he went to the only person he could trust with this. The only person who knew every single aspect of his life and chose to stay. Not out of obligation, not out of the loyalty or friendship, but for him.

Now, after the third conversation with shareholders you genuinely couldn’t have cared less for, you were regretting saying yes.

Bruce’s left hand was intertwined with yours. His thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles, a quiet thank you he spared you for putting up with this. This was your fourth public appearance planned by his PR Director and the media was eating it up with a silver spoon. Dick was currently leaning into you, his forehead pressed into your waist. Your free hand went to running your fingers through the curls that Alfred attempted to tame with mousse.

One thing you learned very quickly about the little acrobat was that he got clingy when he was tired.

Even before the PR stunt, when you came to the manor or went out with them, the moment drowsiness seeped into his frame he clung to the first person he saw. More often than not it was Bruce, but on days he clung to his memories with an iron grip, he’d close his eyes and imagine you were the late Mary Grayson. And you would let him.

“Baby,” you whispered low enough just for the little robin to hear. He lifted his head and the seam from your dress was imprinted on his forehead in red marks. “I’m going to go get a snack really quickly, do you want to come with?”

He got bored at these galas very quickly. Offering him a little escape while Bruce chatted away was sometimes the only thing you could offer him.

He merely blinked at you for a moment, trying to process what you were saying. After the gala is over, you were going to have to have a long conversation with Bruce about how long he let him stay out as Robin. “Nah,” he shakes his head with a smile that makes his dimples pop. “I’ll stay with B.”

“Okay.” You offer him a warm one in return while attempting to fix the hair Alfred couldn’t tame.

Turning to Bruce, you squeeze your fingers around his to quietly get his attention. It’s almost scary how quickly he turns to you, almost as if it’s a reflex. The rest of the group falls away, and his only concern now is you.

“I’m going to go get something to eat, Dick’s going to stay with you.” His eyes briefly shift to the child dressed to the nines at your side. He’s wearing a sleepy grin and eyes that light up the sky. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay love,” he leans in and drops a kiss to your temple. Your face warms instantly and you pray the foundation hides the blush. “The caterer informed me that your requests are hidden in the corner table next to the orchestra.” His voice is low only for your, and maybe Dick’s, ears.

Through the blush, a smile creeps on your face. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Anything for you.”

“Would you two just kiss already oh my go-”

Bruce’s eyes don’t leave yours as his palm falls over the boy’s mouth, bringing his head into his side. Even under the concealer that was painted on his face, you see his own blush bloom.

The boy’s eyes gleam with mischief, and you wouldn’t even notice that he licked Bruce’s palm to get it off his face.

“Behave until I get back, okay?”

“I always behave.” He smirks, way too proud of the way he’s terrorized his guardian.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Fineeeee.”

With that, you turn and glide across the ballroom to the table. People’s eyes linger on you, they always do at these things. It bothered you at first. You’d never shied away from attention, but being on the arm of Bruce Wayne practically quadrupled what you were used too.

Arriving to the corner table near the orchestra, you may actually have to propose to Bruce for doing this. To every gala he dragged you too, he always managed to get a small display of some of your favorite deserts. This time, he had frozen chocolate covered strawberries plated next to some macaroons. Taking a quick peak around to make sure no one’s looking, you pick up a strawberry and wrap your lips around it. Your teeth barely bite through it when you hear your name.

When you meet the gaze of one of the gentlemen you’d spoken to earlier, you almost fail at hiding a groan. This was the last person you wanted to speak too. He’d been giving you weird looks during the conversation.

Then there was the matter of his name. It was as if it was erased from your brain, like it didn’t bother to process who this creep was. Chewing quickly and smiling, he lets out a small huff at the sight of you.

“Seems like I caught you in the middle of something.” His voice is low and a chill runs up your spine.

You give him another bashful and borderline uncfomortable smile, swallowing while searching over his shoulder while responding. “Yes,” a hesitant laugh. “I apologize you caught me with my mouth full.”

“Oh it’s no worries,” a beat barely passed before he replied. “I was hoping to catch you alone.”

There’s a grimace threatening its way onto your features. “Oh?” is all you can really let out. Finding the place you were previously standing, you notice Bruce was no longer where he was and you’ve lost him on the floor. “And why is that sir?”

“Oh please don’t call me sir, it makes me feel so old. Call me Murray.” Ah yes, the conversation you shared earlier finally comes back to you as he says his name. “I did wonder how Bruce managed to capture such an attractive woman.”

Your back straightens instantly as you tense, chocolate covered strawberry forgotten in your fingers. “Well, he didn’t capture me per se, it was more of a mutual attraction.”

He steps towards you, and your heels click back half a step almost immediately following his advancement. His mouth opens, but quickly shuts when his eyes fall behind you. A second hardly comes and goes before you feel the familiar warmth of a large palm on your lower back.

“Hello darling, I hope you’re enjoying the strawberries.” You’re not sure if you should be surprised or not at his appearance, he had a knack for spawning from the shadows. Yet somehow, you manage another smile and nod. Noticing the tension in your stance, his jaw tightens.

Swallowing tightly, he turns his eyes back to the shareholder. Most would miss it if they were only observing the interaction, but you can’t quite ignore the fire that’s burning behind his eyes as they barrel into the gentleman in front of you. “Is there anything else we can assist you with sir.”

Now a brief grimace does claim your features.

Bruce never did like to share.

“N-no Mr. Wayne, just admiring the selection of deserts.”

“Well, thank you.” Bruce’s voice is tight with jealousy and your smirking internally. “If that is all, would you please excuse my lady and I.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply and sweeps you away. Not sparing anyone a glance, he guides you out the ballroom into a nearby bathroom.

When the solid wooden door pushes open, your heels clink on the marble floor. Not getting the chance to even turn around, you feel his torso pressed to your back. The warmth even through the shirt is evident on the backless dress. He leans down and you can feel his breath on your ear, the subtle smell of champagne and mint.

There’s a spark in the air. The bathroom is silent except for the deep breaths he’s taking. His fingers dance up and down your arms in a feather light touch. Your eyes catch the intimate action in the mirror and your face warms. His eyes are half-lidded and a shiver passes down your spine. He feels it, he always does.

Then leaning further into you, he drops a kiss to your shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. This wasn’t exactly new for you two. You’d known each other too long it was almost impossible for something like this not to happen, the tension was obvious to anyone.

“Bruce,” your voice comes out breathless as he drops an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. “We can’t- not here.”

“It’s my gala, I can do damn well as I please.” There’s a finality to his voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he slips the straps of your dress and it pools to the floor.

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

jason todd has a habit.

several, actually.

a few centered around his family—he always sits or stands to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.

a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.

then, he has several for you.

he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.

but your personal favorite?

jason always lets you kiss him first.

he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.

he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.

he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.

even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.

jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.

he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.

kiss it better?

dick, jason, & clark x fem!reader

you end up hurting yourself while moving furniture around your apartment

content: mostly fluff, mentions of blood, injury to reader

dick

jason

clark

The Secret

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requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

The family group chat had been quiet for exactly four hours—a record, honestly—when Jason's message came through.

It was a photo. Just a photo, no context, no explanation.

A tiny baby, wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair, scrunched up little face, impossibly small.

The chat exploded.

DICK: IS THAT A BABY DICK: JASON IS THAT A BABY TIM: Why are you sending us random baby pictures STEPH: Okay but that's a REALLY cute baby DICK: JASON ANSWER YOUR PHONE DUKE: Did you kidnap a baby??? DAMIAN: Todd, explain yourself immediately. TIM: Why is no one else concerned that Jason just sent us a photo of a random infant DICK: JASON PETER TODD

Jason's response came five minutes later, while Dick was probably having a minor breakdown:

JASON: Her name is Catherine. She's mine. Come to Gotham General if you want to meet her.

Then he went offline.

The chaos that followed was legendary.

Dick was the first to arrive at the hospital, having broken approximately fifteen traffic laws to get there. Tim was right behind him, looking like he'd run the entire way (he'd grappled; his car was in the shop). Steph and Cass arrived together. Duke had called Bruce, who was currently in the Batmobile with Damian, both of them looking equally shell-shocked.

They found Jason's room number from a nurse who looked deeply amused by the sudden influx of Waynes, and Dick didn't even knock before bursting in.

"JASON PETER—"

"Shhh!" You hissed from the hospital bed, and Dick stopped dead.

Because there you were, looking exhausted and beautiful and very much holding a newborn baby. And there was Jason, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder, looking at Dick like he might actually murder him for being loud.

"She's sleeping," Jason said quietly, voice hard. "You wake her up, you leave."

Dick's mouth opened and closed several times. Tim pushed past him, staring.

"You have a baby," Tim said, like he was testing the words. "You—Jason—you have an actual human baby."

"Yeah, Tim. That's generally what happens when—"

"When were you going to TELL US?!" Dick's voice rose again, and the baby—Catherine—stirred slightly. Jason's glare could have melted steel.

"I'm telling you now."

"The baby is already BORN, Jason! That's not telling us, that's INFORMING us after the fact!"

"Can we not do this here?" You said tiredly, adjusting the baby in your arms. "I just gave birth. I'm exhausted. Can the family drama wait?"

That seemed to remind everyone that you existed. Dick immediately looked guilty.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm Dick. We—I guess we haven't met?" He looked at Jason accusingly. "Because SOMEONE didn't tell us he had a girlfriend."

"Wife," Jason corrected, and held up his left hand where a simple gold band sat.

The room went dead silent.

"WIFE?!" Dick's voice cracked.

"Oh my god," Steph breathed. "Oh my god, Jason secret married someone AND had a baby and didn't tell anyone?"

"I'm telling you now," Jason repeated, maddeningly calm.

"THE BABY IS ALREADY BORN—"

"Dick, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Tim said, though he looked pretty close to one himself. "Jason. Buddy. When did you get married?"

"Eight months ago."

"EIGHT—" Dick caught himself, lowered his voice. "Eight months. You've been married for eight months."

"Technically nine, but who's counting."

"I'M COUNTING! I'M VERY MUCH COUNTING!"

Cass had moved closer to the bed, studying the baby with soft eyes. "She's beautiful," she said quietly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," you said, relieved that at least one person was being normal about this. "Would you like to hold her?"

Cass nodded, and you carefully transferred the tiny bundle into her arms. She held Catherine like she was made of glass, a small smile on her face.

"I can't believe you kept this secret," Tim was saying. "For nine months. How did we not notice?"

"Because I didn't want you to notice." Jason's hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "We wanted to do this privately. Without the whole family hovering and interfering and making it about the mission."

"But we're your family," Dick said, and he sounded hurt now rather than angry. "We should have been there for you. For both of you."

"You're here now," you said gently. "That's what matters."

The door opened again, and Bruce walked in with Damian. Both of them stopped, taking in the scene—Cass holding a baby, you in the hospital bed, Jason looking defiant and protective.

"Jason," Bruce said carefully. "Is that—"

"My daughter. Catherine. She was born this morning at 6:47 AM. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy." Jason stood up, moving to stand between his family and the bed like a guard. "And before you start, yes, I'm married. No, you didn't know. Yes, I kept it secret on purpose. Any questions?"

Bruce looked at you, then at the baby in Cass's arms, then back at Jason. Something complicated crossed his face—hurt, maybe, but also understanding.

"Congratulations," he said finally. "To both of you."

"That's it?" Damian said incredulously. "He keeps a wife and child secret for months and you're just—congratulating him?"

"What would you have me do?"

"I don't know, express some concern that Todd hid something this significant? Demand an explanation?"

"I think," Bruce said quietly, watching Jason, "that he had his reasons. And that pushing will only make him more defensive."

Jason's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Her name is Catherine?" Bruce asked. "After—"

"After my mother. Yeah." Jason's voice was rough. "We—it felt right."

Bruce's expression softened completely. "It's a beautiful name."

Dick had moved closer now, looking at the baby in Cass's arms with wonder. "Can I—can I hold her?"

Jason looked at you. You nodded.

"Wash your hands first," Jason said. "And support her head. And be gentle—"

"I know how to hold a baby, Little Wing."

"This isn't just a baby. This is my baby."

Despite the tension, you smiled. Jason had been like this with the nurses too—hypervigilant, protective, determined to ensure everyone who touched Catherine did it correctly.

Dick held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which, to be fair, she kind of was. His eyes got suspiciously shiny.

"Hi Catherine," he whispered. "I'm your Uncle Dick. And I'm going to spoil you so much. I'm going to be the favorite uncle."

"You're going to have competition," Tim said, moving closer. "I'm bringing educational toys."

"I'm bringing weapons," Damian announced.

"You're not bringing our daughter weapons," Jason said flatly.

"She should learn self-defense early—"

"She's six hours old!"

Watching them, Bruce moved to your bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. Happy." You glanced at Jason, who was now arguing with Damian about appropriate gifts for infants. "A little overwhelmed by the sudden family invasion."

"I apologize for that. We're... enthusiastic." Bruce's lips quirked. "And Jason's right to have kept this private, even if it hurt some feelings. This is your family. You deserve to have it on your terms."

"Thank you." You hesitated. "I know he gave you all a shock. He wanted to tell you sooner, but—"

"He was protecting you. Protecting her." Bruce glanced at the baby, now being carefully transferred from Dick to Tim. "I understand. I might not like it, but I understand."

Steph had pulled up a chair next to your bed. "Okay, so I need details. How did you two meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? I need all the information Jason definitely won't give us."

You laughed. "We met at a bookstore. I was reaching for a book and he was reaching for the same one. Very cliché."

"Jason reads?" Duke looked skeptical.

"Jason reads constantly," you corrected. "He proposed three months after we started dating. It was pouring rain, we were walking home, and he just—asked. No ring, no plan, just 'marry me.'"

"And you said yes to that?" Steph asked.

"I said yes to him." You watched Jason, who was now showing Tim the correct way to support Catherine's head. "He's different than you probably see. Softer. More open. He didn't want to tell you because he was afraid of—"

"Of us ruining it," Dick finished quietly. "Of making it about the mission or Bruce or the family drama."

"He wanted something that was just his," you confirmed. "Just ours. And I understood that."

"But you're telling us now," Bruce observed.

"Because she's here. Because she's real. And because—" You smiled as Jason brought Catherine back to you. "—because she's going to be part of this family whether we planned it or not. Might as well make it official."

Jason settled on the bed beside you, and you leaned into him, exhausted and content. Catherine made a small noise, and both of you immediately focused on her, checking, adjusting, making sure she was okay.

"They're going to be so overprotective," Tim said to Dick.

"They're going to be nightmares," Dick agreed. "It's going to be amazing."

The first few weeks were chaos.

Not just the normal chaos of new parents learning to care for an infant, though there was plenty of that. But also the chaos of integrating a secret family into the existing Batfamily structure.

"I'm just saying," Dick said, holding Catherine while you tried to eat something, "you could have invited us to the wedding."

"It was at city hall. Three witnesses. Very small."

"I could have been a witness!"

"You would have cried."

"I—okay, yes, I would have cried. But that's beside the point!"

Jason took Catherine from Dick, checking her over like he hadn't just been holding her five minutes ago. "The point is we wanted it private. Can you let it go?"

"Never. I'm going to bring this up for years." But Dick was smiling. "She's beautiful though. Really. You guys did good."

You'd moved into Jason's safehouse—bigger than his apartment, more secure, better for a baby. The family had immediately tried to get you to move to the manor.

"We have space," Bruce had said. "Alfred could help. You wouldn't be alone—"

"That's exactly why we're not moving in," Jason had replied. "We need space. Boundaries. Time to figure this out ourselves."

But they visited. God, did they visit.

Dick came every other day, bringing gifts and volunteering to babysit. Tim brought books about infant development. Steph brought clothes. Duke brought a security system that was definitely overkill for a two-month-old. Damian brought a knife ("She needs to learn proper blade grip early") that Jason immediately confiscated.

Even Bruce visited, usually in the evening, sitting quietly and holding Catherine with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

"I wish I'd done more of this," he admitted one night, Catherine asleep against his chest. "With all of you. I was so focused on the mission, on keeping you safe, that I forgot to just... be present."

"You're present now," Jason said quietly. "That counts."

Alfred came weekly, bringing food and wisdom and an endless supply of patience for Jason's paranoid safety protocols.

"Master Jason, the baby does not need a panic room."

"She might."

"She is two months old."

"Dangers don't care about age, Alfred."

But the biggest adjustment was Gotham itself.

Because word had gotten out—not about Catherine specifically, but about Red Hood having a family. And that made you a target.

The first threat came when Catherine was six weeks old.

Jason found the note on the safehouse door: Nice family you have. Would be a shame if something happened to them.

You found him in the nursery at 2 AM, standing over Catherine's crib, guns out, looking ready to burn Gotham down.

"Jason," you said softly.

"I should kill them." His voice was flat. "Everyone who even thinks about touching her. I should end them before they become a problem."

"That's not who you are anymore."

"Maybe it should be. Maybe I've been too soft, too comfortable. Maybe I need to remind Gotham what happens when people threaten what's mine."

You moved to stand beside him, looking down at your sleeping daughter. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too. But we can't protect her by becoming the thing we're trying to protect her from."

"I can't lose her. I can't—" His voice cracked. "She's perfect. She's innocent. She deserves better than this city, this life, this constant threat—"

"She deserves you. Both of us. Loving her, protecting her, but also letting her live." You took his hand. "We'll keep her safe. Together. But we can't do it by locking her away or eliminating every possible threat. That's not living."

Jason pulled you both close—you and the crib, as if he could shield you from the world by sheer force of will.

"I've never been this scared," he admitted. "Even dying wasn't this scary. Because this—losing her—that would actually destroy me."

"Then we make sure it doesn't happen. We're careful. We're smart. We use all these overprotective family members who keep showing up. But we don't let fear control us."

He nodded against your shoulder. "Okay. Okay."

But he still put extra security on the windows. And tracked your phone. And made Dick promise to be on call 24/7 in case something happened.

Some battles, you knew, you weren't going to win.

Catherine's first real family gathering happened at three months old.

Alfred had insisted. "Master Jason, she is part of this family. She should be introduced properly."

"She's three months old. She can't even hold her head up fully. What's she going to do at a family dinner?"

"Be adorable. Steal everyone's hearts. Allow her grandfather to dote on her properly." Alfred's expression was gentle but firm. "She belongs here. As do you and your wife."

So you'd agreed. One dinner. At the manor. With the whole family.

You were already regretting it.

"Remember," Jason said as you pulled up to the manor, Catherine in her car seat. "We can leave at any time. You say the word, we're gone."

"Jason, it's dinner with your family, not a hostage situation."

"Have you met my family?"

Fair point.

Alfred greeted you at the door, and his face absolutely lit up when he saw Catherine.

"Miss Catherine," he said softly. "How wonderful to finally have you home."

"We're just visiting, Alfred," Jason said.

"Of course, Master Jason. Visiting." But his smile suggested he had other ideas.

The family was already gathered in the dining room. Dick shot up the moment you entered.

"Baby!" He announced. "The baby is here!"

"Yes, thank you for that announcement," Jason said dryly. "I'm sure she appreciates being announced like a visiting dignitary."

But he carefully extracted Catherine from her carrier, and you watched as your normally tough, dangerous husband transformed into a gentle, protective father, cradling her like she was made of glass.

"Who wants to hold her first?" Jason asked, though his tone suggested he'd rather no one hold her at all.

"Me!" Dick, Tim, and Steph said simultaneously.

"Oldest gets priority," Dick argued.

"That's not a real rule—"

"I called it first—"

"Children," Bruce interrupted. "Perhaps we should let her parents decide."

Jason looked at you. You looked at the eager faces around the table.

"Dick," you decided. "But everyone gets a turn."

Dick looked like he'd won the lottery. Jason carefully transferred Catherine into his arms, hovering anxiously.

"I've got her," Dick promised. "Hi sweetheart. Hi beautiful girl. Uncle Dick missed you."

"You saw her three days ago," Jason pointed out.

"That's basically a lifetime at this age. She's probably grown since then. Developed new skills. Changed completely."

"She's three months old, not a Pokémon."

But watching Dick with Catherine, seeing the absolute adoration on his face, you understood why Jason had been scared to share this. Because this was his family now—not just his brothers and father, but his daughter. And letting them in meant risking them getting hurt, or her getting hurt, or everything falling apart.

It meant vulnerability he'd never allowed himself before.

Catherine got passed around the table like a very precious football. Tim held her while reciting developmental milestones. Steph cooed and took approximately a thousand photos. Duke was surprisingly natural with her. Even Damian held her, though he looked terrified the entire time.

"She's quite small," he observed.

"She's a baby," Jason said. "They're generally small."

"I was larger."

"You were also raised by assassins. Different standards."

Cass held Catherine the longest, just sitting quietly with her, and Catherine—who'd been fussing slightly with everyone else—immediately calmed.

"She likes you," you observed.

Cass smiled. "I like her."

Finally, Bruce held her. And watching Batman—the Dark Knight, the terror of Gotham's underworld—holding your infant daughter with such infinite gentleness made you understand exactly where Jason got his protective instincts from.

"She has your eyes," Bruce said to Jason. "And your stubborn expression."

"She's three months old. She doesn't have expressions yet."

"She's scowling at me right now. That's definitely your scowl."

Despite himself, Jason smiled.

Dinner was surprisingly normal. Catherine slept through most of it in your arms, occasionally waking to look around with unfocused baby eyes before drifting back off.

"So," Tim said carefully. "Are you guys... okay? Financially, I mean. Babies are expensive."

"We're fine," Jason said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was over.

"Because if you need anything—"

"We're. Fine."

"Jason," you said gently. "They're trying to help."

"I don't need help. I can provide for my family."

"No one's saying you can't," Bruce interjected. "But there's no shame in accepting support. That's what family does."

Jason's jaw was tight, but he nodded stiffly.

"I've set up a college fund," Bruce continued. "For Catherine. It's already established, you can't refuse it, it's done."

"Bruce—"

"You can be stubborn about everything else. But let me do this. Please."

Jason looked at Catherine, sleeping peacefully against your chest, and something in his expression softened.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"And I've prepared a nursery here," Alfred added. "For when you visit. Or if you need somewhere safe to stay."

"We have a safe house—"

"With respect, Master Jason, a manor full of vigilantes is considerably safer than any safe house." Alfred's expression was gentle. "I'm not asking you to move in. I'm simply ensuring you have options."

Jason looked overwhelmed. You squeezed his hand under the table.

"Thank you, Alfred," you said. "That's very kind."

As the evening wound down, you found yourself in the library with Bruce while Jason was changing Catherine.

"Thank you," you said. "For being patient with him. I know the secrecy hurt."

"He was protecting what matters most. I can't fault him for that." Bruce looked at you carefully. "Are you happy?"

"Very. Even with the chaos and the threats and the constant fear. Yes."

"Good. He deserves happiness. More than he believes he does." Bruce paused. "If you ever need anything—not just money or resources, but support, advice, someone to call at 3 AM when you're overwhelmed—you have family now. All of us."

Your throat was tight. "Thank you."

Jason appeared in the doorway, Catherine against his shoulder. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, standing. Bruce walked you both to the door.

"Come back soon," he said. "Please."

"We will," you promised.

In the car, Jason was quiet. You let him process, knowing he needed time.

Finally, he said: "That wasn't terrible."

You laughed. "High praise."

"They love her. All of them."

"Of course they do. She's perfect."

"She is, isn't she?" Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Catherine's car seat. "I still don't want to move into the manor."

"I know."

"But maybe... maybe we could visit more. Let her know them. Let them be part of her life."

"I think that's a good idea."

"I'm still installing more security at the safe house."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

He reached over, took your hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this. For her. For understanding why I kept it secret and not being angry about it. For being patient with my paranoid bullshit. For—" His voice roughened. "For everything."

You lifted his hand to your lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "We're a family now. That's what family does."

"Yeah," Jason said softly, looking at Catherine sleeping peacefully in her car seat. "Yeah, we are."

And for the first time since Catherine was born, you saw him truly relax. Saw him believe that maybe—just maybe—this could actually work.

Secret or not, hidden or revealed, they were his family.

All of them.

And that was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.

The second photo Jason sent to the family group chat showed Catherine at nine months, sitting up on her own, grinning at the camera with two tiny teeth visible.

JASON: She said "Dada" this morning.

The responses came immediately.

DICK: AHHHHHHHHHH TIM: That's developmentally appropriate for her age STEPH: I'M CRYING DUKE: That's adorable DAMIAN: Acceptable first word BRUCE: I'm very proud of her. (And of you.) DICK: When can I teach her to say "Uncle Dick"??? JASON: Never. She's never learning that. DICK: You can't stop the inevitable, Little Wing JASON: Watch me

You looked over Jason's shoulder at his phone, Catherine on your hip babbling happily.

"They're never going to leave us alone now," you observed.

"Probably not."

"You okay with that?"

Jason looked at Catherine, who was reaching for his phone with grabby baby hands. He let her take it, watching as she immediately tried to put it in her mouth.

"Yeah," he said, catching her before she could succeed. "I think I am."

And that, more than anything, told you just how far he'd come.

From secret-keeper to sharing.

From isolated to family.

From protected to protecting.

It was beautiful to watch.

Even if it did mean dealing with Dick stopping by every other day.

#drabble.ᐟ ⸝⸝ dadbod!jason ⸝⸝ fluff ⸝⸝ body praise ⸝⸝ sfw .

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The couch dips under Jason's weight, and he's already reaching for you before he's even fully settled. It's unconscious and routine at this point—the way his arm finds the back of the couch behind your shoulders, the way his thick, muscular thigh presses against yours like he's making sure you're still there.

You are. You've been here for an hour, pretending to read, mostly just watching him doze. As if you’d miss out on a chance to dote on him when he’s like this.

His head tips back against the cushion. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. The line of his jaw is soft like this, unguarded in a way he'd hate if he caught you looking. His henley has ridden up just enough to expose a strip of skin above his waistline. Not muscle there—well, not all of its muscle at least. There’s something softer. Something that shifts when he breathes.

You close your book. You’ve been on the same line for maybe ten or fifteen minutes now and you don’t even remember to put a bookmark in. Too entranced by how hot your boyfriend looks all comfortable like this.

"Jay."

Nothing.

You poke his side. His eyes crack open, bleary and suspicious as he groggily eyes you.

"Mm… what."

"You're comfortable," you say.

"That's not a crime."

"No." You turn onto your side, facing him fully. Your hand lands on his stomach before you think about it. Palm flat and fingers spread. The fabric is warm from his body heat, and underneath it, there's the sexiest pudge you’ve ever seen on a man. A soft layer that yields to your touch before meeting the solid wall of what he used to be beneath.

Jason looks down at your hand. Then up at you. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing."

"The thing where you look at me like I'm a stray dog you found in an alley."

"A very handsome stray dog."

He snorts. It's not an attractive sound. You love it.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, but he doesn't move your hand. Doesn't even pull away. If anything, his stomach rises a little more against your palm as he takes in a a deeper breath, deliberate or not. It’s a soft sigh. One that tells you what his words won’t. He loves being here.

"You have a belly," you tell him.

Jason blinks. "I have—okay. Sure. Thank you for that." He rolls his eyes, throwing a beefy arm over his eyes.

"It's not an insult." You trace a slow circle around his navel through the shirt before reaching out to pull his arm off his eyes. It’s heavy. Big. Just like everything else about him. His abdominal muscles twitch underneath, instinctive, but the softness stays. That's what gets you. The way he's still undeniably him—broad, strong, capable of breaking things without so much as trying—but there's this now. This evidence of rest. Of takeout eaten on weeknights. Of sleeping through alarms. Of a normal life where he’s not running himself into the damn ground every single hour of every single day.

"I like it," you say with that cheeky smile of yours.

"You like—" He stops. Rubs a hand over his face. "It's just weight. I've been eating like garbage and I haven't been running as much. It's not—that's not a thing you like. It's just a thing that is."

You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. He freezes. You kiss his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver every time. Every damn time. A weak spot, if you will.

"Liking it," you murmur against his skin.

Jason exhales. Slow. A little shaky at the end because—sure, he’s used to this—but it still gets him hot. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer. He just holds you there, fingers gently brushing the nape. Like he's trying to steady himself.

"You're weird," he says quietly.

"You've mentioned."

"Yeah, well." His thumb continues to brush the baby hairs at your nape. "It bears repeating."

You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed—not from embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to disbelief. Like he's waiting for you to reveal the punchline.

You don't have one. He should know this already.

You push his henley up, just a few inches. His stomach tenses on instinct, but you shush him like you're calming a spooked animal, and he lets you, because fuck it, right? He secretly loves the attention anyway. The skin underneath is pale, a roadmap of old scars, and softer than anywhere else on him. You press your lips to the spot just above his waistband.

Jason makes a sound. Not a word. Just a breath punched out of him. A little bit of a groan maybe. Why must you torture him so?

"You're so warm," you say.

"That's—" He clears his throat because if he doesn’t, his voice will definitely crack in a way he would rather it not. "That's generally how bodies work."

"Yours is special."

"It's really not."

You kiss his stomach again. Then again, an inch to the left. Then right where the softest part gives way to muscle underneath. Jason’s not fat—never has been, never really could be with the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his body remembers things yours doesn't. Like years of brutal training and patrol and other shit he had to do, being Red Hood and all. But there's padding now. A layer of proof that he gets to sit down. That he stays. That he isn't running himself ragged every single night.

Jason's hand tightens on your neck. Just a little bit. He’s careful not to crush it—and he definitely could.

"You're gonna give me a complex," he sighs, peeking at you from the corner of his eyes.

"Good. It'll match the others."

That earns a laugh. It's rough, startled out of him, and his stomach jumps under your lips. You smile against his skin and chuckle.

"I'm serious," you say, propping your chin on his belly so you can look up at him. You’re lying in between his legs and even though the position’s pretty compromising when you’re pressed up against him like that. His eyes are soft. His mouth is doing something unreadable, somewhere between a smirk and something a little more fragile. "I love this. I love you. Every part."

Jason stares at you for a long moment. Then he hauls you up by your armpits like you weigh nothing—because to him, you basically do—and places you against his side, sandwiched between him and the back of the couch, with his arm around your shoulders.

"You're annoying," he says, lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your shampoo like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Old habits from when he wasn’t sure if he’d be coming home. But he’s got you forever now.

"You love it anyway." You give his side a squeeze and he groans, grabbing your hand, then your wrist and forces your arm around his waist instead.

"I guess," he agrees quietly.

His hand then drops yours and finds your hip. His thumb rubs back and forth over the bone. His stomach rises and falls against your ribs, soft and warm and alive, and you press your face into his shoulder so he doesn't see you smile too wide.

He knows. He pretends not to notice anyway.

You stay there until the light shifts and the room goes dark, and neither of you moves to turn on a lamp. Too lazy. Too comfortable. And probably asleep by now.