awkward-cocopuff - Tumblr blog

awkward-cocopuff · 10 months ago

Note

hi! i literally love how you write❤️

could you write a fluff with a little bit of nsfw (if you dont take nsfw requests, just do it all fluff, i love fluff so i doesnt bother me) with a fem reader x cloud?

here's how i want the story, but you can obviosuly change it to your preferences.

y/n was a childood friend of cloud,and she didnt see him in A LOT of years. then she encounters him and they basically talk about rhe the good old times. a month passes and it's y/n's birthday, they all celebrate at the bar and give y/n a present. then it's cloud turn to give her the present, and he gives her a boquet and a letter with some photos from much years ago. after that, he kisses her and she kisses back. after the birthday party, cloud was a little bit drunk so y/n took him at her house to take care of him and cloud gets all clingy and says things to y/n. (if you want to add some nsfw, you can add it in this part of the story)

thank you❤️

Happy Birthday Slowpoke

pairing : cloud strife x fem! reader

description : an unexpected reunion leads to birthday wishes, unspoken love confessions, and drunken kisses.

warnings : small make out sesh but no smut, drinking alcohol (clouds gets drunk)

Sector 7 gets quieter at night. Never silent. But quiet. Walking through the streets is much nicer at night when there aren't so many people pushing to get through. It’s easier to think. Easier to take in your surroundings.

There’s a certain hum that brings you comfort as you walk through the nearly empty streets. You remember when you first came to Sector 7, nervous and scared, and still dealing with the aftershock of Nibelheim.

Nibelheim. Cloud.

God. How was he still stuck so deep in your head after years?

You missed him. Him and his stupid blond hair.

It was embarrassing how fast your head would turn at the sight of any blond man. Any. Even children sometimes. You had to catch a second glance to make sure you hadn’t just seen your childhood friend run past you as he giggled with his friends. It was never him, but you hoped.

The peace of your walk was disturbed by a man walking past you. Bright blond hair fluff led up like the feathers of a chocobo in black clothes, and heavy footsteps. He pays you no mind as he walks past you, but you force yourself to do a double take.

But this man is different. Even with his back turned to you he feels familiar. His hair stands up, the way Clouds did when he was a child. He’s dressed in the garb of a SOLDIER with a big sword on his back, Clouds always promised he’d become a SOLDIER. And he even walks the same way Cloud would as a kid, trudging along his path, god forbid someone think of him as anything but independent.

It all feels too coincidental. And without thinking your lips open to speak, “Cloud?”

“Hm?” The man turns, only his head and shoulder so as to not pay you too much care, to face you. And your mind is flooding with nostalgia.

You're running after a young boy, blond haired, breathless laughs leave yours and his mouths.

“Cloud!!! Wait for me!!” You squeal after the older

boy whose legs carry him much faster than you can keep up with. And your tired legs, mixed with your lack of available air, are making it harder to match his pace.

For a minute you think he doesn’t hear you, or maybe, that he doesn't want to listen. But soon enough he skids to a stop, looking back at you as he pants lightly. He wears a stupid smile on his face, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry y/n.. I keep forgetting I’m too fast for you. Your little legs can’t keep up,” He teases and lets out a juvenile giggle.

Finally you meet his side, matching his breath, “They can so!”.

“Yeah right slow poke.” A childlike pout appears on your face, fitting for an 8 year old you. Always pouting. Always following after Cloud.

You were never really sure why Cloud kept you around. But when you were kids, it never really mattered for more than a second. You just liked being around him, and him you.

“It’s not fair. You're older, your legs are longer!” He smiles down at you, laughing between heavy breaths.

“Only a year older.”

“Still!” He stays quiet for a minute, letting you catch your breath without teasing you further.

When you finally straighten back up, he’s still showing a giddy smile on his lips. Without a word, he grabs your hand in his, and takes off running the same way he had been before. Only this time you can keep up with him, pulled behind him.

“Cloud!”

“Hm?” He turns to look behind him, a wide smile full of teeth on his face and eyes bright and blue. Still hopeful.

His eyes meet yours and you realize the same blue eyes are looking into yours, only they are tired and the hope of his youth has been long gone. Yours probably look the same, usually. But right now they are wide and beginning to tear up. And his pupils, blown in recognition, are nearly as wide as yours.

“Y/n?”

“Cloud!” In an instant you latched onto him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Your face squished against his hard chest, probably wetting the front of his tank top from the tears slipping from your eyes.

He’s hesitant, but eventually one hand lands on your back and the other grabs onto your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer to his body. When you were kids, hugs were nothing out of the ordinary, but this one feels so different. You’ve been longing to hug him since you were 13, longing to see him since you were 17.

It’s overwhelming, the amount of emotion flowing through your body. You're happy to see your best friend again. You're sad that you haven’t seen him in so long. And you're angry that he left without ever saying goodbye.

“Y..you.. are you real?”

You look up to find his voice, wiping away the wetness from your face. His hands move to touch your face, then to your shoulders and finally fall to his sides.

“Yes, Cloud. I'm real. When..how.. It’s been years Cloud.”

“I know.”

There are a million things you’d like to say to him. You’d like to scream at him and punch at his chest until he bruises, not likely you could hit him hard enough to leave any marks but you’d try. But then you want to hug him, and run through the streets with him hand and hand like when you were kids. You don’t know what to say to him, where to start, or if you even should.

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t say it back, and the lack of emotion that he shows is almost aggravating. But you don’t make it known to him how annoyed you are at him for his underwhelming reaction to this reunion.

You invite him back to your apartment and, with a lot of convincing no and many ‘pleases’, he agrees to join you for an hour tops. His hesitancy hurts your feelings, you don’t admit that to him though, god forbid he realize that you hadn’t changed much since you were young. Since he clearly had.

“You can sit down, you know.” He raises his brows, your acknowledgment of his awkwardness unexpected, but he takes a seat at your small table. The chair he sits in is the perfect size for you, and while he’s not the tallest man you’ve ever encountered, he almost seems to not fit on it.

He is so silent, it stirs up years of pent up sadness and frustration deep within you, and inside you deeper still a fury of anger festers. But you push it away, locking those emotions up for another night when you haven’t just stumbled into your best friend of 10 years after 4 years of being apart. And you offer him a drink.

“Are you gonna tell me what you’ve been up to for the last 4 years?” He is silent, stoic, hides his face by taking a sip from the glass of water you offered him.

“Not tonight.” Your teeth grind together inside your mouth, holding back your tongue from spewing words better left unsaid. He must see the clench in your jaw, the anger and disappointment in your eyes, “But another time. I will.”

You fill the rest of the night with slow, and awkward, conversation. He doesn't make much effort to initiate it, but he answers your earnest questions without any complaint. At least the ones that don’t involve his work, his past, his lack of a goodbye. So the night moves slowly.

It doesn’t feel like very long has passed at all by the time he tells you he has to leave.

“Already?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, my days are busy.”

“Are you staying in Sector 7?” He nods, you're not appreciating this strong and silent thing he has going on.

“Working?” Another nod. “Well..if you find yourself free next month, we’re celebrating my birthday at the Seventh Heaven..uh.. it’s Tifa's bar actually.!”

“I know.”

“Oh.. yeah I guess, you would’ve gone to see her.”

“I didn’t go t- .. I’m sorry. I should go.” He walks to the door, posture straight and stoic expression broken by a look of pity for just a moment. You walk him out.

You can’t help yourself from speaking as your eyes meet his back, your mind is lacking in self restraint tonight, “Will you come?”

He faces you, mouth parted before a small smile plants itself there, “I’ll try, y/n, goodnight.” And he’s gone into the night with quickened steps.

“Hey! Have some faith in him. I’m sure he’ll make it.” Tifa leans over the counter with a bright smile, sliding a drink into your hands.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The bar isn’t full, but the people that matter are here, most of them anyway.

Biggs and Wedge, probably already tipsy based on the volume they're producing, are playing darts in the corner. Barret sits on the other end of the bar, Marlene seated beside him as they whisper between each other. And Tifa stands in front of you, a positive grin lingering on her face.

“Y/n!” Marlene springs off the barstool, with the help of her father, and rushes over to you with a clumsily wrapped gift in her hands.

“For me? Well thank you, Marlene.” You smile down at her, gently taking the gift from her hands and unwrapping it to find a bracelet made of beads and charms.

“I made it for you. And I have one too! See?” She holds up her wrist, which you hadn’t realized was hidden behind her back, to show you the matching bracelet she wears. You lift into your arms, holding her in a tight hug.

“They’re perfect Marlene, thank you.”

With her still in your arms, you resume conversation with Tifa, and are promptly joined by Barret. You love them, like family of course. But you are so focused on the lack of Clouds presence that you forget to fully no appreciate the ones around you.

Tifa reaches behind her, into the fridge and pulls outs an obviously homemade cake. “We decorated it together,” She slides a wink Marlene’s way and begins lighting the candles. “Make a wish y/n.”

You think for a moment, it’s childish that you're hoping for your wish to work so genuinely, but you take a deep breath and blow out your candles with a heavy breath. One sweep.

“What’d you wish for y/n?” Marlene’s voice is loud beside you.

“Hey now.. you know the rules, I can’t tell you or else it won’t come true.” She pouts for a minute but her smile quickly returns when Tifa hands her a piece of cake. You take your own piece in your hands, sharing a smile with Tifa and Marlene.

“Hey man! Good to see you. Glad you could make it.”

Your eyes are moving faster than you can focus on the sound of Biggs’ words, finding the one person your wish standing in the doorway. In his hands he holds a bouquet, flowers of your favorite colors wrapped with paper and a pink bow.

He approaches you with a sheepish smile on his face, “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t know what to get you as a gift, I hope I got the colors right. Oh! And there’s this,” He reaches into his back pocket and hands you a sealed envelope. On its cover, your name is written in messy writing.

“These are ..beautiful, Cloud, thank you.”

“Drink?” Tifa is cheery, as always, if not more so.

“Yeah, thanks.” He takes a seat beside you and you try to hide the way your eyes linger on him. The muscles in his grown arms. The familiarity of his spiky hair. You're not so angry anymore, now that you've had time to process his return, rather longing for the relationship you had as kids. The closeness you’d been lacking in your friendships since he left.

“Are you gonna open it?”

“What?” His voice brings you back to the moment, and you realize you’ve been ogling at him.

“The envelope..”

“Oh! Yeah, right. Yeah.”

You reach for it and carefully open it, trying not to rip the paper too badly. Tucked inside the envelope is a photo of the two of you as children and a folded up letter, reading :

This is stupid. But I tried to write something so I wouldn’t have to say all this out loud.

I haven’t been around for a long time, so I don’t really know where we stand anymore. But as far as I know, you’ve been the only person I’ve been able to open up to about everything.

Without you, I probably would’ve spent my childhood alone.

When we were kids, I swore I’d be a SOLDIER. But to be honest it wasn’t all I thought it would be. And I’m sorry I left you for shinra.

And I know I should’ve said goodbye, and I probably hurt you when I left. But I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

You were my best friend or you are my best friend, doesn't matter.

Happy Birthday Slowpoke.

He looks at you intensely as he tries to gauge your reaction. It’s a simple letter, and could be written by a child with a little effort. But it’s Cloud, and it’s the most you can ask from a man like him. It still has your hands wiping at your eyes.

“Hey, did you make her cry? No crying on your birthday!” Tifa returns, leaning over the counter to slide Cloud his drink, looking over at you. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah I’m okay. I’m really good actually, thank you.. for this, Cloud”.

He nods, and you swear his cheeks redden, but he looks away before either you or Tifa can comment on it.

Cloud's drink is gone in moments, and he is asking for another, whilst making comfortable conversation with you. A ‘happy birthday’ ‘how’s your day been’ ‘what do you do for work now’ kind of comfortable. He doesn’t ask anything personal, does not dwell on the past, you almost wish he would.

But you indulge him and his calculated questions, being satisfied with any conversation at all, and let the night flow.

It doesn't take long to realize that Cloud is not a drinker, or at least that he does not know his limits. It’s dark out now, and music plays from the jukebox, and Cloud sways drunkenly to a song. You can’t help but laugh, whilst also feeling weird seeing him be so free and not high strung. Not a SOLDIER, just a man.

He stands up, grabbing onto your arm to pull you over in front of the jukebox where Wedge is dancing with Tifa.

“Careful Cloud!” You stumble after him, bumping into his chest as he pulls you. He doesn’t seem to notice, grabbing onto your hands to spin you and move you around.

“You're a pretty good dancer now,” He moves you to face him, moving to the music still with a goofy smile on his face, “Do you remember.. when we..when we were kids and you would step on my feet ..everytime we danced.”

You giggle at his slurred words, “You're so drunk right now.”

“And you’re ..sso pretty..” He moves in closer, close enough that you can smell the liquor lingering on his lips.

“Oh wow.. you're really drunk.. haha.” You make no effort to move away from him, but you laugh at his actions to relieve the awkwardness flowing from your body.

“Mhm..” He closes the gap and places his lips against yours. Your hands find his chest, eyes falling close as you kiss him back. Your self control is weak, and you want to keep his lips against yours. But he's drunk, and your head is starting to spin.

Somehow you find the strength to push him away and he moves away with a pout on his puffy lips.

“Let’s.. uh.. get you home, yeah?”

“But I’m having fun!” He attempts to spin you, but he ends up making himself dizzy, “Actually, yeah.. that’s probably a good idea.”

“Yeah.” You laugh at his flushed face, holding onto his arm as you say goodbye to everyone and leave the bar.

“Can we go to yours?” He doesn't let go of you, even after you’ve walked halfway down an empty Sector 7 road, but he has instead moved his grip to hold your hand to keep you close to him.

“My apartment?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah..yeah sure.” He leads you to your own apartment like he knows the route by heart, he’s only been there once and yet he acts like he lives there by the speed he finds it.

Once inside he collapses onto your bed, not much space in the apartments, so you suppose that was normal considering there was no couch.

“Do you want some water?” He shakes his head, laying on his back to stare up at the ceiling.

You move towards the stereo on the opposite wall, turning on the radio so there is noise for you to focus on instead of his arms as they rest underneath his head.

“I missed you too .. y'know.” Clouds words barely make their way to you, his voice quiet and music humming just loud enough.

“Hm?” You turn to face him, moving to sit on the ledge of the bed in front of where he lays.

“The night I saw you,” He leans on his elbow to hold himself up, “you said that you missed me. and I didn’t say it back. I did. I missed you. I just didn’t know what to say to you then.”

You don’t say anything, you're not sure what to say anyways.

He looks into your eyes for a few minutes before pulling you by your arm so you lay beside him, but he shifts positions so he holds himself above you with his hands.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His lips meet yours once more. But unlike the bar this kiss is calculated, not clumsy and childish. He is drunk, and it’s obvious by the taste that remains on his lips even after he has licked them clean multiple times.

Your fingers find his hair, his knee finds its way between your legs and your chest begins to move quicker. He moves to latch his lips onto your neck, sucking spots that will definitely be purple and red tomorrow, while his hands find their place under your shirt on your hips.

And while you’d love for Cloud to continue his journey, the fact remains that he is drunker than a teenager on their 18th birthday, and you want this moment to be one enjoyed sober. So you pull his head up to meet his eyes, and very puffy lips.

“Your drunk Cloud. I think we better save this for another night.”

He pouts, face flushed, but he nods with a sigh. Getting comfy he finds a place to rest his head, on your chest, but his hands don’t move from your skin. If anything you feel his grip tighten, keeping you close as he practically lays on top of you.

“I missed you, a lot. I thought I'd never see you again when you left.” Your fingers find his hair once more, rubbing at his scalp and playing with blond strands.

“I know. I didn’t think I’d see you either.”

The room is quiet, except for the soft hum of music flowing from the stereo. His fingers tense and relax again in sync with his slow breaths, moving to trace the softness of your skin. But eventually his movements stop and he seems to still.

“Cloud?”

There are still a million things you’d like to ask, like to say. And so many years of words you’d like to catch up on between him, months of love confessions that you had admitted to Tifa that you’d like to share with him. But the soft snores that begin to leave his mouth tell you he’s in no mood to talk right now.

“Goodnight soldier..”

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awkward-cocopuff · 10 months ago

Text

Late night chats

pairing: cloud strife x (fem) reader

summary: you have trouble sleeping so you go to cloud for comfort.

warnings: none. just cloud having a soft spot for you :)

Your knuckles gently tapped against the metal of his door. It was a soft hit but the noise rang through nonetheless. For a second, standing in the quiet hum of the slums, you thought he would not answer. It was late, you knew that, however you hadn’t been paying much attention to the time. The only way you could get any clue of the hour was by the surrounding darkness being illuminated by the lights that only shone at night. After a moment of silent pleading that the door might swing open, a pitiful sigh left your lungs and you turned to shuffle back to your own apartment.

But the crude cry of rusty hinges being moved stopped your feet.

“y/n?” Cloud's voice was hoarse with sleep, not that he ever had much expression in his voice anyways. You turned your body to see the blond headed man leaning out of his door, clothed in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants. Even though you had seen it more than enough times, you never quite got used to the sight of Cloud in casual clothing. A shy smile appeared on his face as your eyes scanned over his body. When you didn’t move, he took a small step out of the doorway towards you.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” His eyes were emotionless but he shook his head, pieces of messy hair falling into his face. Cloud’s tired body language, shoulders slouched and eyes straining, made you feel awful for waking him up. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how tired his body must be after exterminating monsters all day long.

“It’s fine, I just got in. Come inside?” He moved, back flush against the door, with his arm motioning into the dark of his apartment. You knew that wasn’t true, you had been listening for signs of a similar sleeplessness for hours, but you didn’t say anything. Just walked through the door, his hand brushing across your back as he followed behind you. He shut the door and the slums were fortunately silenced. His apartment was so plain, it was always surprising how uninteresting his room was. But he didn’t have much free time to decorate.

A painful squeak left the springs of his bed as you set your body on it, Cloud’s eyes never leaving you. “What did you need?” His voice was clearer now, more awake, and if you weren’t used to Cloud’s generally monotone voice you would’ve thought he was being rude. He wasn't, of course, but a part of you was unsure despite knowing this tone well.

“I,” you paused, unsure of how to tell him that you woke him up for your own selfish want of company, “I couldn’t sleep. I remembered that you told me the next time I needed company I could come to you.” Your voice wavered at the end, tone posing it as a sort of question, searching in his eyes for any sign that he remembered his past suggestion.

Cloud’s face scrunched in a yawn and his fingers ran through his hair, scratching the back of his head. He turned and locked the door, before returning back to face you. You assumed you wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. He slowly moved towards the bed and sat beside you. His silence suddenly had you regretting knocking on his door at all. The darkness wasn’t really helping. The only light was the yellow glow of the lights outside peeking its way through the gaps in the curtains and the glow of the moon against his face. The window by his bed illuminated the both of you, allowing you to see his eyes peering straight at you. His attention never left you. It was simultaneously your favourite and least favourite thing about Cloud.

“I remember.” A breath you didn’t know you were holding suddenly left your lips and his smile returned to his face, his palm finding its resting spot on your knee. It was a simple action but it stirred your nerves.

“Why can’t you sleep?” You shuffled into the corner of his bed, back leaning up against the headboard and he found his place beside you. He pulled you into his body, head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you to keep you close. Cloud smelt of mint toothpaste, the vanilla shampoo he begrudgingly accepted from Tifa, and his natural musk. He was freshly showered but his scent always lingered on his skin.

“I don’t know. There’s never a real reason. I just, I don’t know, I guess my brain just can't settle enough.” You quietly explained, his fingertips twirling the ends of your hair while you held his free hand within your own. Cloud hummed in response, no words were needed for you to know he was listening.

There was always a certain softness that he reserved for moments like these, when you two were alone. You would’ve liked to see him act like this more but another part of you found it endearing. He saved this part of himself for you alone. You guessed it was probably tiring having to hold up that tough exterior all the time, flattered that he felt comfortable enough to let it go in your presence.

“Talk. Talk until your brain settles. I’ll listen until you decide that you’re done. Even if it takes all night.” His voice was soft again, drowsy, and you thought he might drift to sleep as soon as he closed his eyes. He moved his hand from his fingers while playing with your hair down to your sides, rubbing soft circles along your hips, making your heart pump rapidly. It was strange to you how the two of you had managed to become so comfortable with each other and yet something as simple as his fingers rubbing against you left your heart thumping.

When you managed to regain your train of thought, you began talking.

“I guess my thoughts always start at the bar, and how I somehow remember always being there. I don’t remember how I got here though. Y’know, I can’t even remember how I met you all. Don’t know if I wanna. And yet I don’t know where I’d be without Tifa. She saved me but I can’t remember how. ” Cloud hummed when he needed to, just so you knew he was listening. You could tell he was tired and you were grateful that he continued to listen despite his obvious exhaustion. He most likely wasn’t absorbing anything you said, but at least he was listening.

“It drives me crazy that I don’t remember anything from before Avalanche. I don’t remember but somehow I manage to be hyper aware of the fact that without Tifa I would be nowhere. I would be on the streets. I wouldn’t have a home. I wouldn’t have a job. I wouldn’t have my family. Jessie or Biggs, Wedge, Barrett. Or..you.”

Your fingers unknowingly played with his, an anxious habit you had picked up since these randomly occurring moments between the two of you first started, rubbing the pads of your thumbs across his scabbed knuckles gently. You could feel his breath fanning across the top of your ear as he moved himself impossibly closer to you, scattering a layer of bumps across your arms, sending a shiver running through you.

Silence encapsulated you both but soon Cloud broke it. “I can’t bring back your memories,” Cloud's voice was muffled due to his face being hidden in the crook of your neck, “But we will all be here to give you new ones.” His speech was slow and slurred, tired. If he wasn’t as close to your ear as he was, you wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“Cloud.” He moved his face towards your neck, a sleepy ‘hm’ vibrating against your skin.

“Thank you..” Your voice was soft and you felt Clouds arms tighten around you. His cheeks moved against you and you could tell he was smiling, causing you to smile as well.

Cloud knew you well. Talking had made your brain settle immensely. Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep, and you felt your body curl into Clouds. His arms were still wrapped around, holding you flush against him. You couldn’t leave his arms if you wanted to, not that you would. Soft snores left his mouth, warm breath blowing softly against your cheek. It was soothing in a way.

You knew if you were this close with anyone else, you would be uncomfortable. And yet somehow, Cloud managed to make you feel more comfortable with his touch then anything else could.

Hours earlier you had been laying in bed, alone, trying to remember your lost memories. And now you lay in Cloud's arms unsure of why you needed those memories at all if he provided you with enough new ones in a single moment to fill your mind forever. Your brain had grown tired and eventually you were lulled to sleep by the closeness of his breath and the soft hum of over-tired snores.

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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Low-Rise Melancholy

—

Time written- 11:33 p.m (Pt.2)

Jason Todd/fem!reader angst

—

You found him curled up in bed, unmoving for quite some time.

He arrived home, but said nothing. He shuffled out of uniform, carelessly abandoning piece by piece of his gear on various surfaces, carelessly draping his jacket over the closest chair.

He had enough mind to at least settle his utility belt and weapons on the desk in your shared bedroom before shuffling to bed, climbing into the mattress with so much as a slow, heavy exhale.

You had witnessed this since the moment he came home, feeling the tension shroud your shoulders before he even as entered through the door. Along with his angry episodes, which he kept out of your way around ninety percent of the time, every once in a while, you’d be witness to a violent slip up.

You followed behind the giant man like a scared puppy, stopping at the bedroom doorway just in time for him to turn on his side, his back now facing you.

He hasn’t moved for a fair hour, rendering you nervous rather than relieved he wasn’t angry. An hour full of checking up on him, wondering if he was ready to eat or talk. Anything.

He said nothing, as per usual, but answered your concerned question via raising his arm out, extending his hand out with an open palm. Would you like me to stay with you?

You settle your arms around him from behind as best you could once you slip into bed, enjoying the warmth that radiated off his back when you held him.

Just like before, Jason said nothing, broad shoulders rising and falling as his heavy lidded gaze nearly caged his eyes behind long lashes, vision long since unfocused after hours of reckless thoughts and dangerous intentions he’s always battled with after patrol.

His eyes close fully, a short, defeated exhale leaving his nose. Still, he doesn’t move, not even when he feels your soft, small hands cradle along his sides, caressing him in a largely limited embrace.

You’re always worried when he gets like this, but your options in soothing his pain were limited.

Your vigilante, your hero, your Red Hood, who refused to acknowledge your presence. Never intentionally.

You wanted nothing more than the man who stole your heart and gave it back but promised to hold it.

Jason Todd; your boyfriend, your big, red cuddly bear, your gentle giant sweetheart.

You wanted to be a strong shoulder for him to cry on, but in this case, you blamed your tensed up morning shortly followed by a series of severely unlucky events.

A short tremor of his shoulders caught you by surprise, making your head raise in question after settling behind Jason for nearly eight minutes. After a moment of waiting, to your dismay, you hear a small shudder from the exhausted man you held in your arms.

It broke your heart once you pinpointed those signs all together, realizing what Jason had been doing this entire time since he arrived home.

A ball of tension grew hotter in your throat, your eyes flushed so full with tears.

His teary, glistening eyes opened upon hearing your tiny hiccup, his head shifting up from its concave perch along your pillow to meet your gaze. His own heart ripped into two at the pitiful little attempt to stop yourself from crying, but you couldn’t help it.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper, small fingers involuntarily clasping along the hem of his grey shirt for a second or two.

When Jason approached the border of tears, his mouth didn’t curl with a strong lip quiver. Instead, his brows furrowed, his eyes nearly squinting in a pitiful attempt to make the tears halt and retreat.

All will to fight left him once he got home, himself included.

Now, all that flooded his heart was an overwhelming, bitter guilt, forcing him out of his melancholy to register the woman who’s bed he laid on for nearly two hours.

He shifts completely, encasing you in his warm, heavy arms, stroking back wisps of stray hair to peer down at you with worried, furrowed expression.

Were you scared? Were you scared of him getting angry and violent? Images of your terrified face after such an episode were burned into his mind, and a face full of tears was at the top of that crude list.

“No, no,” Jason insists as he puts up a battle once more, fighting back what tears he could. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t.. I— Shit, I didn’t mean to—“

His voice fails, his tone trembling in seconds. His own attempt at rebuilding his crumbled walls failed, leaving cascades of fluttery dust over piles of pebbles.

“M’sorry,” Jason mutters to you, sniffling noses brushing against each other. “Didn’t mean to make you sad. Don’t.. Don’t cry, babygirl. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” your whimpering tone persists, feeling his fingers cradle the back of your head, smoothing down your hair while yours cling to his shirt collar, insisting that you could handle his pain, shoulder it with him.

His mood swings were never his fault. His death was never his fault. His moments where he shut down entirely, leaving you completely powerless to aid him from the shadows, any of it, all of it, wasn’t his pain to shoulder in general.

You wished you could take it all away, but you believed you could only do so much.

“I don’t know how to help you,” you tremble as you admit to him, watching his brows curl downwards in further distress to your confession, your eyes glassy with grief bordering on defeat.

“I want to help you, Jason. I do. Please, tell me how.”

You only knew what he shared with you in the past, so you understood enough. His complications with himself, the curse of hyper individualism rendering him towards a plethora of self doubt, no matter how much he wanted to defy it. He just didn’t know how.

You wanted to be strong for him, but feared you weren’t as tough as you wanted to be.

Jason didn’t want strong, even though he knew you were. he wanted permanence, superglued stability on both of your behalf.

His hand cradled your head against his shoulder, taking in the sweetness of your hair, the warmth of your body dressed in one of his loose fitting shirts, curtesy of you stealing his clothes every evening.

The echo of your heartbeat keeping you alive long enough for you to adore him, to cherish him, to love him like no other he had ever felt before. This returns him towards his quiet tears, but unlike before, he allows himself the freedom to express himself more.

Grief included.

“You just being here… helps, okay?” Jason whispers, cradling your face in his warm palm. “That’s it. That’s all you need to do. Just… don’t leave. Please.”

Please, don’t leave me alone.

Your fingers instantly trail up towards his cheeks, catching his tears in the cradle of your palms. For a moment, your guilty, defeated expression shifted towards one he recognized instantly.

Strong, filled with a temporary determination he recognized many times before when you refused to give up. You refused to give him up.

Those were the eyes he fell in love with, belonging to the woman who desired to help him. His sore heart ached at your persistence, craving that just as much as your eagerly awaiting love.

His shoulders shake, his breathing grows raggedy, shortly cut and uneven. A few of his tears caught along the strands of your hair, the rest seeping down onto the very same pillowcase that harbored most of tonight’s anger and frustration.

His head settled against your chest, relying on your strong heartbeat to keep him submerged in pure sleep. His heavily scarred hands remained stagnant around your waist, thumbs lightly swirling along bare skin while yours settled to comb through his inky, tussled locks.

For the next hour or so, you held one another, cradling each other as the tears long since run dry, leaving two tender bodies submerged in a thin veil of slumber.

Crying together was the last thing on both of your minds tonight, but it’s the most Jason had ever felt accidentally understood, especially now as he refuses to let go of his anchor.

Seen, heard, recognized, loved.

Alive.

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

—

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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In Sickness And In Health || Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: You're terrified that your boyfriend Clark —the local superhero and most perfect man on the planet— will see you sick, so you forbid him to visit you while you have a cold. However, when he shows up at your door saying he misses you, he proves that your insecurities were unwarranted.

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, reader being a little insecure, hurt/comfort kinda, my shitty titles (I tried my best :c )

English is not my first language

Word count: 2200

Notes: I wrote this for me while I was recovering from a cold that had me in bed feeling miserable for days. I was a mess and I felt ugly so I wrote this silly little thing to cheer me up as I continued to descend into the Henry Cavill filmography rabbit hole lol I decided to share it bc why not? Hope you guys like it c:

You hated being sick. You hated feeling weak and tired all day, spending hours in bed surrounded by used tissues. You hated that your throat felt scratchy and that your stuffy nose made you have to choose between eating and breathing. You hated having your daily routine interrupted by a stupid cold, but most of all you hated not feeling like yourself.

You were a mess when you got sick, tangled hair tied up in a messy bun and wearing pajamas all day. You usually didn't move from your bed, which resulted in mountains of used tissues piling up on every surface near you. Multiple cups with leftover tea and a packet of crackers decorated the bedside table, being your main source of food for the day. It was an unpleasant sight so you preferred to spend your sick days alone in the quiet of your home where no one could see your red, irritated nose or the filth you were living in.

You had specifically asked Clark not to come by your house for that very reason. You loved him to death, but you weren't prepared to let him see you in that state. You felt ugly when you were sick, almost unworthy to be in the presence of someone as perfect and magnificent as him. Clark was literally the perfect man, he never got sick or had to deal with colds in the winter or allergies in the spring. It was almost impossible to see him disheveled since he was able to stop a building from collapsing with his bare hands without a single hair on his head moving out of place. You knew he loved you and didn't care what you looked like, but you couldn't help but feel self-conscious about it since he was literally perfect. So, to save yourself trouble and to concentrate your energy on recovering, you asked him not to come see you for a few days.

Clark respected your wishes at first, but after two days without seeing you he couldn't wait. He missed you and didn't understand your insistence on being alone, it wasn't as if he could catch a cold from you. So when he finished his shift at the Daily Planet he headed to your apartment —stopping on the way just to buy some groceries and a bouquet of flowers for you. He didn't text you that he was going to see you, knowing that if he did you would find some excuse or some way to convince him to go home instead. That's why you were surprised to see him there when you peeked through the peephole in the door before opening it.

"Clark, what are you doing here?" You exclaimed with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He wasn't supposed to be there. "I thought I told you not to come here!"

"I know, but I missed you." He pouted and you had to look away from the peep hole before he managed to convince you to let him in with those hurt puppy dog eyes of his. You missed him too, but you were in no condition to be around anyone, let alone him.

"I brought food, I thought maybe I could cook for you while you rest." Clark insisted when you didn't respond. You couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, he sounded so genuinely interested in helping you and taking care of you that it almost broke your heart to have to say no to him.

"I'm not hungry," you lied. "You should go home, Clark."

"Why won't you let me take care of you?" he sighed in frustration. You leaned your forehead against the wood door, debating whether you should tell him the truth. You suddenly felt stupid for having such a specific and probably irrelevant insecurity, but it wasn't like you could control it.

Despite the fact that you and Clark had been dating for quite a while, you still had a fair amount of 'first times'. You hadn't yet gone on vacation together for example, and he still hadn't met your family —though not by his own choice, he really wanted to. And, among other things, he had never seen you being sick. It was such a silly thing, but you felt ugly and disgusting and all you wanted to do was disappear under the covers and not come out until the cold was cured so no human being would ever have to see you in that state.

"It's not that I don't want to," you muttered more to yourself than for him to hear, though you knew he could do it because of his powers. You fiddled nervously with the seam of your t-shirt, feeling a little silly for having to talk about this out loud. "It's just that I'm not in the mood to have guests."

"I'm not a guest, I'm your boyfriend."

“Claaark!” You pouted, begging the universe not to make you say out loud what your real problem was. You heard him let out a chuckle from the other side of the door and rolled your eyes, frustrated that he found the situation funny.

"What?" His voice was a perfect mix of confusion and amusement.

"It's just that... I'm not presentable, the house is a mess and I feel ugly. I'd rather you didn't see me like this."

There was a long silence. Your fingers began to tug at the threads of the seam of the hem of your t-shirt while your teeth nervously nibbled at the skin of your lips, waiting for a response from your boyfriend. The tension grew with every second, time seemed to drag on as the uncertainty of silence ate you up inside. And then you heard a laugh.

Clark was laughing.

It wasn't a mocking or evil laugh, more an expression of his own surprise at your revelation. But it still bothered you. "I'm sorry, is this funny to you?"

"Yeah, a little." He replied with a chuckle and you let out a sigh of genuine disbelief. "I mean, you know I can see you through the door, right?" your eyes grew wide at the realization that due to his powers he had been watching you all this time. You turned quickly, facing away from the door as you hid your face in your hands.

"Clark, stop it right now!" You ordered him and he let out another chuckle. "I mean it!"

"I'm sorry, it's just that I find it a little ridiculous. I mean, you have to know I couldn't care less about how you look. All I want to do is be with you and take care of you, baby." It melted your heart to hear the sincerity in her voice. It wasn't like you didn't know that, but it was nice to hear him say it, to reassure you that his love for you was genuine and pure.

A part of you was dying to be pampered by him, to lose yourself in the warmth of Clark's strong arms as he held you against his chest, soothing all your aches and pains with his presence alone. It was tempting to think of him pacing around the apartment, making tea and cooking dinner while you rested between the sheets. But the other part of you —-the part that was usually in control of your decisions— hesitated, afraid of shattering some sort of illusion or image Clark had of you. It was silly and it only got sillier every time you thought about it, but you still couldn't bring yourself to open the door for him.

"I know, but still... I'm not ready for you to see me like this. I look hideous."

"You could never look hideous, baby." Clark sighed. His voice sounded closer and clearer, an indicator that he had moved closer to the door.

"You're just saying that because you love me and love has made you stupid and blind."

"Well, yeah, of course I love you. But also, you truly are the most beautiful woman in the world." You smiled to yourself, feeling your insides filling with that comforting warm feeling that you could only describe as the flame of love. Clark always knew just what to say to make all your problems go away. It was one of his best abilities, even if it was under-appreciated when compared to the rest of his powers.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." You lied, knowing full well that his sweet words were slowly softening the hard protective shield you had raised around your heart.

"C'mon, sweetheart! I'm gonna have to see you while you're sick eventually. Or what, once we live together you plan to lock yourself in the bedroom for a week and make me sleep on the couch so I don't see you with a cold? Or maybe I'll have to rent a room in a hotel until you get better? Is that what you want?"

You were silent for a moment as your brain tried to process what he had said, not his ridiculous options for staying apart when you were sick, but the part where he mentioned a future together. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't already imagined what your life together would be like for the next forty years. You wanted to wake up next to Clark every morning, share your free time with him and grow old by his side. He was the love of your life, you were sure of that. But what you didn't know was that he was also thinking about your future together.

"Once we live together?" you repeated in an excited whisper, the smile on your face widening. "You think about that stuff?"

"Of course I do!" he assured you, sounding slightly offended that you thought otherwise. It hadn't been his intention to make it obvious that every night before bed he imagined his life with you, but he wasn't hiding it either. He was shamelessly in love with you so why bother disguising it. "I want everything with you, sweetheart. I love you."

All worries faded from your mind, banished by the echo of Clark's sweet words. Your hands worked quickly over the locks on the door, removing the latch before turning the key to unlock it. He had won, there was no way you could tell him to leave after such a confession of love. All you wanted to do was hug him and lose yourself in the warmth of his body until you melted into one, show him how much you loved him and how important his words were to you. It was more than the expression of a wish or a projection of the future. It was a promise. The promise of love and commitment. He wanted to be with you in sickness and in health, in good times and in hard times. Clark loved you as much as you loved him and that was all you needed to know to feel better.

"You cheated." You joked as you opened the door, stepping aside to let your boyfriend in. He smiled in amusement at your childish pout, letting out a slight chuckle as he set the shopping bag aside to close the door behind him

"I was just being honest." Clark looked at you with such adoration in his eyes —his blue orbs glowing with the spark of love— that you couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Blood rushed to your cheeks, making you feel warm for the first time since you'd caught a cold.

"Stop it!" you whined, hiding your face in his chest as a defense mechanism to cope with how vulnerable you felt.

You'd never been good at receiving compliments and always felt awkward when someone said something nice about you, unsure how to respond other than with a shy smile. And even though Clark seemed to make it his favorite pastime to give you compliments, it hadn't gotten any better. You still felt silly every time he complimented your outfit before going out to dinner or when he told you how beautiful you looked the next morning when you woke up in his arms. But just because you didn't know how to respond to his beautiful words other than with smiles and incoherent sounds of happiness didn't mean you didn't appreciate them. On the contrary, you loved the comforting warmth that flooded your insides every time he smiled at you, looking at you with pure love in his eyes. It made you feel special in a way that no one ever had before. It reassured you that you were on the correct path to happiness.

"I love you." You mumbled against Clark's chest and felt him tighten his grip on you, trapping you in his strong arms. You let the warmth of his body envelop you, slowly dissipating all your troubles. His simple presence was more powerful than any drug or medicine you could take, effectively making you forget all your problems in a matter of seconds. His hug alone was able to lift your spirits, restoring color and joy to your tired expression. That was the effect he had on you.

"I love you too, sweetheart." Clark whispered against your hair, placing a delicate kiss on the top of your head. "Now, will you let me take care of you?"

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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doodle

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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It’s Jason’s birthday!

Wishing him the happiest by giving him a book to read >:D

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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Feel like I’m so basic but Jason Todd with a crush and him having zero social skills and just being super clumsy despite being highly competent when he’s in the field. Crush is like real sweet and kind maybe a service worker ✨

anon u are so true and real for this bc jason is definitely an unsocialized cat when he has a crush 💓

jason todd x gn!reader. shyish/anxious jason with a big fat crush. baker reader. annoying customer. the duality of jason todd. 1.6k words.

also i fully believe that silently leaving huge tips as a way to flirt is like. a wayne trait. 100% that family does that bc of bruce.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

Business has been slow.

It's not like you expect your cafe to be packed to the rafters all day long, but you've had a grand total of four customers today. One of them only came in to ask where Starbucks was.

Frankly, you're not sure the cafe can afford to stay afloat for much longer. Gotham isn't known to preserve small businesses, and the conglomerates (cough, Wayne Enterprises) are taking over the world anyway.

So today is a reading day. You might even close early.

You're at a table in the back, so absorbed in Poirot's sleuthing that you don't hear the door open. It isn't until you turn the page and look up that you see your resident lurker waiting quietly at the display case. You flinch so hard that you spill iced tea on your jeans.

"Shit," you murmur, grabbing a wad of napkins and patting yourself dry.

Jason (as is written on his coffee cup) looks up from the pastries, teal eyes wide. You smile briefly at him. For such a big guy, his footsteps are astonishingly soft.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, voice rough like he doesn't speak much.

"Yeah, fine. You just startled me—I didn't hear you come in. Were you waiting long? Sorry about that."

"Oh. No, I wasn't. Sorry." He shifts weight between his feet. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book. I didn't, uh, want to disturb you."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about that! It's literally my job to be here," you say, though you can't help but melt over how freaking sweet that is.

Jason visits you a minimum of twice a week. He's been coming for a couple of weeks. You know a whole three things about him: he's a university student, he pretty much only dresses in red or black, and he's unfairly cute.

At first, you were reasonably wary of him because it's Gotham, and he's so damn quiet. It's a little scary. You thought maybe he was an undercover spy casing the joint. Now you know he's just awkward.

"Slow day?" he asks.

"Slow year, more like. How are you? How was your exam?"

He blinks. "Exam?"

"Didn't you have an American lit exam last week?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Wow. Yes, I did. It was okay. Got an A."

"That's great! I knew you'd ace it."

His cheeks turn pink. Okay, you actually know four things about him: he blushes a lot.

You go to start the coffee machine. "Do you think you'll—"

"I-I have to go."

You watch, stunned, as he hurries out the door. That's when you notice the fifty dollar bill in your tip jar.

You don't know if you should bring up yesterday. Jason's back; that probably means everything's fine, right? You're not sure if you said something wrong, though. You've gone over the interaction a hundred times since and you can't figure out why he's so skittish around you.

"Hi. Hibiscus tea, please," he says, stoic as always.

You prepare his order, yesterday's interaction still fresh in your head. You should say something, shouldn't you? Or...

"Sorry about yesterday," Jason blurts, so fast you almost miss it. "Running out, I mean. I was, uh—I forgot something."

Well. Looks like he's going to bring it up for you.

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! If I said something wrong..."

Jason shakes his head fervently. "No, God no. You're perfect."

Your eyebrows shoot up. He turns red this time.

"I mean—not perf—well, you're amazing, don't get me wrong! Except, like, what is perfect, y'know? My brother has gotten into the habit of calling everything perfection like some kind of sitcom character. Alfred will make pie, and Dick'll go, "Alfie, that was perfection." And I feel like it's such an exaggeration—"

Jason's mouth snaps closed. He rubs his forehead.

"Um, I actually have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It gets really, stupidly bad. Sorry."

You're trying hard not to giggle. You want to smother him in frosting and take a bite.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you say.

"I'm really not," he says with a sigh.

"Not true. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

You go into the kitchen and return with your latest experiment: matcha cream puffs.

"Do you mind trying these for me? You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Jason's shoulders hunch. "Are you sure you want my opinion?"

"Of course I'm sure," you say happily. "I trust you."

"You trust me," he repeats quietly.

"Yup!"

Jason takes a puff and bites. He starts to nod.

"It's really good. You're really—all your creations are—yeah. It's good."

You squint. "No notes? Really?"

"They're perfection, as my brother would say."

Fuck, you like him so much.

"Have another one," you say, pushing the tray towards him.

"I shouldn't—"

"Wait! I'll pack you some!" you interrupt, flitting back to the kitchen to get a Tupperware.

Jason helplessly accepts the container of puffs you shove into his hands.

"Let me pay-" he tries to say, but you shake your head.

"Nope! I won't accept payment for these. Not from my favorite customer."

"Your favorite?"

"My favorite," you confirm, grinning.

"Oh." His ears turn pink as he walks to the door, cream puffs in hand. "Uh, right. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Jason? Don't you want your tea?"

"Shit. Yeah." He returns to the counter and takes his drink. This he insists on paying for, so you let him, because you do have rent to pay, after all.

"So nice to see you!" you add, because the stiffness in his gait is kind of throwing you off.

He just nods, slipping out the door as quietly as he came.

Today, Jason's in a red workout tank. You have to make the conscious effort to not ogle his arms.

"Hey, Jason!" you say cheerily.

"Hi," he says softly.

"The usual?" you ask, and he looks up in surprise.

"You know my order?"

You gently roll your eyes. "Of course I know your order, silly. Favorite customer, remember?"

"Oh." He looks away, brow furrowed. Then he turns to you and his expression smooths over. "Yes, please. Thanks."

"Sure. Give me one second? I just have to finish decorating some sugar cookies."

"Take your time," Jason says, then goes to skulk by the window.

The door is suddenly swung harder than necessary, thumping the glass.

"Hey!"

You look up from the cookies. A man in a suit is waving his phone impatiently.

"I ordered a dozen muffins. Where are they, huh?" he demands.

"Oh, right! Well, you called ten minutes ago, so they won't be ready till six, sir. Can I get you something while you wait?"

He scoffs and stomps to the counter. You almost back down, but you don't; that's exactly what these bullies want.

"This is exactly why no one eats at dinky cafes like yours. You can't even do this!" he fumes, shoving a finger in your face.

"Sir, like I said, the muffins are baking..."

"I know the city's health inspector personally," the man spits viciously. "One call, and I can—"

"Say one more word."

You blink as Jason is suddenly between you and the customer, stood at his full height. He's all muscle and broad shoulders, looming over the guy. You peek around him.

"What the fuck, man?" the angry customer squawks. "Move!"

"No, you move," Jason says, tone lethal. "Sit quietly at a table and wait for your muffins to bake. Then you can thank the nice baker for waiting on your sorry ass and you're not gonna come back. They have far more patience for entitled fucks than I do."

"Fuck you," the man spits.

Jason calmly closes the distance between them and whispers in his ear, hand like a vice around the jerk's shoulder. You watch as he turns pale, eyes growing wider.

"Sound good?" Jason asks pleasantly, all teeth. The man gapes at him.

Wow. Yeah. This is really doing something for you.

The oven dings. You go to retrieve the muffins, packing them as quickly as possible. You give him the box and the man nods.

"Thanks," he mumbles, then scurries out of the store.

Jason turns to you, and it's like looking at a completely different person.

"You okay?" he asks, posture stiff like he's still prepared for a fight.

You nod, a little dazed.

"Yeah. Wow. Jason, I... you didn't have to do that. I mean, thank you for doing it, but..."

"Hey, that guy was a jackass. And if you have trouble with him or anyone else, call me, okay?"

This side of him stuns you. If you didn't know better, you'd think he had this exchange regularly.

"Call you?" you ask, smiling. "How will I call you if I don't have your number?"

He freezes, eyes wide. "Oh. Uh. Um..."

You lean over, elbows on your counter. He watches you. You cup your hand around your mouth, pretending to divulge a secret.

"This is where you, the cute guy who frequents my struggling cafe, gives me your number."

"You think I'm cute?" he asks.

"Devastatingly so," you say, grinning.

He's quiet for a long moment. Your smile starts to dim.

"Did I read this wrong?" you ask. "If I came off too strong..."

"No!" he says a little too loud. Jason winces. "Sorry. No. I... you're... fuck, I'm not good at this. I don't even really drink tea or coffee, to be honest. I just come in to see you."

"You do?"

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Shit. That's creepy, isn't it?"

You laugh and he visibly softens.

"No, Jason," you say warmly. "It's sweet."

"So can I still ask you on a proper date? Not coffee."

You grin. "That would be perfection."

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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The kids (Duke, Damian and Dick) are yelling in the other room

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

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anon u are so true and real for this bc jason is definitely an unsocialized cat when he has a crush 💓

jason todd x gn!reader. shyish/anxious jason with a big fat crush. baker reader. annoying customer. the duality of jason todd. 1.6k words.

also i fully believe that silently leaving huge tips as a way to flirt is like. a wayne trait. 100% that family does that bc of bruce.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

Business has been slow.

It's not like you expect your cafe to be packed to the rafters all day long, but you've had a grand total of four customers today. One of them only came in to ask where Starbucks was.

So today is a reading day. You might even close early.

"Shit," you murmur, grabbing a wad of napkins and patting yourself dry.

Jason (as is written on his coffee cup) looks up from the pastries, teal eyes wide. You smile briefly at him. For such a big guy, his footsteps are astonishingly soft.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, voice rough like he doesn't speak much.

"Yeah, fine. You just startled me—I didn't hear you come in. Were you waiting long? Sorry about that."

"Oh. No, I wasn't. Sorry." He shifts weight between his feet. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book. I didn't, uh, want to disturb you."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about that! It's literally my job to be here," you say, though you can't help but melt over how freaking sweet that is.

"Slow day?" he asks.

"Slow year, more like. How are you? How was your exam?"

He blinks. "Exam?"

"Didn't you have an American lit exam last week?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Wow. Yes, I did. It was okay. Got an A."

"That's great! I knew you'd ace it."

His cheeks turn pink. Okay, you actually know four things about him: he blushes a lot.

You go to start the coffee machine. "Do you think you'll—"

"I-I have to go."

You watch, stunned, as he hurries out the door. That's when you notice the fifty dollar bill in your tip jar.

"Hi. Hibiscus tea, please," he says, stoic as always.

You prepare his order, yesterday's interaction still fresh in your head. You should say something, shouldn't you? Or...

"Sorry about yesterday," Jason blurts, so fast you almost miss it. "Running out, I mean. I was, uh—I forgot something."

Well. Looks like he's going to bring it up for you.

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! If I said something wrong..."

Jason shakes his head fervently. "No, God no. You're perfect."

Your eyebrows shoot up. He turns red this time.

Jason's mouth snaps closed. He rubs his forehead.

"Um, I actually have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It gets really, stupidly bad. Sorry."

You're trying hard not to giggle. You want to smother him in frosting and take a bite.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you say.

"I'm really not," he says with a sigh.

"Not true. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

You go into the kitchen and return with your latest experiment: matcha cream puffs.

"Do you mind trying these for me? You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Jason's shoulders hunch. "Are you sure you want my opinion?"

"Of course I'm sure," you say happily. "I trust you."

"You trust me," he repeats quietly.

"Yup!"

Jason takes a puff and bites. He starts to nod.

"It's really good. You're really—all your creations are—yeah. It's good."

You squint. "No notes? Really?"

"They're perfection, as my brother would say."

Fuck, you like him so much.

"Have another one," you say, pushing the tray towards him.

"I shouldn't—"

"Wait! I'll pack you some!" you interrupt, flitting back to the kitchen to get a Tupperware.

Jason helplessly accepts the container of puffs you shove into his hands.

"Let me pay-" he tries to say, but you shake your head.

"Nope! I won't accept payment for these. Not from my favorite customer."

"Your favorite?"

"My favorite," you confirm, grinning.

"Oh." His ears turn pink as he walks to the door, cream puffs in hand. "Uh, right. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Jason? Don't you want your tea?"

"Shit. Yeah." He returns to the counter and takes his drink. This he insists on paying for, so you let him, because you do have rent to pay, after all.

"So nice to see you!" you add, because the stiffness in his gait is kind of throwing you off.

He just nods, slipping out the door as quietly as he came.

Today, Jason's in a red workout tank. You have to make the conscious effort to not ogle his arms.

"Hey, Jason!" you say cheerily.

"Hi," he says softly.

"The usual?" you ask, and he looks up in surprise.

"You know my order?"

You gently roll your eyes. "Of course I know your order, silly. Favorite customer, remember?"

"Oh." He looks away, brow furrowed. Then he turns to you and his expression smooths over. "Yes, please. Thanks."

"Sure. Give me one second? I just have to finish decorating some sugar cookies."

"Take your time," Jason says, then goes to skulk by the window.

The door is suddenly swung harder than necessary, thumping the glass.

"Hey!"

You look up from the cookies. A man in a suit is waving his phone impatiently.

"I ordered a dozen muffins. Where are they, huh?" he demands.

"Oh, right! Well, you called ten minutes ago, so they won't be ready till six, sir. Can I get you something while you wait?"

He scoffs and stomps to the counter. You almost back down, but you don't; that's exactly what these bullies want.

"This is exactly why no one eats at dinky cafes like yours. You can't even do this!" he fumes, shoving a finger in your face.

"Sir, like I said, the muffins are baking..."

"I know the city's health inspector personally," the man spits viciously. "One call, and I can—"

"Say one more word."

You blink as Jason is suddenly between you and the customer, stood at his full height. He's all muscle and broad shoulders, looming over the guy. You peek around him.

"What the fuck, man?" the angry customer squawks. "Move!"

"Fuck you," the man spits.

Jason calmly closes the distance between them and whispers in his ear, hand like a vice around the jerk's shoulder. You watch as he turns pale, eyes growing wider.

"Sound good?" Jason asks pleasantly, all teeth. The man gapes at him.

Wow. Yeah. This is really doing something for you.

The oven dings. You go to retrieve the muffins, packing them as quickly as possible. You give him the box and the man nods.

"Thanks," he mumbles, then scurries out of the store.

Jason turns to you, and it's like looking at a completely different person.

"You okay?" he asks, posture stiff like he's still prepared for a fight.

You nod, a little dazed.

"Yeah. Wow. Jason, I... you didn't have to do that. I mean, thank you for doing it, but..."

"Hey, that guy was a jackass. And if you have trouble with him or anyone else, call me, okay?"

This side of him stuns you. If you didn't know better, you'd think he had this exchange regularly.

"Call you?" you ask, smiling. "How will I call you if I don't have your number?"

He freezes, eyes wide. "Oh. Uh. Um..."

You lean over, elbows on your counter. He watches you. You cup your hand around your mouth, pretending to divulge a secret.

"This is where you, the cute guy who frequents my struggling cafe, gives me your number."

"You think I'm cute?" he asks.

"Devastatingly so," you say, grinning.

He's quiet for a long moment. Your smile starts to dim.

"Did I read this wrong?" you ask. "If I came off too strong..."

"No!" he says a little too loud. Jason winces. "Sorry. No. I... you're... fuck, I'm not good at this. I don't even really drink tea or coffee, to be honest. I just come in to see you."

"You do?"

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Shit. That's creepy, isn't it?"

You laugh and he visibly softens.

"No, Jason," you say warmly. "It's sweet."

"So can I still ask you on a proper date? Not coffee."

You grin. "That would be perfection."

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

Note

Jason and reader celebrate Halloween by handing out candy in their shared apartment and reader gets a bit flustered by how wholesome he is with the kids ? Fluff pls ?

Jason drove you crazy the week leading to Halloween. You didn’t understand why everything had to be perfect, why he meticulously chose every brand of candy he bought.

You loved the holiday, but he was obsessive. The apartment was full of decorations and Halloween trinkets, the door was decorated inside and out.

There were bowls of candy on every surface possible, and he was ready to give candy out way earlier than he should have.

Of course you both dressed up, but you didn’t find out just how much he enjoyed costumes until the first trick-or-treaters arrived.

He opened the door with a small smile that turned into the brightest smile imaginable. He asked the kids what they were dressed as, and then inquired if they had any allergies before taking a bowl and offering it to them.

You amusedly watched as he let the kids take handfuls of candy, telling them to take care and be good when they said goodbye.

As the evening went on, you expected him to be less enthusiastic. But every time he opened that door, life filled his eyes in such a breathtaking way.

You were pouring yourself a drink when he called for you. “Babe, come here!”

The giddiness in his voice and the giggle that came after didn’t prepare you for the sight in front of you. His skin was flushed, his eyes watery.

Two kids stood in the doorway, one sporting familiar red helmets.

You didn’t know what to say, much less when he picked the kid up, asking him, “Is Red Hood your favorite?”

“Yup!” The kid nodded. “He’s cooler than Batman.”

Jason chuckled. “Batman is cool too, you know? But never say that to his face.”

You couldn’t stop staring at him, at the way he held the kid like he was precious. Feeling your eyes water and your skin flush, you turned to the other side and picked a bowl, offering candy to the other kid who was dressed as a cowboy.

Before he could take any candy, Jason asked him if he had any allergies. The kid said no, then both of you prompted him to take as much candy as he wanted.

Mini Red Hood didn’t have any allergies either. More kids came and went — you let Jason take care of giving the candy out for the most part.

You avoided looking at him too much, not even sure why. Seeing the way he treated kids stirred something in you, a different appreciation.

You felt almost silly. Your face was getting warmer and warmer, and the flustering reached its zenith when you entertained the idea of him with kids of his own.

You went to bed late that night. He was still giddy, telling you about every costume he saw and the reasoning behind them according to the kids.

“You okay?” he asked, bringing you onto his chest.

You nuzzled your face against his t-shirt. There wasn’t a way to explain how you were feeling. It wasn’t bad, at least you didn’t think so.

“Did you have fun tonight?” you asked back.

“Yeah. You would have too if you weren’t too busy on your phone.” He snorted. “I sound like an old man.”

“You’re old,” you joke. “Little Cinderella called you sir.”

“Because she was polite like a princess,” he defended the stranger.

Your heart thumped in your chest. “Fuck you for being like this,” you told him. “You’re supposed to be bad with kids and plants, awful at cooking, and unorganized.”

His laugh filled the bedroom, vibrating on your ear through his chest. “Where did you get that from?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, trying not to laugh.

He made you lift your head for a moment. You knew his intention was to kiss you, but the glint in his eyes as the ghost of laughter lingered in his gaze made you laugh too.

Whatever that feeling was, you didn’t want to ever let it go.

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

Text

Love's Symphony

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Tags: Angst

Jason had been away, on a mission, and the hours without his voice, his laughter, his touch, had stretched on endlessly. He had spent the entire day out on patrol, trying to keep the streets safe from the ever-present criminal element that plagued the city. He knew the job was never easy, but it had been particularly grueling today.

But now, finally, the moment you had been waiting for was here. Jason was back. You practically leapt off the couch when you heard the familiar sound of his motorcycle pulling into the driveway. You raced to the door, your heart pounding so loudly that you thought it might burst from your chest. As soon as the door swung open, there he was, standing in all his brooding glory, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

Entering the dimly lit hideout, Jason kicked off his boots and tossed his helmet onto a nearby table. He rubbed his temples, feeling a dull ache starting to form in his head. Just as he was about to retreat to his room for some much-needed rest, he heard a voice echoing through the quiet space. Your lips stretched into a wide grin, and without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Jaybird!" The voice was enthusiastic and filled with an energy that Jason found almost overwhelming.

"Hey, you're back!" you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face as you closed the distance between you and Jason.

He couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at the corner of his lips in response to your infectious energy. It had been a long day, and seeing you so happy to see him was a welcome sight. However, as you continued to chatter excitedly about your day, he felt a subtle throbbing in his head intensify.

He stiffened in your arms, and you pulled back slightly, noticing the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off him.

"Hey, could you calm down," he said in a low, gravelly voice, prying your arms from around his neck. "You're acting like a damn hurricane."

You paused mid-sentence, the excitement in your eyes dimming slightly as you processed his words. The smile that had been so vibrant moments ago faltered, and you took a step back, suddenly self-conscious. You blinked, taken aback by his sudden coldness. "What?"

"You're being too loud and you're giving me a headache." he muttered, pushing past you and into the living room.

"Oh, uh, sorry," you mumbled, your enthusiasm now replaced with uncertainty.

You stared after him, hurt and confusion warring within you. You had anticipated this joyful reunion, the two of you wrapped up in each other's arms, but instead, his words hung in the air like a heavy fog. You had missed him all day, every second of it, and now that he was back, he was telling you to calm down? You felt like you had been slapped in the face.

For the rest of the evening, you tried your best to contain your exuberance, to dim the light that had been burning so brightly inside you. You spoke in hushed tones, moved with measured steps, and kept your laughter in check. Every fiber of your being ached to be near him, to touch him, but you held yourself back, convinced that this was what he wanted.

The days that followed were a monotonous blur. you moved through them like a shadow, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. You were consumed by a quiet sadness, an ache that gnawed at you day and night. You missed the way we used to be, the way he would wrap you in his arms and tell you that your happiness was his priority. But now, you felt like a nuisance, a burden that he couldn't wait to be rid of.

One evening, as you sat on the couch, lost in your thoughts, Jason walked in. He looked at you with his brow furrowed.

"Hey," he began, his voice gentle this time.

You turned to look at him, your eyes still carrying a touch of sadness.

"Hi" you replied to him trying to keep a straight face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer than before.

You stare at nothing as you answer the question. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been very quiet all week. You're not yourself. You used to be… well, you used to be energetic, and now you're like a shadow," he said, his gaze searching yours.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight. "You told me to calm down, and that I was being loud."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Jason said sincerely. "I know you were just excited to see me, But I needed a moment to adjust after being on that mission. I wasn't prepared to interact with you, but that doesn't mean I wanted you to disappear."

You sighed, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap.

You felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. You had misunderstood him, taken his words to heart in the worst possible way. "I just... I didn't want to bother you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "maybe I was being too much for you."

Jason reached out and gently tilted your chin up, making you meet his eyes.

"You're never too much for me," he said softly. "I appreciate your energy and enthusiasm. It's just... I was having a rough day, and I didn't handle it well. I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to change who you are."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and a hint of your usual spark returned to your eyes.

"You're forgiven," you said, giving him a playful nudge as you pout and say "But next time, maybe just tell me you're having a bad day instead of being mean, okay?"

Jason chuckled, relieved to see your spirit returning. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close.

"Deal," he replied. "Now, let's enjoy this sunset together."

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awkward-cocopuff · 1 year ago

Text

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column.

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound.

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask.

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh.

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt.

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it.

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham.

"How'd they get you?" you ask.

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to.

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?"

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference.

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly.

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes.

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded.

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away.

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself."

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood.

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink.

"Can I crash here?"

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him.

"What're you doing?" you ask.

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines."

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say.

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again.

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common.

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love.

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain.

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say.

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel.

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?"

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach.

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask.

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold."

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead."

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light.

"You're tired of me," he says.

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't.

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit.

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes.

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly.

"I'd be tired of me."

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say.

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck.

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask.

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise.

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst.

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you.

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow.

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city.

"I wanna try to use the door," he says.

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming.

"Then I'll leave it unlocked."

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