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batarella · 8 hours

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Bruce's Bathtime - Batfamily Sitcom

Bruce's mistake was thinking he could have a peaceful night in the bath on his day off when his manor is full of kids who share one brain.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED BUT I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SWEET FOR YOU TO ENJOY. THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY "BATH" BY SAM AND MICKEY ON YOUTUBE.

WORDS: 1.7K

WARNINGS: NONE. IT'S WHOLESOME AND SWEET.

MASTERLIST

——-

Crime rates were always at an all-time low in time for the Superbowl.

Which meant Batman gets a day off. Duke was the only one on patrol that night. Alfred spent half an hour convincing him not to spend the night at the cave.

“Master Bruce, the bath has been drawn and I’ve taken the liberty of using the expensive lavender bath salts so you would not like to waste it.”

“You’re right, Alfred. I’m a billionaire and I find the fifty-dollar lavender salts a waste to not use.”

“Just get in the bath, Master Wayne. Just thirty minutes of quiet shall do you good. I’ve set an alarm.”

Since when did Bruce start working for him?

He did as told anyway. Bruce closed the bathroom door and stripped off his clothes to get in the tub. There were so many callouses in his body, he barely felt just how burning the temperature was.

It was just a minute in there when the first knock woke him from drifting off.

“Bruce?”

What the hell is Dick doing out of Bludhaven? “What?”

“Is the music room haunted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I heard something inside.”

“Instruments tend to do that.”

“I did a headcount of everyone in the manor and everyone is accounted for except Duke who you sent out for patrol so I doubt it’s anyone but a ghost,” Dick said.

“Get out.”

“But I’m not even inside the bathroom.”

“Go away.”

“What if it’s not a ghost? What if it’s a spy?”

“The manor has more advanced security systems than the Pentagon, Dick.”

“That’s not a good point of comparison.”

Bruce closed his eyes and let the steam slow his rising blood pleasure.

“Just check the room. Could have been the wind.”

“I’m too scared.”

This man was almost thirty and was still giving Bruce the same amount of aneurysms as when he was eight.

“Ask Alfred to check for you.”

“Okay.”

He heard fading footsteps and let them lull him into sleep. He set his large arms onto the sides of the tub, sinking his mouth under the water.

“Father,” a voice said from out the door followed by three soft knocks by a small hand.

“What, Damian?”

“I need you to sign this letter from the school headmaster.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He doubted that.

“It’s for a parent-teacher conference.”

Bruce let the silence answer for him until Damian gave in.

“Someone attacked me in class.”

“Damian-“

“Okay, I threw the first punch but he taunted me first about how I was small for my age but I said that I’m of perfect size for my age and that I’m simply too smart to be crowded into elementary school children when my intellect belongs to that of a senior and then he asked what I was doing here and not in 5th grade and I said what was he doing here and not in 5th grade and he spat at me and now his nose is broken and they want you to cover the medical bills.”

Christ.

“Maybe you don’t have to pay it. You can call them yourself. You’re Bruce Wayne. You can get away with anything.”

“I can, but you’re not Bruce Wayne, so you have to deal with it.”

“Can you just sign this, Father?”

“Fine.”

Damian walked in, fanning the steam off his face and covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own father naked, then handed him the letter to sign it.

“Make sure your handwriting is the same as when I forged it.”

His eyes could not have rolled further back into his skull.

The boy walked out, just two seconds before the next set of voices made him wish the gunman shot him in the head four decades ago and not just his parents.

“Bruce, could you tell Jason he’s not the only one who died and come back to life and that his robin costume doesn’t deserve to have to top display in the Batcave anymore especially since he’s here?” Tim said.

Jason’s voice was even more obnoxious. “I died first, asshole and no one else would have died if it weren’t for me so clearly, you should thank me. And my rebranding was better. You’re still technically a robin since, you know, it’s the other half of your name, so you don’t deserve to be memorialized.”

“You don’t deserve to be memorialized at all when you’re alive and not a memory. You’re not even the first robin.”

“You’re not the first anything.”

“I’m the first at a lot of things.”

“Replacement.”

“Glorified zombie.”

Bruce grabbed the cucumbers Alfred had laid out on the table next to him just so his eyes wouldn’t burst out in blood at how much he wanted to scream.

“Ask Alfred what to do,” Bruce said.

“Alfred is with Dick in the music room to look for ghosts. We need an answer now.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

“Tim threw my robin costume piled up with all their robin costumes when clearly, it should be in the display case,” Jason said. “And Tim wants to move my motorbike out of the cave.”

“You have so many motorbikes, would it hurt you to move just one?”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce counted to ten. “No.”

“No to what?”

“Everything.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

“I could not care any less.”

“Can we please come in?”

“No, I’m naked.”

“We’ve seen you naked.”

“Not on purpose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get glass cases for both of you and we’ll pretend it’s a shrine as if you’re still dead. Happy?”

“Not from dying but sure,” said Tim.

“What about the motorbikes?”

“Put it outside,” said Bruce.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“Do whatever. Throw out the T-Rex in the cave for all I care.”

“Also, I need access to the batcomputers,” Jason said.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has access except me.”

“That’s for a reason, Jason.”

“Pretty please.”

“Get out.”

It took another five minutes of the two yapping at the other side of the door before it finally quieted down.

Then his phone started ringing. Duke.

That was when his blood pressure really started to spike.

“Duke? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.

“Me?” said Duke. “Oh yeah everything’s great! Not much crime when everyone’s watching the halftime show.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Can I use the batmobile?”

Fuck a duck. “For what?”

“The streets are empty and you said I could drive it when there isn’t traffic.”

He hung up and threw the phone into the water before Duke could say anything else.

He had five minutes of quiet this time. Then Steph was at the door. “Bruce!”

An aneurysm. One of these days, he might actually have one.

“What now?”

“Can I change rooms?”

“Why?”

“Dick said there’s a ghost in the music room and my room is like five feet away and I don’t think I can sleep there anymore.”

“You slept there last night and everything is fine.”

“Ghosts can be quiet, Bruce, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. And you’ve made a lot of enemies, so I won’t be surprised if anyone’s settled in to haunt you.”

You’d think he wasn’t in a house full of vigilantes who fight the city’s most dangerous criminals.

“I haven’t killed anyone, Stephanie. I keep all my enemies alive.”

“What if it’s not your enemy? They don’t have to hate you to haunt you. Can I please just change rooms?”

“Move wherever you want. I don’t care.”

“Can I move to the bedroom at the west wing?”

“That’s mine,” Bruce said.

“You have a bedroom? I thought you never slept.”

“Fine. Take it. Just get out.”

“Really?” Steph squealed. “The master bedroom. Sweet!”

It took less than five seconds before the next reason for his headache started pounding at the door.

“Bruce! Jason is trying to hack into the batcomputer!”

“I did not!”

“He did!”

“The World’s Greatest Detective is just mad I guessed his password on the second try.”

Bruce sank into the water, drowning their yapping until it had blurred out. He held his breath for seven minutes straight. He could die. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just when it was finally quiet, again, Bruce rose up and found Damian sitting on the toilet.

He continued to look unbothered even when he looked at Bruce straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?”

“I’d like to use this toilet.”

“There’s fifteen bathrooms in the manor, Damian.”

“I like this one.”

“I understand I have not spent as much time with you, but this is not what your tutors mean by father-son bonding.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I don’t mean to bond with you. I just like this toilet.”

“Fine. Please. Take your time.”

He did take his time. Damian sat there for a whole five minutes and pulled out a book.

“I wasn’t being serious. Get out of here.”

“Relax, father. It’s your day off.”

Bruce eyelids fluttered closed and he refused to open them until his son left the bathroom.

The next knock made a blood vessel pop. “Bruce. It’s me Barb. So sorry to bother you but I found another group of conspiracy theorists on the TikTok who made a list of billionaires who have never been seen in the same room as Batman and you’re the front liner of that list. I know you told me to never engage with these things but it’s at fifty million views right now and they’re making edits of you as Batman.”

“Make more bot accounts and pin it on Elon.”

“On it,” said Barbara. “So sorry to have disturbed you!”

He’s going to have a talk with Alfred to block off the whole floor the next time he draws these baths.

“Bruce?” It was Cass. “I hope it’s alright if I take Steph’s room. I took the liberty of putting a speaker in the music room so Dick would tell everyone there was a ghost in the manor and Steph would move out.”

The alarm went off. His thirty minutes were up.

One of these days, Bruce might finally break his no-kill rule, and it won’t be for the Joker.

---

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES AND I HOPE THIS WON'T BE THE LAST

TAGLIST

@karurururu @trixie-bb @childofposeidonforlife @fantasticwizardnerd @iibonniee @queenoftodd @foenixphire @omgtheywereroommates98 @spooklies @nyja-ls @jason-todd-is-my-husband @pieanq @spookyfrances @tacticaldivine @bathroom-sand @vicomtess @willieoo @consultingkilljoywinchester @elsenthal @willowoo @massiveathletefanauthor @chemicalpapercuts @the-abyss-of-fandoms @pparkeramorr @pricetagofficial @traceymoyashi @seutarose @littleredwing89 @astrids-pandora @nomalu1 @knightfall05x @lovelyartemisa @fourteengemstones @acookiesnmilkuniverse @24-7-multifandomsimp @xemiefx @cherry-glade @ @lilith1717 @yujikuna @dwboutit17 @ouflater @satan-s-ass @indigowcrds @little-prying-pandora @butwhyduh @killersandmonkeys @kierdlt @illzarr @ramdomtails @probsjosh @angel-lover-alice @evalynanne @adazzlingsakura @offendedfishnoises @lupinslibraries @comic-cat83 @jason-todd-is-my-husband @estrela-rogers @jadesublime @tedii-bear00 @andieperrie18 @willieoo @insanebatty @queennightsetz @mkknrd22robinlover @she-sees-fire @quintessences0posts @spideypoolfeelz @batgalsblog @mello-d @https-101iamtheredhood101 @offendedfishnoises

#BATMAN #bruce wayne #batfamily #wayne family #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #stephanie brown

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batarella · 2 years

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Just Sign It, Jason - Jason Todd x Reader

“I wish you didn’t care… so I could walk out from us and not have to constantly be afraid you’d do anything to hurt yourself. I wish you didn’t love me anymore.”

A/N: my first fic after a five month long hiatus! I wasn’t in the best place mentally and I didn’t feel like my best self as a writer. It was sad, but I got through it and wrote this in a night! Please read the warnings bc this is one BRUTAL fic. I’ve provided warnings below.

WORDS: 5.4K

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, DIVORCE, VERBAL FIGHTING, HATE/ANGRY SEX (ORAL FEMALE RECEIVING AND VAGINAL SEX) (Jason and the Reader were a married couple in their forties and have a teenage son affected by the divorce. there is an argument scene between Jason the Reader that involves screaming, yelling, insult hurling, blaming, etc., that may be triggering for some readers. The sex scene also involves anger and hate and is considered rough and degrading. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please look away.

MASTERLIST

——-

“And you,” he handed her the worn napkin, “call me sometime.”

The waitress’s nametag had fallen out of her apron, but she did mention her name when she asked for his order. Was it Samantha? Or just Sam? He’ll figure it out.

Samantha or Sam took his order for two and Jason’s number written on a napkin before she left him alone at the table. Even her backside was attractive, which held his eyes until she disappeared into the kitchens. He could come back later, find out when her shift would be over. That date easily could be as early as tonight after the way her fingers traced his hand’s palm.

But he should have recognized the incoming clicking of heels on hard cement different from all other entering customers. Otherwise, he’d have the time to prepare himself.

“Hey,” you casually greeted him. Jason stood up, pecked your cheek, then held the chair out for you. “Did you get to order?”

“Just drinks. I got you lemonade.”

“Thanks.”

You weren’t a mess. Not a stunner today, either. No makeup, or at least light enough for a man not to notice. Your hair was fixed, at least. A few strands fell over your un-powdered cheeks. And your clothes looked too comfortable for you to have put too much thought on them. Which meant this was easy for you. Coming here.

You were making it easier.

Your eyes caught his, hands folded over your lap and legs squeezed together as if the air gripped your shoulders. Even with it a beautiful day, you repeatedly turned to the sky as if expecting a raindrop. Jason forced a smile, whatever smile he could muster. He didn’t take it too personally when you couldn’t smile back.

“How are you?” he asked.

A shrug. “Good. You?”

“Good.”

“How’s Peter?”

Again, the imaginary hands around you slid through your skin like a serpent’s hold. Your jaw cocked to the right and your eyes trailed all over the bright blue sky, anywhere that wasn’t him. You haven’t looked him in the eye since you came in.

“We’ve been on two dates,” you sighed, unsurprised that Jason would know of your whereabouts so quickly. You haven’t said anything to anyone. But two weeks ago, your company had an anniversary dinner and Peter from marketing had an arm wound around your shoulders in the group photo. It took Jason two minutes to know what high school the guy went to and what country club he preferred to play golf at.

“Getting serious.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Sure.”

He let you air yourself out with muttered curses he couldn’t hear. He later regretted the remarks when you took it as some sort of final push of a cliff. Thus, the start of the falling. Eventually, it’ll lead to his death.

For now, the end begins with the pile of papers in neatly organized folders you pulled out of your purse and a pen you handed to him so casually, it sickened him.

“Now?”

No words. You just nodded, then slid the pen to his side of the table when he didn’t take it.

“I signed everything this morning,” you said. He wished your voice didn’t sound so soft. “I’ve marked them for you.”

As a child, Jason had learned to stop trembling when he didn’t want the enemy to know he was afraid. This was no different from having a gun pointed to someone’s head, when he was hesitant to pull the trigger. This was a pen, holding too much power for a piece of molded plastic and ink, and a pile of papers plastered with even more ink he never wanted to read.

The lawyers could have at least made it easier for their clients and not have the word ‘DIVORCE’ so obviously printed repeatedly on the titles, as if people needed reminding what they were for.

He opened the first one, and the pen stopped half an inch from touching the fine print of his name. It stayed hovering. This time the invisible hands were on him, stopping all his muscles from so much as twitching.

“Just sign it, Jason.”

No snide remark out of him this time. Jason didn’t bother tilting his head up, but his eyes finally found yours. They were empty, devoid of the flame he’d fallen to his heels for everyday for decades. You were ice. You were worse than ice. You were freezing water that murdered all that dared to swim its murky currents.

When he finally brought himself to stop glaring at you and stare back at the paper, the pen finally touched the surface. But he couldn’t move.

“Just get it over with.”

“This would be easier if you’d stop breathing over my neck.”

“You can take off your ring, too.”

More of that ice burned him. All over his skin. They were red, boiling, just to fight the coldness of the smoke through your lips. Jason looked to his hand and the gold band he’d conveniently forgotten to take off that day.

Perhaps he couldn’t bag that date tonight after all. If anything, it might have well been disgust written all over that waitress’s face when he slipped her his number.

“When did you take off yours?” He said, dropping the pen and sliding the ring off his finger. Without regard for littering, Jason tossed it to the patch of wilting grass not far from where you sat. You stared at it, didn’t look at him while he barked at you. “The day after? Or even before that and I didn’t know?”

You didn’t answer. He’d like to believe the worst. No matter how improbable. He could only wish you were capable of cheating. Perhaps all this would’ve been easier.

“You ready to order?”

You held your hand up to her. “Not yet-“

“We’re ready. Just give me a minute.”

It was the same waitress, but he ignored how the growling disgust on her face quickly fell to a look of pity when she saw what the papers before him said. Jason didn’t let her leave, then Samantha or Sam watched awkwardly for two minutes straight as Jason quickly signed his marriage away in fifty pages.

It wasn’t as climactic as he thought, throwing the pen to your side and falling to the back of his chair once the last of it was done. You were quiet, and the poor waitress stuttered to ask again for your lunch. It was Jason’s turn not to look you in the eye when he grabbed the menu and fumbled for anything that wouldn’t taste stale in his mouth.

But after all those wretched pages still splayed out on his table, even the pictures of ribeye steaks and salads were a blur to him. Even more, the words that danced over his eyes and taunted him with that same, horrible ‘D’ word in an endless echo.

After another few minutes of his silence, you held out your hand for him to give you the menu. You knew what he liked. He hadn't ordered for himself in years. He gave in, handed you the menu, and it wasn’t a sharp tug that left painful frost spreading to his hands, the way your ice often left behind every time you looked at him nowadays. It was sincere, gentle. You sat back on your chair and looked through the list.

“He’ll have the potato salad and chicken fingers.”

Yeah. That was exactly what he wanted.

“I’ll have the same thing,” you sighed. You were lying, and he knew that. You just didn’t have the energy to have to go through the menu four more times to decide.

When the waitress left, the bustling noise started to return, after that numbing silence reverberating through his skull the past hour. You put the papers in your purse and waited for your food in even more excruciating silence.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, when Jason hadn't looked up from his cold salad after too many minutes. Like a child in a tantrum. This was low even for him.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I should’ve… You should’ve taken your time. The next time they give us more shit to sign, I’ll have you take them home and send it back to me the next day.”

“Stop patronizing me.”

“I’m not patronizing you.”

“It doesn’t take me hours to write my name on paper, Y/N. It wasn’t that hard.”

“More lemonade?”

That last voice was from the waitress, who probably couldn’t wait for the two to leave the premises and possibly never come back if they didn’t want the whole block so upset. He twisted the limp lettuce with his fork and lazily held it up to his teeth. You just watched him. This was a dance, a game too long played. When one would do anything to look into their eyes and the other refusing out of spite.

“It’s Leo’s last day of exams,” you said when you half-finished your food. “He graduates in two weeks.”

“I know. He called me this morning.”

“That’s good.”

It was one less thing that would’ve made this whole charade even more messy than it ought to be. Fighting over custody would’ve been a whole ‘nother epoch of chaos. And that’s without the thousands of dollars spent on lawyers. No one gives a shit if a seventeen-year-old spends his weekends with his father or mother if his birthday was in three weeks.

“He also invited me to dinner.”

“Tonight?”

Jason nodded. “I thought you knew.”

“It’s alright,” you sipped from your water. “We can have dinner together.”

With Leo to mediate you both, at least the dinner table wouldn’t be full of your crappy insults so needlessly hurled at each other. So, it was never a pain. You both preferred it, actually, if he was around.

Just today, however. You didn’t think it was best to have your only son witness his parents sign the last of their divorce papers and have potato salad the next minute.

There was absolutely fuck all to smile about. And Jason should’ve shrugged you off the moment he let himself watch you for a minute, fumbling through your purse and fixing your already kept hair before meeting his eyes. Your lips curved so slightly, so mockingly delicate, with the red from your lipstick noticeably fainter from when you walked in.

It shouldn’t have calmed him so quickly, but that was exactly the effect you still had on him.

He walked you to your car, hugged you goodbye and promised to see you later that night for a hopefully more civilized reunion. Jason spent the rest of the afternoon in that park, on a bench with no one to sit next with, and he peacefully watched the sky and the rustling leaves that breathed the silence to life.

The life that hadn't been in him since that day you were no longer his.

-----

It was quiet. For the most part.

But he guessed that was better than lunch. Leo must’ve figured out what happened. He barely touched his food.

“You want more yams?” Jason asked.

“Thanks, dad.”

He didn’t think he wanted more yams. But it was always nice to hear him talk. They’d gone over the expected. The congratulations and the talks on graduation, college, part time jobs. For the past five get-togethers, Jason had exhausted his son of all those questions.

After the first three times, he only ever asked them when his mother was in the room, and when he didn’t want the quietness to be so haunting.

“Are you still leaving town tomorrow?”

Jason caught your eye twitch. He wished it didn’t satisfy him at the very least that you were unaware of yet another conversation they had.

“Just for a few days. I’ll be back in time for your graduation.”

“You didn’t say you were leaving town,” you interrupted.

“You never asked.”

“How could I have-“

You stopped yourself before berating him for his ridiculous question, realized only after he’d said it. Leo went back to toying with his soup and staring blankly into nothing.

“Sorry,” Jason sighed, then finished the rest of his dinner.

“You don’t have to be mad, mom,” Leo said.

“I’m not mad, sweetie.”

The vein popping out of your forehead said otherwise. But Jason didn’t think he looked any better.

It wasn’t until Leo tossed his plates onto the sink and started for his room so suddenly when Jason was sure he’d sensed their marriage had no chance of salvation until that very day (on paper, at least. It was over long before even that).

“I’ll be upstairs. Sorry I bothered to force you both in here. I’ll turn my headphones up so I don’t have to hear either of you scream shit at each other for the rest of the night.”

“Watch it, Leo.”

You looked to him instantly, with that trembling, pleading whisper in your eyes as you reached out and gently touched his arm. Just as Jason’s raised voice faltered, you both winced as Leo made sure you both heard him stomp his way into his room. After a slammed door and a lock in place, Jason fell back to his chair.

You took his plate, threw them into the sink, but you didn’t wash them. Your hands stuck to the edge of the counter, head dipped to your chest. That ice had melted. Maybe you’d used the last of it on him today, because all he could feel was that empty numbness no different from a frostbite slowly killing him from the inside.

Years ago, when you cried in the kitchen the way you did right then, his arms would be around you, his words consoling you. He’d have long been inside you before he could even move you to the bedroom, so all you could cry was his name and not whatever was making you upset. Jason didn’t do that now. He stuck to his place in the dinner table. Even with the lights on, that room felt as dark as the night that surrounded you.

“Should we have waited longer?” you wept, careful not to show him your tears. Your hair had fallen loose from its perfectly tied bun over your face; even more of a curtain to shield yourself away.

“I could have waited. You couldn’t. You couldn’t stand to be with me another day after last year.”

“Don’t throw that at me,” you barked. But when you turned to let him see your face, your tears had been wiped with your sleeve. “You were the one who wanted to do or die.”

“And spend another year hoping you’d come to your senses?” he snorted. “You didn’t have to spell out ‘divorce’ to me before I knew that was what you wanted.”

“You told Leo before he was ready. You sat him down and told him you were moving out!” You screamed. “And when he asked when you were coming back, you couldn’t at least lie to him and say would! He’s just a kid!”

“Did you want to wait until the moment he turned eighteen?!” he stood from his chair. “Happy birthday, son! By the way, I’m divorcing your father!”

Throwing your chair, you started for him with a finger to his face. “We both wanted to wait until he was grown!”

“Stop pretending our son’s an idiot!” He pushed your finger away. “He’s known for three years after he heard you say you wished I was dead!”

“He knew I didn’t mean it!”

“Did you?”

“You knew I didn’t mean it!”

That suffocating silence had long been ignited into a bursting outrage of fire, deep in his lungs, his throat, anywhere the air around you reached within him.

“I thought you did,” he swallowed. “I thought you wanted me dead. Again. I thought you wanted me found dead in the streets years after you begged me to give up everything for you. I thought you wanted the Joker to beat a fucking crowbar into my skull again after everything we’ve been through!”

“I can't believe you-“

“Believe me.”

“I can't believe you're fucking throwing that at my face right now!” you cried. “Was the Red Hood really everything to you?! Was it never me? Or your own son!?”

“I stopped saving lives for you! I stopped serving Gotham because you wanted me to!”

“Is that why you murdered an entire warehouse of goons the moment I kicked you out of the house?!”

It didn’t have to make sense. It didn’t have to be so linear. Your rebuttals didn’t have to align.

Everything had fallen too far into this murky, twisted mess, that no matter what you threw at each other, you both knew there was nothing left to save.

“I thought it was over. I didn’t owe you any promises anymore,” he growled at you, face not even an inch apart from yours. “There was no saving us long before that.”

“It was over the moment you decided it was.”

You shut off the lights, didn’t bother with the dishes, but before you could rush up the stairs, Jason grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you firmly to his chest.

“What the hell do you want me to say, Y/N?” He cried into the darkness. “What more do you want? You wanted me out of the house, I left. You wanted a divorce, I called the lawyers myself. You wanted to hurt me, I let you! What more do you fucking want!?”

He didn’t mean for the cries to escape so soon, not with you so close to his face. You looked at him the same as the waitress who watched him sign his name countlessly on that pile of papers he wanted to burn so much. You pitied him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit.”

He let go of your arm, turned around, but it was your turn to go after him. The spite game continues.

“Leo will be fine, Y/N. We’ve ripped the band aid. He’s grown, and in a few months, he’ll be too busy in college anyway to see either of us.”

Jason thought he’d wiped the last of his tears with his sleeves, but his eyelids wouldn’t stop leaking. No amount of Lazarus-induced strength could stop even that.

You’d softened, so quickly. The lava that wouldn’t stop spewing out of the core of you had calmed into a quiet smoke. Grabbing a few tissues from the counter, you handed a few to Jason, then used one on you and your own tears down your cheeks. Then you ran your fingers through your hair, as if the illusion of cleanliness would convince you how fine everything was.

“I just wanted him to be okay,” you sobbed, shielding your face from him again. “Hell, I’d give anything for you to be okay. I wish you didn’t care… so I could walk out from us and not have to constantly be afraid you’d do anything to hurt yourself. I wish you didn’t love me anymore.”

So you blamed yourself. You thought you teared this family apart and left everything hurting the way they were. It was no lie that everyone in the family, Bruce, Jason’s brothers and sisters, Alfred, your family, everyone, was heartbroken for them: two people so obviously still in love.

“I wish you didn’t love me anymore,” Jason whispered.

Then he didn’t have to watch you hurt so much and do what your heart constantly begged you not to.

Back against the counter, you sobbed into your hands, no longer bothering with the paper towels or your sleeves to wipe the tears falling to the floor. You were in so much pain. Your screams crawled and scratched out of your throat. And it was nothing he had to bear, nothing a merciful deity would have ever wanted Jason to witness. Each time you reached for a breath, each time your sobs escaped the hand clamped over your mouth at the sheer pain of having to hold them back, he cried with you.

Not long after, Jason was reaching for you, arms around your neck and head, so he could bury his face into your hair and whisper all the words he knew to calm you.

‘I’m sorry,’ he wept, over and over until you’d understand. You said sorry, too, instead of letting him know you forgave him. He didn’t even know it was all he wanted.

“I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.” When you grabbed him, cried into his chest, and held into his arms the way you did when you never wanted him to let go, he knew you didn’t mean what you said to him, either.

An hour, perhaps two, of standing in the darkness with each other’s tears falling into Jason’s shirt and your hair, he finally let go just enough to plant a kiss to your forehead. That was all he could manage. Your embrace was still tight enough around him that it hurt to leave.

Again, he kissed your hairline, your eyebrows, forehead. Then he reached your eyelids when you loosened around him enough so he could reach your nose. The apologies kept coming. They never stopped. Not even after he’d kissed your cheek, close enough to the corner of your lips to startle you.

You’d melted the ice beneath your eyes. Instead, he saw the charred remnants of the flame only he knew to ignite. Your eyes were trembling, but they never spared a second to look away from him. And fuck did they make him melt. Decades with you, countless fights, and still, you warmed his heart so much it never wished to leave the scorching fire.

You leaned your forehead against him, and he closed his eyes knowing you were watching. Your warmth. Your hold. It shouldn’t have been so intoxicating. You should’ve stayed being ice, so all this would be easier to walk away from.

Instead, your feathery lips hovering over his mouth pushed him over the dangling edge, over the cliff he’d fought relentlessly to climb out of.

He can walk out of this. He’ll wake up the next morning and not think differently of the completed divorce papers sitting on the desk not far from where you were.

Just one night. Just one more night to pretend he was still married to the love of his life.

He kissed you. Your lips were shaking, begging, a pleading mess, no different from your hands grabbing at his shirt until your back hit the counter. You wanted this just as much, with your breaths a drowning victim’s first taste of air. Your skin burned to touch, but it didn’t stop him from squeezing your waist, neck, and arms until you were writhing for release. You didn’t let his lips trail down to your neck, not just yet, until you were done ravishing his mouth with your taste and tongue.

You were hoisted up the counter before you could invite him into the bedroom. No. There was no pretending he was still married to you. Where you used to gently touch his flushed skin, you were pulling and clawing through as if to relieve a growing itch. When Jason dug his fingers too deep into your thigh, earning a cry from you that would’ve been heard all over the house, he shushed you with his mouth.

He couldn’t see much, not with the lights still off and the quietness amplifying every sound you helplessly made. But he could see just enough of your body from a lone streetlight outside the window. With that, Jason tore off the button on your pants, unzipped it like a starving man, and had your jeans laying on the floor before you could take off your shirt and bra yourself.

Then he pushed your hands away before you could do the same to his pants. He remains clothed, he decided, while he wanted you naked and exposed for him. At the very least, he’ll let you unzip his pants to let his cock out. That’s what you get.

Jason stopped kissing you, held your arms over your head until your back was flat against the cold counter. Goosebumps covered your skin. You hadn't been touched in too long, and you were here, ready for that to be remedied. Fucking Peter wouldn’t be able to fuck you right. No one can. Not like he was about to.

Your arms stayed over your head, instinctively after knowing what Jason would have otherwise demanded, then his name was all he could hear, in whispers and held-back screams, when his tongue lapped over the scorching skin of your breasts. It was darkness that overcame him, when his hand clamped over your mouth while his tongue swirled over your nipple. He couldn’t have you scream too loud, not if he didn’t want this to end so quickly and get caught.

Looking at you under his lashes, blue eyes dimmed by the lack of light, he touched and licked down your stomach, over the stretch marks left behind from the years of aging and giving birth to his boy. The love of his life, still looking perfect with your imperfect body; so undeniably beautiful that he couldn’t waste time any longer to taste your cunt.

The moment his tongue found your clit, fingers violating your hole without taking a minute to figure out the spots that made you stutter. With his fingers crooked and pressing up to your navel, mouth lapping over your juices and weeping pussy, he watched you cry into his hand and squirm over the kitchen counter for the mercy he wasn’t about to give.

Like music. You tasted, felt, sounded like music. You were gorgeous and writhing, a wife begging her husband to make her cum. Even when you were no longer that, he felt as married to you as the day you walked down the aisle. You were as beautiful, as elegant, as perfect as you were whenever his head was between your legs. Then your hands gently ran over his hair, his shoulders, everywhere you could reach over and touch, and he almost came at the sight of you when his hand circled your neck and he squeezed.

Sitting up on your elbow, you crouched over to watch him, his tongue and lips messily ravaging your pussy and your wetness smeared all over his mouth. You watched him fuck his fist just enough to ease his aching cock but not enough to cum just yet. “Yes. Right there,” you gasped, grounded your hips at him while you held his hair. Filthy. You watched him look up at you, with that same anger that had been since lunchtime that day. Now, instead of letting the anger out through hurtful words and screams, he was violently flicking his tongue over your clit until you were trembling off your feet. He felt you cum, hard but slow. But you wanted more. So much more. God, you’ll never stop giving in to him.

Good. He wasn’t even close to being done.

Jason flipped you over without warning, dug his fingers into your hole just to prepare yourself for him after too long, then he was inside you, filling you, claiming you. Your face was flat on the counter and you were just taking him without so much as trying to have control for yourself. Like your mind had blanked, like you wanted him to humiliate you like a fuck toy, you begged for more. Harder. Faster. Fuck me. That was how you wanted it. Did you want it to hurt, too? Did you want it to hurt as much as you hurt him?

He held you by the neck, lifted you until your back rubbed against his chest, then when you’d tilted your head to the side just enough to meet his eyes, his lips were all over you.

His one hand grabbed your breast. The other hoisted your left leg up to expose your cunt, to make him go deeper, harder. He impaled and touched every inch inside you until he’d left his mark, until all the lights would go off under your skin and he’ll walk out of this house knowing traces of him still trailed down your cunt. Fuck, were you a mess. A beautiful, helpless mess. He wanted so badly to leave love out of this, to stop believing he was making love to you and not just fucking you. He wanted your pussy to be just pussy, and not where he became one with the woman he once thought he’d spend the rest of his life with.

“Fuck you for breaking my heart so much,” he wept into your hair, tears no longer to his control. You cried, hard, but begged him to go harder through your muffled sobs. Jason pounded into you so hard it moved the counter. One hand wrapped around your neck, the other clamped over your mouth, just to stop you from screaming, he didn’t stop. Fuck you.

And fuck him for letting you.

You were begging him to fuck you like he hated you. And he did hate you. He hated you so fucking much.

You came again, just a while before he did. And it was blissful. It was everything. His cum spurted deep into your cunt where it would soon seep out into your thighs, a sight he always loved to witness. Your face and chest were pressed limp against the surface and he stood back, admiring his work. If only he had the heart to leave you as you were, still a panting mess over the counter, he would have. It would have been cruel, and perhaps that was what he should have done.

But Jason took a towel, wiped the mess clean from your soaked cunt, then led you both into the bedroom. It was your turn to show how much he hurt you, your turn to use him. You ripped every shred of clothing from his body and rode his painfully hard dick until dawn came.

Neither of you slept that night, with your flushed, sweating bodies tangled under the thin sheets. Your head was on his chest, his fingers tangled in your hair. As the wind whistled into the gaping window and pushed the curtains around you to dance, your arms and leg were draped over him, like you didn’t want him to leave. But you did. You wanted Jason to walk out of your life and not be your husband anymore.

And he wasn’t. This was the first time he fucked someone who wasn’t his wife since before you were married. And that was exactly what it felt like.

Someone who wasn’t his wife.

-----

He might never forgive you for breaking his heart.

But he’ll have to. Someday. If he wanted the days to pass and not have to curse the sun for not caring if he only wished for darkness. For damning the day for having the audacity to go on when he felt his whole world had stopped.

But you weren’t happy. Not for a long time.

He hadn’t been either. No matter how much he pretended to be.

Whatever measure it took just to spark some light into your soul again, even at the cost of both your hearts shattered, he’ll take it. He’ll hurt for the both of you. He’ll take your pain and have it for himself if he had to.

Just as the sun rose, you dressed and led Jason to the front door. Finally, it was bright enough to see your face.

He could have sworn you’ve never looked as beautiful as you did then.

You leaned against the doorway, watched him start for the first step off the porch, but he stopped, stared at his feet. The rustling of the early morning wind did nothing to aid the silence. Nothing could.

You stepped closer to reach for him, but Jason had already turned and grabbed your face, pressing his lips so delicately against yours until the last of your tears seeped into your lips. He could taste it. The salt of your tears. He’d never tasted anything so bitter and painful in his life.

It didn’t stop him. Not with it being the last of those beautiful moments.

Moments he could only be thankful were given to him at all.

He wouldn’t trade the time he had with you for the world.

You pulled away, gentle hands so warm against his cheeks. Your eyes closed, and underneath the orange glow of the sun, he knew better days were ahead of you. He couldn’t, for the life of him, tear his eyes away from that sight.

Then when you looked back at him, a soothing calm rushing down his limbs, he took the first step back.

“I’ll see you.”

You nodded. Not without a smile.

It wasn’t hard to smile back.

Jason walked to his car, drove to where the sun rose, and finally had that silence within be filled with the first of a song.

——

A/N: Be kind to one another

MASTERLIST

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TAGLIST

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd reader insert #jason todd angst #red hood #red hood x reader

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