Eppy

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

“Baby,” you call out quietly.

Your boyfriend, who’s seated right next to you, hums at the nickname. It’s his way of telling you that he’s all ears for you, without removing his eyes from the monitor.

“Are you busy?”

His fingers hesitate on the keyboard, weighing the answer before finally deciding on, “A bit.”

Your eyes sparkle in your mirror before dropping the question that always makes him fold, “too busy for me?”

And like clockwork, his fingers pause indefinitely and rest on the keys before turning to you.  There’s a slight upcurve of his lips, with a tease lingering in his eyes when he narrows them playfully at you.

“You know the answer to that.”

You did. It was always never.

It’s almost funny, you would’ve never imagined that Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had separation anxiety. From the beginning of your relationship, he was the most avoidant guy you’d ever gone out with. He’d say it was fine if you couldn’t see him for a week, or went a full day without talking, or hell even going to bed before saying goodnight.

He wasn’t good at letting himself want things- not truly anyway. Then after a few months and you both got more serious, it was like a light switch flickered on.

He rarely wanted to be apart from you. He’d be with you every opportunity he could. It didn’t always have to be a date, you guys didn’t even have to talk. It was just comforting to know that you were somewhere near him, choosing to exist with him.

It was actually so serious, that when he started organizing the apartment for you to move in, he made room next to his desk for your vanity. While he would spend hours on his computer working on files or looking over spreadsheets for WE, you would spend hours testing new makeup looks. This was just another way for him to coexist with you- a parallel play of sorts.

 When you both visited the manor last week, Selina gifted you a brand new lipstick collection someone sent her in the mail. After her wedding to the most eligible bachelor in Gotham, brands began to send her thousands of packages of PR.

She knew realistically, she wasn’t going to use it all. So, most of the packages ended up donated to woman’s shelters or regifted to some of the bats or bat-adjacent people, like you.

Now, after weeks of putting it off, you finally got to cleaning your vanity. While taking in your work, you began eyeing the new collection from where it rested in front of you for a few minutes; debating what to do with it when the idea hit you.

“Well, Selina gave me these lipsticks when we were at the manor last week,” you start off the pitch and he raises an eyebrow, amused.

“I remember,” he removes his hands from the keyboards. Pushing off the desk, he crosses his arms over his chest turning all his attention to you.

“And I was thinking, how on earth could I test all of these and see what I think of each shade?” opening the drawer to your left without looking away from him, you retrieve the small packet of makeup wipes from it and place it on his desk.

His eyes shoot to it for a second before turning back to you. “I don’t know darling, how do you plan on doing all that?”

A big toothy smile creeps onto your face and he mirrors it. He knew what you were planning, but it was always fun to watch him play along when you got in your moods.

“Well I just remembered,” leaning over, you drag his chair to right in front of you, “I have the perfect canvas right here.”

He laughs, it’s not loud and it doesn’t fill the room, but it fills your heart. It’s a quiet thing that eases every discomfort you’ve had through the day. This little laugh is him unguarded, it’s him giving you a part of him he doesn’t give anyone else.

There’s a small shake of his head, before he picks you up and sits you on top of him. Your legs are straddling his and a small giggle escapes you when he places a hand on your back. Leaning forward to grab the box filled with thirty different lip sticks, he moves them to his desk.

“Come on Ms. Arteest, make me beautiful.”

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. He’s relaxed back on his chair ready for you to attack him with different shades of red, pink, and mauve.

Opening the first one, you twist the bottom to apply it on your lips, and he springs into action. Carefully taking it from your hands, he whispers a quiet domestic “let me,” before applying it for you.

And that- well that, has your face burning to a red that rivals your lips. Tim was always an acts of service guy, so this wasn’t particularly new, but it was still sweet. It winded you sometimes because it always came from nowhere. It was out of the blue when you least expected it, he would jump at little things.

His eyebrows furrow together with a barely there wrinkle between them when he focuses, making sure to apply it on your lips just right.

Pulling back to admire his work, no amount of strength from you biting your cheeks could hold back the smile.

You place the first kiss on his cheek and back away, admiring the first of many. Then Tim reaches behind you and picks up a makeup wipe from your pack to clean the shade off for you, and the process repeats.

You filled his right cheek, then his left, then pinned back his hair to paint his forehead, then his neck. And when you ran out of room, you pulled over his shirt and continued going down. Giggles echoed in the vents of the apartment you shared, and Tim thought he could die happy in this chair looking up at you.

When you got to the last shade, you dropped the kiss right above his heart. His face was pink for an entirely different reason now.

Without saying anything, he holds you close to him and stands up. Your legs wrap around his waist with a yelp. He moves to look at both of you in the mirror and grins.

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look this happy before. In your reflections, you don’t see the mastermind vigilante Red Robin. You don’t see the boy who held the world on his shoulders. No, you see your boyfriend. You see the man who always shows up for you, the man who didn’t think he was ever going to be loved, and the man who adored you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“What do you think?” your voice is breathless while making eye contact with him through the mirror.

“I think,” his face has still has the ghost of all your laughs lingering in his cheeks and you would treasure this sight forever, “I think that this one,” he points to the bright red stain on the center of his forehead, “is my favorite.”

Then he turns away from the mirror and starts making his way across the apartment, peppering your face and neck with kisses of his own. Sounds of Joy filling the hallways as you give yourselves a break from the world.

Arriving to the bedroom, he drops both of you on the bed. Caging you under him with his arms, he has a wicked smile before whispering above your mouth,

“Now it’s my turn.”

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.

“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—” 

Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident. 

“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.

You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done. 

You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.

He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”

“Dick.”

He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes.

He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.

You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”

Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”

You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically. 

Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.

“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”

Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”

Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”

A deadpan from Tim. 

“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”

Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”

Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”

Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?” 

“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.

“Oh my God.”

He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?

He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.

The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”

The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”

Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.” 

Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”

Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can’t help you.”

Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.

Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”

“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”

Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”

Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom. 

You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.

“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you. 

Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back. 

You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”

“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”

He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you. 

You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”

The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature. 

He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.

“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”

You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”

He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.

He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”

You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.

Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt. 

“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following. 

“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”

He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”

He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”

You nod, happy to ease his mind. 

You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.

You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.

You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.

He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.

“Fucking idiot—”

You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.

“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”

He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.

You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him. 

He scoffs, “It better have been.”

You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”

“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”

You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”

“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly. 

You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”

His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”

You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”

He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”

He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.

“Dick!”

The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.

He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes. 

“Where is he?”

Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding. 

Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.

He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”

But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.

He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.

There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail. 

“Really? Really?” Jason shouts. 

“It was an accident! It was a fucking—” 

He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.

“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”

Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.

Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”

Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”

He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him. 

Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”

Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option. 

“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring. 

Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to. 

“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—” 

Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”

“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”

Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”

 “Yeah, of course I did!”

For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body. 

The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.

It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more. 

“Jason.”

Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption. 

You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.

He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.

“I didn’t hit him.”

Dick Grayson:

You thought you were being slick, taking your hand off the back of Dick’s neck and inching it towards the nightstand. 

Dick stills inside of you, tilting his head at you in confusion. There’s a goofy smile on his face. “What’s up?”

You blink at him, wiping a hand over your sweat-slicked forehead. “I need water,” you smile sheepishly. 

He chuckles, grabbing the comically large water bottle he keeps on his nightstand and flicking out the straw. You prop yourself up on your elbows, Dick holding up the bottle to your lips. 

You sip on it, the water instantly cooling you down and fixing the dry ache on your tongue. 

“Good?” He asks and when you nod, he puts it to his own mouth and chugs about half the bottle in one go. 

You watch him chug it, his throat bobbing and water glistening on the corners of his mouth. His own hair is sweaty, stuck to his head and dangling over his forehead. 

You reach up and swipe a strand away. Dick puts the water bottle back down, letting his body sandwich you against the mattress again. 

“You know,” he mumbles in your ear, “I didn’t realize I tire you out so much you needed a water break.” 

You smack his bicep. “Shut up.”

He rolls his hips into yours, a smirk on his face. “Are you sure you want to have an attitude right now?”

You swallow, shaking your head. 

Jason Todd:

Jason’s off you the minute the word slips from your lips, pulling himself back with his hands raised in surrender. His lips are parted slightly, dark brows furrowed in concern as he analyzes your body. Your legs are shaking, face twisted in pain.

“Everything okay? What’s going on?”

Oh god. He hurt you, he was too rough and he hurt you and you’re in pain and you’re never going to trust him again and—

You arch your back on the bed, twisting and stretching your limbs. “Leg cramp.”

He blinks. “Leg…cramp?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling a knee to your chest. 

The hammering in Jason’s chest stills, his face blank in that way it gets when he’s not sure what to think. 

“Jay?” You cock your head to the side, looking at him through your lashes, “you alright?”

“I thought,” he frowns, “I thought you were hurt, or something.”

You laugh, pressing a hand to his cheek and leaning in for a kiss. You ghost your lips over his, smiling into him, “you think too much.”

He cups the back of your neck, laying you back down on the bed. “Maybe, wanna help me with that?”

“Gladly.”

Wally West:

“Wally.”

The redhead hums, head sunk low in the dip between your shoulder and neck, giving no indication of stopping. You shove at his shoulder. 

“Wally!”

He pulls away, eyes glassy and pupils blown, hair a total mess. He blinks, “sorry, fuck, is everything alright?”

“I think…I just started my period.”

“Okay,” he says, pursing his lips and leaning back in to kiss your neck again. 

“Wally—I’m gonna stain your sheets.”

He shrugs. “So? I’m not scared of a little blood.”

“I’m gonna make a mess.”

“It’s just blood,” he repeats.

“But—“

He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together. “Look, doll. If you’re in pain or you don’t want to keep going, say the word. But if you’re stopping because of me, cause you think I’ll be grossed out or something, don’t.”

You sigh, falling back into the sheets and tentatively parting your legs. “You swear its fine?”

Wally grins ear to ear. “Swear on my sheets.”

Hal Jordan:

Hal stares at you blankly when you pull away from him with a wince, rubbing the side of your head. One minute, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, your hands on his chest and head against his shoulder while he thrusted into you.

“What’s up?” He asks, still breathless.

You point to his hand, specifically the ring sitting on one of his wide fingers. In it rests a small chunk of your hair, strands splayed out every which-way. Hal holds it in front of his eyes, eyebrows shooting up as he realizes what happened.

“Is that?”

You nod, “my hair? Mhm.”

He smiles sheepishly, plucking it out from where it’s gotten caught on the band and discarding it over the side of the bed. “Jesus,” he shakes his head.

“Yeah,” you frown, scrunching your nose. “Hurt like a bitch.”

“Aw,” he teases, a huge grin on his face, “need me to kiss it better?”

And to his surprise and delight, you nod, leaning your head in so Hal can run his lips over your temple. He catches you in his arms then, pulling you back into his chest.

dc masterlist | navigation

Those beautiful green eyes that you fawned over every single day were blown wide and were stuck on your form and all the color had drained from his face.

Genuine fear began gripping your heart as you hurriedly flew to your feet, crossing the distance until you stood right in front of your boyfriend, hands reaching up to gently cup his face, “Baby? What is it? You’re scaring me.”

That admission seemed to be enough to finally snap Jason out of whatever trance he had been sent into the second he breached the entrance of your bedroom. The horror that had been written all over his features seeped into his tone when he sputtered out the question, “What is that?”

You paused, tearing your eyes away from his just to quickly glance around the room to see if anything was askew. It wasn’t. In fact, you had barely moved from the bed since Jason left you with a lingering kiss and the promise to return soon a few hours prior. You had been too wrapped up in your reading to do much else.

“What’s… what, Jay?” You hadn’t a single clue as to what he was referring to, but you knew that you wanted to soothe whatever it was that was bothering him. You wanted to fix it even though you didn’t know what it was.

“That!” He spit out the word with such disgust that you would have recoiled had you not known that the exclamation wasn’t directed towards you- not really. His outbursts never were.

He reached out and gently, but firmly, tugged at the sweatshirt that practically drowned your form.

You glanced down, and understanding finally overtook your expression, and you had to swiftly press your lips into a thin line to keep yourself from smiling- or worse, laughing.

In this specific situation, you highly doubted that your boyfriend would appreciate the gesture.

A Nightwing hoodie about two sizes too big clad your form alongside old sweatpants that belonged to Jason once upon a time, but you had long since claimed as your own. And because you doubted he was acting personally offended by the pants he had accepted months ago he was never getting back, you had to desperately fight off the laughter that threatened to bubble up to the surface.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you,” That much was clear, “Dick dropped it off for me yesterday.”

Jason physically stiffened at the mention of his older brother, eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion as to what the man was playing at. If there was one thing Grayson was known for, it was for finding any way possible to mess with his Little Wing.

“And, what? He paid you to wear it and record my reaction?” He immediately began whipping his head from side to side, practically seething by this point, “Where are the camera’s, sweetheart?”

The tone in which he asked informed you that he was already plotting to break any recording device he found, smash it up into little pieces, and deliver them to Dick in a box with a bow and deliver a fist to the face for the man.

This time, you couldn’t stop the laughter from slipping out, shaking your body slightly. Jason’s eyes snapped to you at the sound, forever a moth to the flame when it came to your joy.

It was only then that his eyes softened around the edges, your giggles had that effect on him.

“Baby,” He whined, stretching out the pet name as he did so, “Why are you wearing a stupid Nightwing hoodie?”

Another round of soft laughter escaped from your lips as you raised your hands to his face once more, thumb brushing gently against his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes involuntarily fluttering as they always did.

“Dick felt bad about missing my birthday last week because he was away on a mission, so I think he picked this up off a street vendor and it was the only size they had left and he dropped it off at the apartment yesterday while you were gone. It completely slipped my mind, which is why I didn’t mention it. I washed it last night and it was so warm after I threw it into the dryer this morning that I put it on without thinking about it, so I could be comfy while I read.” You explained calmly, heart rate returned to its normal pace now that you discovered that nothing was truly the matter.

Jason’s tense muscles finally loosened- though only slightly- and he now took to glaring at the fabric again like it was a threat to him and his standing as your sweet, lovable boyfriend.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything more, the man began grumbling incoherently under his breath, though you swore you could catch words such as ‘kick his ass’ and ‘Dickhead is in for a surprise’. You really did pity whoever was in the same vicinity as the vigilante brothers on patrol tonight.

Without warning, the hoodie was tugged over your head, and you let out a gasp when you were left standing in nothing but a sports bra and Jason’s sweats, “Hey-” You exclaimed, only for every other word to escape your vocabulary as your boyfriend tossed the clothing into the nearest trash bin you had.

A soft frown overtook your features, “That was a gift-” You tried to protest, but once more cut yourself off when you watched with wide eyes as your boyfriend tugged his own hoodie over his head without any thought.

It wasn’t anything special, just an old, plain black one that he wore around every once and a while, and he quickly slipped it over your head before you could blink.

“There,” He took a small step backwards and planted his hands on his hips, eyes sweeping up and down your body appreciatively, “Much better.”

Your lips parted as you looked down at yourself, now dressed head to toe in your boyfriend's clothing. After a moment you closed your eyes and shook your head, chuckling softly to yourself before pointing to your boyfriend teasingly, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” He spoke with the cheesiest smile on his face, stepping forwards and dropping his hands to your hips and a kiss to your forehead, eyes alight, “You look so hot like this, sweetheart.”

That prompted yet another laugh and grin from you, reaching up to wrap your arms loosely around his neck, “I’m in oversized clothes.” You deadpanned, “And my hair is a complete mess.”

“Sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” Jason confirmed with complete seriousness, capturing your lips softly against his own and smiling against them.

After a moment, you pulled away and smiled adoringly up at him, “I’m not going to let you throw that away, you know.”

He nodded, “That’s why I’m planning on burning it.”

You threw your head back with a laugh, gently hitting your boyfriend's chest, “Jason!”

you were just humming in the kitchen, washing up the big ol’ pile of dishes in the sink. jason wanted to help, but you said no, really because he wasn't super great at it, but hey, you liked that he put in the effort.

your pyjamas were all soft and snug on your skin, thanks to jason throwing them in the dryer before you changed. but you had this sneaky feeling he picked out the tiniest ones on purpose.

the wooden scrubber in your hand was on its last legs, and that garlic parmesan from dinner wasn't helping much. you were scrapping extra hard, making sure there wasn't a crumb left behind.

you finished the dishes with a relieved sigh, drying up your hands on the towel by the sink before you dimmed the amber lights of the kitchen.

after, you grabbed a few matches from the little drawer near the fridge along with a stick of your favorite incense. your steps padded softly towards the dining table. the freshly mopped floors felt cool against your feet.

you set the little stick on the holder and lit it up, quickly blowing on it so the smoke could fill the apartment with its scent. taking a slow exhale, you paused to appreciate the quietness.

jason had left for patrol a little while ago, or so you thought, and you settled into that soft solitude that crept in when he wasn't around. it was nice not to have a two-hundred-pound guy taking up half the space. for the most part.

you decided to head to the living room to clean up the mess from the board games you two played earlier. you’d rather get it done sooner than later, knowing you wouldn't want to get up and clean after getting into bed.

then suddenly, his voice broke the quiet.

“did i do something wrong?”

“sweet baby jesus!” you gasped, hand flying to your chest, your breath heavy as you looked at him through wide eyes.

“what is wrong with you?" you asked, trying to calm your racing heart. he looked kind of intimidating, just a shadow in the corner, barely lit, but you recognized that little pout of his from a mile away. “what do you want, jace?”

“you didn’t say goodbye,” he said, stepping into the light, his frown small but there. he was just standing by the window where he usually went out for patrol, helmet held under his arm, just waiting there so still that it threw you off.

“what are you talking about? i said bye,” you replied, finally letting your hand drop from your chest and mussing your hair.

“nuh uh.”

you lifted your gaze to him, a frown tugging at your eyebrows. “oh yes huh,” you shot back.

“nuh uh.”

“yes huh!”

“nuh uh!” he exclaimed, raising his voice, his fingers clenching into a fist.

you raised an eyebrow, your hand resting on your hip. “is that an attitude i hear?” you asked, taking slow steps towards him. you noticed how his jaw was all tight and his eyes were full of uncertainty.

you watched him bite his lip, words struggling to form. his hands curled into fists, relaxed, then curled again until his helmet slipped from under his arm and clattered onto the floor.

“jason?”

he stared at the wall behind you before mumbling, “you didn’t kiss me goodbye.”

you blinked at him. “excuse me?” that seemed to flip a switch in him. he turned to you, looking worried.

“are you mad at me? what did i do?” he whispered, his hand reaching out to rest on your waist, his fingers curling around it perfectly.

you sighed, your hands momentarily covering your cheeks. you couldn't believe he was serious. “you think I’m mad... because i didn’t give you a goodbye kiss?” you asked slowly, wondering if he was just teasing.

he nodded, his bottom lip poking out a bit as he squeezed your waist for comfort. you rolled your eyes and smacked his hand away.

“you are mad!” he accused.

“am not!” you huffed, “you’re just being silly, and now you’ve lost patrol time!”

“okay, but what if i get hurt without my good luck kiss?” he countered, placing his hand back on your waist while snaking the other around you, completely capturing you against his muscles.

“you are ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, looking up into his expectant yet pleading eyes. “if i kiss you, will you go?”

he nodded eagerly.

“ugh, fine, but only because i want you to leave,” you said, leaning in for a quick peck on his lips. but that plan went awry as he leaned in for another kiss... and another... and another.

“jason, goddammit, jason!” you said, struggling to squirm away from his grip. his stubble was scratching against your skin, and you could already see your skin breaking out the next morning.

he kept launching his little smooch attack until you felt like a total glob in his arms. your expression blank as his lips planted kisses everywhere, from your chin to your hairline.

after one last big smooch and a loud “mwah,” he finally released you, flashing a toothy grin while you shot him your best annoyed look.

“you leaving now?” you mumbled, glancing at him as he nodded, turning back to the window, gripping the edge, and wiggling a bit before jumping out.

you sighed at the absurdity of it all. “you forgot your helmet!” you said, crouching down to grab the red thing and tossing it out the window. “fucking loser,” you muttered.

“hey!” you heard him yell from outside, but you weren’t sure if he was offended about his helmet getting tossed or if it was because you called him a loser... which he was.

after a few seconds, you took a deep breath in and let it out. finally, he was gone.

you turned around and got back into your rhythm, bending down to pick up the dice and all the scattered uno cards left on the coffee table. you even found one tucked under the couch...where jason conveniently sat before he somehow won. suspicious.

you carefully stacked all the cards into a neat little deck, using one of your hair ties to keep them together before putting them on the bottom shelf and moving on to the dice, placing them inside a wine glass that decorated the tabletop.

with a grunt, you got back up and put your hands on your hips, glancing around the apartment. it was a bit messy, but good enough for you. plus, it was late, and your phone was probably getting paranoid about how long you’d been away from it.

you wandered into your shared bedroom and collapsed onto the bed that sat in the middle of the room.

his cologne still clung to the sheets from when he'd gotten dressed, and you couldn't help but wrap yourself up in a burrito while you dug for your phone beneath the pillows.

"five minutes," that's what you told yourself. just five minutes on social media before you went to sleep. but then five turned into ten, ten into thirty, and before you knew it, you heard the sound of jason climbing back through the bedroom window.

the sound of his kevlar suit echoed as he moved closer to the bed. you heard the soft hiss as he took off the helmet and felt the way the mattress sunk as he placed it near your feet.

you waited for him to climb in, one minute, two minutes... two and a half. until you turned around, looking at him over your shoulder

“dude, are you getting in?” you asked, eyeing him up and down to make sure he wasn’t hurt before you started to scold him. he looked fine, a few scratches here and there, but overall, he was okay. good.

he didn’t say anything, though, and you rolled your eyes. his gaze was locked on you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the blue light from your phone made your eyes shine and defined the slope of your nose.

“i’m not dealing with another one of your tantrums,” you muttered under your breath as you turned back to your mukbangs of the most beautiful desserts in LA.

another half a minute went by, and you grunted as you glanced back at him. you knew what he wanted, of course, but c’mon! he was getting way too spoiled lately. too bratty. you couldn’t just give in to everything.

“if i do it, will you stop staring at me? it’s kind of creepy,” you said as you struggled to untangle yourself from the blankets before sitting up to face him. he just nodded.

“ugh, fine,” you muttered, scooting over and starting to ruffle the sheets on his side of the bed. “c’mon, c'mere handsome,” you cooed, using that soft voice you usually reserved for stray cats in crime alley, but somehow he got to be the exception.

he immediately started yanking off his heavy boots, tossing them who knows where, and then leaped on top of you.

“for fuck’s sake, jason! how many times do i have to tell you—” you were cut off when his lips began to wander over yours and then down to your chin.

“i missed you over there,” he whispered, his hands wrapping around your waist as he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him.

“yeah, well, i didn’t,” you mumbled.

“oh yeah? then why are you all cuddled up in these blankets like that?” he shot back with that lazy grin, his face getting way too close to yours. you hated how much you loved those little dimples of his. “is it because i sprayed my cologne?”

“shut up.”

You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.

"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "

"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living  — Jason listened.

Always listened.

"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"

"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.

Cute.

"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.

"It's Zara."

A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.

His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.

You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.

Chef's kiss.

Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.

"No, It's just my husband —"

You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.

His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.

It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.

No, it would really be his honor.

But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.

Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?

You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.

You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.

Was he even worth everything?

"Jason."

He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.

"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.

They say you know the one when you meet them.

He was the one for you.

But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.

"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.

Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.

For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.

For eternity.

All because you loved him for him.

He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"

Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?

"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.

" SOMETHING IS BURNING."

Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.

"Fuck"

You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.

"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "

"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living  — Jason listened.

Always listened.

"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"

"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.

Cute.

"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.

"It's Zara."

A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.

His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.

You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.

Chef's kiss.

Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.

"No, It's just my husband —"

You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.

His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.

It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.

No, it would really be his honor.

But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.

Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?

You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.

You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.

Was he even worth everything?

"Jason."

He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.

"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.

They say you know the one when you meet them.

He was the one for you.

But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.

"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.

Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.

For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.

For eternity.

All because you loved him for him.

He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"

Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?

"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.

" SOMETHING IS BURNING."

Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.

"Fuck"