saltofmercury - Tumblr blog

saltofmercury · 2 days

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come.

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence.

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips.

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east.

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive.

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest.

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks.

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest.

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection.

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing.

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.”

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back.

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?”

That gets you to zip your lips.

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away.

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him.

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating.

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse.

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you.

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out.

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either.

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing.

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it.

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.”

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.”

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you.

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit.

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance.

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls.

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase.

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do.

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in.

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom.

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back.

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls.

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself.

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise.

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you.

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out.

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly.

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot.

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache.

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out.

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world.

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though.

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question.

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town.

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze.

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be.

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs.

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does.

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now.

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy.

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection.

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears.

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel.

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap.

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good.

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden.

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste.

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in.

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn.

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now.

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden.

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly.

You nod instead of answering.

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely.

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold.

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.”

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips.

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out.

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much.

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was.

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word.

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it.

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same.

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words.

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again.

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself.

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house.

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface.

You understand. It sits under your skin too.

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

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saltofmercury · 2 days

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omg, i'm imagining price (country roads) getting jealous - how would he react, i'm curious

hmm depends on the situation. if another man approached his wife, he'd probably start by just watching from a distance (imagine him leaning against a counter, watching intently with an eyebrow cocked, thinking "can't nobody see the big ass ring on her finger?") before he'd finally walk on over and just tuck an arm around your waist before casually entering the conversation. it's a very lowkey possessiveness, like very casual, almost imperceptible. but the signs would all be there - the possessive hold, hard eyes, stiff smile, standing at full height by her side.

then later on at home, he asks, "what do i have to do to make my claim more obvious?" and you wind up flat on your back while he pumps a load between your thighs because he reasons that the men in this town won't let up until you've got a little waddle to your step and a bun in the oven.

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saltofmercury · 3 days

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Drunken persistence

a jason todd ficlet.

(GN!S/O)

Summary: After a night out drinking with Richard, Jason has a few questions for you.

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol.

A/N: Cute or cringe? You can decide that for yourself.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

“Psst.”

An outcry for attention fills the room. You wilfully ignore it, focussing on the blinking curser, hoping to find a working rhythm amidst his noisy presence.

A mere minute passes and then,

“Psst.”

Sighing loudly, you blink dramatically before facing the source of your disruption.

Lying at the foot of the bed, is Jason, inebriated. Mimicking an eager and energetic puppy, he flops around at intervals of seconds.

“Yes, Jason?”

Turning with great struggle, he lies facing in your direction, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

In his drunken daze, the words come out slurred and at his petty inquisition, you find laughter bubbling within you.

Clearing your throat, you feign seriousness, “I think you’re the prettiest.”

A smile breaks out onto his face, wide and toothy. Content with your answer, he closes his eyes, nuzzling further into the warm comforter.

His contention breaks as soon as it arrives; eyes opening once more, he furrows his eyebrows. Gaze piercing, he stares at you with all the determination he can muster and further questions you, “Prettier than Dick?”

His tone is innocent, almost childlike and at the sound, you cannot help but pout in giddy amusement.

“What happened at the bar?” you already know but you would like to hear it recalled in his alcohol infused rage.

The ladies love Richard Grayson.

Crossing his arms, he frowns. Flipping to stare at the ceiling, he begins mocking his brother’s plethora of admirers with an animated shake of his head, “Oh, Richard, you’re so funny. Oh, Richard, you’re so tall. Oh, Richard, you’re so pretty.”

At the juvenile imitation, you can no longer hold in the laughter as it escapes the trembling cages of your lips. The joyous giggles flood the room, bouncing off the walls and he narrows his eyes, gaze reaching you; threatening and fierce, pushing you to justify yourself.

Silencing yourself immediately, you humour the man-child, “Dick?” waving your hand to indicate dismissal, you conjure a mock sour expression, “He’s got nothing on you. They were all probably too intimidated by you cause, you know, you’re so, umm, pretty.”

You snicker, he does not notice. His frown transforms into a smile, his brows straighten out and the worry lines dissipate. Satisfied with your words, he hums in agreement.

Letting the room embrace quietude, you finally pay mind to your abandoned laptop. Allowing the peace to guide you, your fingers move with diligent ease. As you work, Jason slithers closer towards you but you write it off as him simply tiring himself out.

It is only a matter of time before he begins his pestering once more.

Reaching his desired destination, he looks up at you with big, doe like eyes. Slowly moving his index finger, he begins poking you in the arm, only allowing a small moment of quietness before speaking up again, “Psst.”

Sighing, he is unavoidable, you think.

“Can I help you?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Oh, dear god.

>───⇌••⇋───<

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saltofmercury · 3 days

Text

Marriage (and absurdity)

a jason todd ficlet

(GN!S/O)

Summary: Bored and out of place, Jason decides to play a wholesome prank during your anniversary dinner.

Warnings: none!

A/N: All foreign terms were obtained from Google. My apologies if anything is incorrect.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Sitting across from Jason, you watch him, gaze laced with sheer intensity. The dim yellow light encapsulates his beauty and as the hues encircle him, the crowd blurs, turning the other diners into mere shadowy figures.

Your eyes are meant to focus solely on him, for he takes precedence.

Clad in a black suit, he exudes discomfort. Fidgeting with his sleek tie, he eyes the menu in complete befuddlement. Still, even out of place, elegance bows to him and charm swivels dutifully around him.

Stifling your laughter, you capture his gaze, a teasing spark twinkling amidst the oceans of blue, “We really don’t belong here, huh?”

“The appetisers are half our rent,” he states as a matter of fact.

“Amuse-Bouche,” you correct, putting on an exaggerated French accent.

Quirking a brow, Jason deadpans, “Gesundheit.”

“Thank you,” you mimic his expression. Reaching over to give his idle hand a squeeze, you relent, “Come on, Jay, we never do anything like this. It’s our anniversary, at least try to enjoy it. For me, please?”

Sighing, he nods, “Alright, but if I die from food poisoning it’s on you.”

Holding your hands up, you flash him an elated grin, “I’m willing to bear the consequences.”

Your happiness is infectious and at the sight of your upturned lips, he finds himself smiling too. Suffocating knot forgotten, he is trapped in a love fuelled daze.

Signalling the waiter over, you both prep yourselves to order.

Standing upright, he is poised. Expression neutral, a certain strictness housing in his eyes. An aura of ambiguity, you both find yourselves pleasantly intimidated.

“Good Evening, I am Marcel. I will be your server for the night. What can I get for you, Sir?”

Reciting a rehearsed script, he is bored.

“Umm, I’ll have the, uh, no.42,” Jason says, scratching his head as he assesses the menu.

Raising his eyebrow in question, Marcel confirms, “The Coq au vin, Sir?”

Cracking a smirk, Jason pesters the poor server, “Yup, no.42.”

Judgement evident, Marcel turns towards you, “And for you?”

Clearing your throat, you swallow your laughter. Feigning seriousness, you answer through a cracked voice, “I’ll have the same, please.”

Writing it down, he addresses you both, “Right, your order will arrive in 20 minutes. If I can assist you with anything else in the mean time do let me know.” Before you can offer so much as a fleeting thank you, he tethers towards the bustling kitchen.

“Couldn’t pronounce it could you?” you smirk.

“Not a clue,” Jason huffs.

Laughing, you grab a hold of his hand once more, “Thank you, you know. I’m aware this isn’t exactly your style but I appreciate you doing this for me.”

Running his thumb over your knuckles, he offers you a softened stare, “Don’t. I’m enjoying myself. I always do, with you.”

Gazes locked, the crowd fades away and welcomes you, a cloud of romantic solitude. He feels the ring resting snug on your third finger, and at the diamond lightly pinching his skin, he is reminded of the gloriousness that is now his life.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Chest heavy, flooded in gratitude, you reply, “And, I you.”

Suddenly, he pulls away and you gape, perplexed, “What’re-“

But you’re interrupted by the scraping of his chair against the black tiled floor. Clearing his throat, he steps around the table towards you, all while capturing the attention of the other diners.

“You, my darling, hold my heart in the palm of your hands. You have it captured, and it is yours to keep for the rest of eternity and after. All I wonder is if you would keep mine?”

Like a true poet, he beguiles.

The strangers watch you, impressed and enthralled. You sit, baffled under their eager stares.

Pulling out a ring, your ring, he proclaims, “Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

Eyes dropping to your hand immediately, you gasp at the sight of your nude finger. Through clenched teeth, you quietly yell, “You freaking con artist!”

And at your words, all he can do is smile. Smug and proud.

A few beats pass before an impatient viewer shouts, “Well, don’t leave the man hanging.” Embarrassment rests a hand on your shoulder as Jason shrugs in your direction, “You heard the guy.”

Nodding in defeat, you smile, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, you big goof.”

Sliding the ring onto your finger, he jumps up to hug you. The crowd erupts into a joyous applaud, singing their hearty congratulations and from the corner of your eye, you spot a mouthwatering chocolate delight coming your way.

Realisation hits.

Pulling you close, he presses a kiss to your forehead. Leaning towards his ear, you whisper to him, “You did this for the free food, didn’t you?”

Smiling at the mesmerised strangers, he whispers back, “Absolutely.”

>───⇌••⇋───<

328 notes · View notes

saltofmercury · 3 days

Text

Harrow

A Jason Todd Fic.

(Fem!S/O)

Summary: It is from the small gestures, he realises it is okay to let go of what once broke and embrace, self healing.

Warnings: Slight angst. Reference to being kidnapped. Description of Jason’s torture and death. Feelings of anxiety. Mention of injuries and bruises. Swearing.

Word count: 3k

Note: Flashbacks/ Jason’s memories are italicised.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Governed by paranoia, nocturnality casts a shadow over Gotham.

Drenched in harrowed darkness, deviants linger in the streets. Crouching in narrow corners, they wait with a sadistic smile and then, they strike.

Their laughter echoes in the tainted atmosphere, malignancy flowing amidst the twisted cadence.

It haunts him.

Flooding the barricades of his mind, the sounds play to no seeming end. A raging fire reducing his stability to embers.

It robs him from the cradle of slumber. Eyes wide in distraught, they remain etched on the blank ceiling. Their reminder omits tendrils, grasping at his wrists, he is rendered motionless.

Forced to envision his endless demise.

Two scars, an opening of skin, from one end to another. Crimson red, a mixture of blood and paint.

“You wanna know how I got these scars?”

In response, Jason had learned to embrace quietude.

The answer was never stagnant, changing with every beat of time.

“My father, was a drinker, and a fiend. And one night, he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me and says, "Why so serious?" Comes at me with the knife. "WHY SO SERIOUS?" He sticks the blade in my mouth.”

With every word, he drew closer. His knife drew closer. A maniacal look in his eyes, he was drowning in hysterics.

Jason kept his head bowed; avoidance his strategy. Fear infested, he found himself incapable of escape.

The gesture left him unsatisfied. Knife placed under his chin, he nudged his head up to meet his dazed line of sight.

“Come on, Jason, why so serious!” he seethed.

He had stumbled near, Jason could feel his breath. Warm, intoxicated. He wanted to move away, the nooses held him still.

Gashes on his skin, his suit ripped. He seemed to have bled all his body offered and now, he was tired.

“Tell me, Jason, where is your father? Hmm. Where is the bat? Where is your hero?”

He hummed, like a songbird. Circled him like prey and him, the predator.

“Batman…”

Jason grunted, every thrash accompanied by a panting breath. Eyes shut, he held back tears elicited from betrayal. Heart beating rampant, he moaned in distress. Moving, he stretched his wounds.

Pain, a welcomed distraction.

“Batman isn’t coming to save you, Jason.”

He laughed. Loud and brazen. A crowbar in his hand, his hits registered repetitive. The sound of metal against skin filtered through the abandoned dwelling.

No one else around to see.

No one else around to hear.

No one else to save him.

Jason fell forward. His chair broke into a myriad of wooden pieces, splintering his skin. His iron burned cheek rubbed against cement, the “J” certified permanent.

Eyes closed as the will of fight dissipated, with a melancholic smile, he went.

His past plays in an endless motion and sleep, evades him. He finds himself wishing to escape, just for a minuscule moment, the burden he bears.

Eyes open wide, he watches the night sky. The moon casts a warm glow, illuminating the room subtly and for which, he is grateful, the invisible darkness no longer a friend. He counts the stars, noting their silver sheen against the blue atmosphere.

It is all a futile attempt at distraction. Mind inescapable, his heart remains heavy.

A warm hand on his flushed chest reels him back. Blinking, his irises burn. The audio in his mind slowly fades and in its stead, encases him, the noise of reality.

The whirring of the ceiling fan. The distant honking of cars on the street. The occasional thud from the upstairs apartment.

The sound of her breathing.

An ethereal one, it slows the pace of his heart. Let’s it embrace normality.

He shifts and watches her hand slide off, only to gracefully land on his right bicep. He finds himself studying her: the curl of her lashes, the slope of her nose, the bow of her lips, how they part to release little breaths of air.

A little closer and he can smell the remnants of her perfume. Floral, familiar.

It hits, all in one go.

He should not be here. He should not be alive.

But perhaps, it is amidst her presence, where he is meant to reside, till his very next end.

✦ ✧

Morning comes, and with it, new betrayals.

Studying his reflection in the hazy mirror, a feeling of discontent settles within. Heavy on his chest, it imitates suffocation.

His lock of hair, once brown, now slyly transfiguring into a petrifying white. Encased in horrific reminiscence, it evokes past traumas.

Jason hates it.

Standing in the doorway, he feels her gaze; intense, understanding.

“Time for a re-dye?” she asks, in that soft tone of hers. Never a hint of judgment prevalent between the words.

He bows his head, eyes discouraged from meeting her own. Cowardice rests a hand on his shoulder and closely behind, trails sheer embarrassment.

“Yes,” he whispers, in a voice so broken and dejected.

Head still bowed, sight still hidden, she sees it all in the clench of his fists. Knuckles bared white, they hold the weight of his emotions.

Silent, she works around him with ease. Gathering supplies, she allows him the time to recuperate, never one to disrupt until his permission lays evident.

Plastic gloves on, she gestures for him to sit on the closed lidded toilet. He follows her instructions, voiceless, without question, like a soldier. It worries her, holds the blade right at her throat but she embraces faux composure, for it is what he needs, from her.

With a featherlight touch , she pushes his chin upwards. She displays a smile, only to note his eyes stare right past her. Distant and dazed. He cannot seem to escape the wrath of a once known mad man.

Applying the colour with slow, careful strokes, she quietly speaks, “It’s okay to change the things that remind you of the bad times.”

Finally, his gaze lands on hers.

“Am I not just running?” so innocent, replicating a lost child’s, one simply yearning to find his way.

She stops, and shakes her head, “No. To me, you’re choosing to move on.”

Slowly, the feeling of suffocation begins to dissipate. Gradually the nausea within the pit of his stomach comes to settle, and he finds the shadow of cowardice crouch away from his drained body. He lets her words sink in and assigns to them, precedence.

Putting the supplies away, she leans to place a kiss onto his warm forehead, “15 minutes, Angel.”

Heart beat rising, he seems to have lost all words.

“I-” a breathy stutter, he struggles to speak.

It is too much. It is all too much.

She knows.

Getting up, she discards the gloves, “I’ll come back to wash it out for you.”

Turning her back to him, she gives him the time he requires. Time to understand it is okay.

Watching her, he feels his heart clench. “Thank you,” he whispers, barely there.

She hears it. With a small upward curl of her lips, she halts. She does not turn, but offers the consolation he seldom seeks, “Anything for you.”

It is not easy to recover.

But perhaps, it is with her, that he can overcome the barriers.

✦ ✧

Hand tightly clasped around the withered handle, he hammers the nail into the plank of wood. Battering hard, the hits are loud. They silence the vile imagery of his mind. With their noise, they sprout temporary peace.

His grasp remains taut, fearful that if he let go, the internal quietude would come barrelling.

Knuckles stretching against the leather handle, his bruises incite ache. A deep throbbing beneath his torn skin.

Every nights game.

He would fight, bare his skin black and blue and for those moments, he felt the pain of the past be replaced with joyous satisfaction.

If he were to come back, Jason would win.

“Having fun?” she quips, moving towards him with a tray of cold drinks.

Smiling, he drops the hammer and hesitantly, he thanks the quiet still looming around his head.

It always seems to be amidst her closeness.

“Oh, yeah, it’s great- heats kicking my ass, though,” standing up, he wipes the precipitation of his forehead. Moving towards her, he takes the glass and drinks with huge gulps, once done, he thanks her with a quick peck against her cheek.

Setting the tray on the porch swing, she stands in front of him, raking her fingers through his hair, she moves them away from his eyes, ignorant towards the sweat.

“You know, you can do this at a later time. It’s definitely not worth you getting a heat stroke,” frowning, she mothers him.

Let the world be damned, it is only Jason she will always remain concerned for.

Heart softening at her care, he beams at her, “It’s alright, doll. Think I’ve got it, the step shouldn’t be bothering us anymore.”

Retracting her fingers, she pats his chest, “Okay, then. You go take a shower and I’ll finish up on lunch.”

“Sure you don’t want my help?”

Taking the glass away from him, she snorts, “To burn down our kitchen? No, thank you. You just go take care of yourself, handsome, I’ve got it.”

“Oh and let me take a look at your hands when you’re done, yeah?” she calls out to him, before making a turn towards their kitchen.

He smiles. Teeth visible, eyes scrunched.

He often found himself baffled at the serenity she evokes within him. No weight on him, his heart feels light.

He feels happy.

Jason watches her retreating figure and wishes to remain trapped in this moment forever, to relive it over and over with no seeming end. To never recall the dangers of the past, to forget his ruthless end.

It seems wishful, imaginative.

But perhaps, it is by her side, where he can simply exist like others do.

✦ ✧

Sitting at their dresser, she meticulously goes through her routine. Products laid out in order, she works with them with great intensity and care.

From the bed, he watches, mesmerised.

Something so simple, so mundanely common yet he was enthralled, because it was to do with her.

He found this to be one of his favourite times, at night when they are together. Verbosity does not matter as long as she is near. In her presence, his mind hardly wanders, too preoccupied with thoughts of her.

In her presence, he found that maybe he truly was capable of moving forward without a trace of the shadow of his past life.

“What’s that for?”

“This?” she gestures to the cylindrical container consisting of a white cream, “Moisturiser-it’s to make my skin smooth,” she smiles.

“Explains why you’re so soft,” he winks eliciting a small laugh from her.

“Do you wanna try it?” She asks, mindlessly, focusing on applying the cream onto her face in repetitive motions.

It means nothing. A simple question.

Yet it lands in the pitfalls of his stomach, tearing at his insides with vengeful intent.

It reminds him of the marks he had left.

“Jay, everything alright? You’ve gone quiet.”

“Huh, uh, yeah. Sure, I-I’ll try it,” he mumbles, still trying bury the nauseous thoughts infesting his mind.

Walking over to him, she kneels to be at eye level. Smiling, she scoops a small dollop and spreads it on his face evenly.

Closing his eyes, he audibly winces.

“Cold?” she pouts in giddy amusement.

“No, sorry, it’s just…”

It is always within these moments where he finds words forsaking him, leaving him behind in hysterical befuddlement.

Entirely frustrating, he feels ashamed.

“What’s wrong?“ she whispers, taken aback by the sudden shift in the room.

In his eyes.

“When he did-he, he ruined my skin,” lips trembling, his voice breaks. Eyes glazed over, the memory reduces him to tears.

Her heart breaks, into tiny trinkets, seeping into her veins like sharp blades.

Smoothing her fingers over his face, she feels every space, every bump, every crevice. Her touch emphasises it’s current state.

“You feel that, Jay? It’s not there anymore, it’s gone.”

Hands falling to her side, she rests her forehead against his. Eyes closing at the impact, she whispers, “He’s gone.”

“He can’t hurt you anymore.”

In finality, he breaks down. Her words loom over him, wrapping him a comfortable embrace, promising assurance.

Tears leaving behind a burning reminder of what once was.

But perhaps, the truth resides within her words; he is no more and along with him, has vanished any control he ever had over Jason.

✦ ✧

“We should go star-gazing tonight, what do you think?” he mumbles absentmindedly.

Lowering the heat, she turns to face him. Sitting at the dining table, his nose is buried in a book. Eyes devouring the pages eagerly.

A beautiful sight, she wishes to capture forever. To view over and over again, to remind her of the goodness that is him.

“Where’s this coming from?” mirth dances beneath her words, heart floundering at his spontaneity.

Inserting his book mark, he closes book and looks in her direction.

“We haven’t gone in a while, we used to go up to the cliff all the time.”

“Hmm, that’s true. I didn’t even realise, honestly…”

Standing up, he walks over to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulls her close. Flashing her a small smile, he lightly sways her side to side, “So what do you say?”

Resting her head against his chest, she smiles at the beating of his heart.

Oh, what a truly symphonic sound.

“Yeah, we should go. Give me five minutes, I’ll pack up dinner and we can have a picnic up there.”

Looking up at the ceiling, he groans, “Woman after my own heart, I swear.”

Pulling him down for a kiss, she giggles, “Alright, Romeo, get the car ready I’ll meet you outside.”

Moving away from him, he grabs a hold of her hand causing her to halt. Turning, she faces him once more, brow quirked in confusion, “You know, I love you, right?”

Brows softening, she finds herself getting trapped in a love fuelled haze.

Squeezing his fingers, she returns the sentiment, “I love you too.”

✦ ✧

One hand on the wheel, his other hand hold hers at the centre console, dropping it periodically to shift gears only to grab it again.

Thumb stroking her skin, he feels calmness from within.

Windows down, the cool night’s air wisps through the car.

The radio plays loudly and Jason sings the words at a competing volume. Without a care in the world, he succumbs to the solace the night has to offer.

The solace her presence has to offer.

She stares, blatantly. Her heart elated at his youthful giddiness, for it is a rarity. At night, he loses himself to the horrors of his fractured memories.

But as the days have gone by, those memories seem to be losing their place to ones sparking comfort.

She can only pray that the new ones stay embedded.

She can only pray that the near future only has to show kindness.

Pulling their intertwined hands up to her face, she gives the back of his hand a kiss.

✦ ✧

Food consumed and packed away, the pair lay on the soft checkered print blanket.

Her head on his chest, she makes out shapes with the stars, gaze lost within their picturesque gleam.

Hands brushing over her hair, he reflects.

There is no storm brewing in his mind. There is no grief suffocating him.

He is simply in the moment, at one with her.

“You seem better these days,” she whispers, unmoving, eyes still etched onto the sky.

“Yeah?”

He feels curious, at her perception of him, of what had happened.

She would never judge. He knew that. But what was it that she truly thought, of him.

“You don’t have a lot of nightmares anymore.”

Tracing her finger over his shirt, she draws indistinguishable patterns.

“You noticed?”

He never knew.

“I usually stay awake till late,” she mumbles.

Hand on her back, he gestures for her to sit up. Brows furrowed, she stares at him confused.

He stares at her, emotions indescribable.

“Why?”

“Just in case you needed me,” she shrugs.

“I never knew,” he whispers, voice low and full of guilt.

“I never told you. Jay, it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, getting enough rest. You were just exhausted all the time, it made me worry.”

“I-thank you,” he sighs.

“I already told you: I’d do anything for you,” she says, earnest.

Resting his weight on his elbows, he shifts his sight to the view of the city.

“I think I’m ready to let go.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughs.

“Before, I was mad at this city. I was mad at Dick, at Bruce. I felt betrayed.”

“I died protecting a city that didn’t even mourn my loss.”

A few moments pass, drenched in silence. She struggles to find the right words, the words that would take away the harrowing thoughts and soothe them into oblivion.

What can you say to comfort a man who lost everything only for it to return in devastating moderation?

“Jason, I don’t really know what to say, I’m sorry,” facing him at his side, she rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, “No matter what, though, you didn’t deserve any of it. It wasn’t fair.”

He continues.

“I look at this city now and feel this new sense of liberation. I’m not that little kid anymore. This is a new life, why can’t it be a fresh start?”

Staring into her eyes, he relents, “I don’t wish to think of him anymore.”

“Okay.”

Laying back down, he feels a weight escape at his confession, “Okay.”

Laying next to him, with her head on his shoulder, she smiles, “Consider him nonexistent then.”

Laughing, he wraps his arm around her, “I meant what I said. Thank you, for everything you do. I wouldn’t be here, this way, if you hadn’t been there. You take care of me.”

“You take care of me too.”

He feels his heart race. There is a newfound sense of living surrounding them. He does not have to live in restraints anymore.

This is a new beginning.

“Hey, this city may be a shit hole but at least it brought you to me.”

It was simply within his nature to let his poeticism often dictate his speech.

It was for her and her, only.

✦ ✧

His life is not easy.

But perhaps, it is within this moment, he has found the key to live; not as the boy who once died, rather as the boy who was reborn.

409 notes · View notes

saltofmercury · 3 days

Text

Scenes from a relationship

A Jason Todd fic.

(Fem!S/O)

Summary: A collection of moments between Jason and his significant other.

Warnings: Slight angst. Swearing. Arguments. Description of injuries. Mention of blood. Medical content (stitching, bandaging). Mention of razor (in a metaphor). Mention of gunfire. Mention of death and funerals (unnamed batbro’s, not Jason’s). Crying. Yelling. Couple showering together (pre-established consent). Mention of food.

Word count: 4k

Note: I’m actually super happy with this. I hope you guys enjoy this piece as much as I did writing it. Let me know your thoughts<3

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Hands resting lightly on the wooden railing, she stares ahead at the night sky.

The city lies asleep and quietude casts a bleak shadow over it.

She lets it embrace her whole, for it shines in all its rarity and it may never appear once more.

Jason stands behind her, a watchful gaze accompanying him. Arms crossed, he leans against the door panel; a certain bliss overtaking him completely.

He surrenders to it.

The night sparks a certain chill. Its tendrils swivel past her neck, whispering cold murmurs. Shivering slightly, they evoke goosebumps; one by one.

She hugs herself close, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, from within. She studies the stars, how they gleam amidst the navy blue atmosphere, how they accompany the moon and amplify its borrowed sheen.

It reflects in her irises, they widen and carry in them, her emotions, her queries, her troubles.

Staring intently, she converses with the moon in solemn silence. Shares with it the tales of her love, the tales of him and what they are, together.

In the moon, she finds a friend. A friend for the lonely nights where he disappears into the malicious narrows of their city and leaves in his wake, a trail of worry and trepidation.

It is the calmness of the night that soothes the hollow discomfort his ritualistic absence incites.

With slow, deliberate steps, he situates himself behind her. Makes himself known, never one to startle. She can sense him, hear him, feel him.

His presence demands attention and once given, it consumes her whole. A soft touch around her throat, it steals her breath. Plying open her skin, it separates her ribs and seeks out her heart, away from its confines of safety. It beats rampant, fast, unsteady.

Pounding incessantly, she concludes that it beats for him.

Tentative, he outstretches his hands, trailing them upwards her interlocked arms. At his featherlight touch, re-emerge the bumps in her skin. A ticklish sensation, it swims in the pitfalls of her stomach.

She accepts it. Cradles it. Holds it, close and tight. Afraid to ever lose out on the divine emotion, she protects it.

Wrapping his arms around her fully, he pulls her close. Breathing her in, he feels the tension dissipate. It vanishes as his body collapses into a relaxed state of nothingness. The worldly demise within him crumbles and surrounds him, earthly peace. The land falls silent.

In this moment, everything else ceases to exist.

In this moment, it is just the two of them.

At his grip, she closes her eyes. She is protected and she is safe.

“You’re not leaving tonight?”

Her words are hushed, laced with blatant hopefulness.

“No, think I’m gonna stay here.”

It resides in the upward curl of her lips, her gratitude, her relief. Head leaned on his chest, she nuzzles into him, a great wave of solace now washing over her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, afraid a volume any louder would shatter the mirage of their temporarily borrowed serenity.

Wordless, he simply seals his promise with a kiss.

* * *

A streak of blood trickles down his forehead. Pulsating, the wound is slit open; crimson red, it stands out against the pale nature of his skin.

Her hands shake as they graze the bruises lining his body. In various places, they decorate it like splashes of paint. Haphazard and reckless, they form a palate of purples and blues.

Jason sits calm. His pain is masked, hidden behind training, behind strategy.

A hand that has been dealt, weakness is a card he only shows to her.

With trembling fingers, with a hesitant gaze, with a sorrow filled heart, she attempts to stitch his cut. As the needle pierces his skin, he winces. Eyes clenched shut, he inhales a sharp breath.

It burns the tip of her fingers, travelling through her veins is the ache that resides within him. Imitating a warm wildfire, it has her insides reduced to mere embers.

With immediacy, she halts. Hand still hovering, she feels the panic rise in her throat, wrapping a noose around it, she feels it tighten with every beat of time. It robs her off her breathe, diluting her speech to a meek whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He clutches the bed, tight. His knuckles bared white at the pressure. Through clenched teeth, he demands, “Just do it, get it over with. Please.”

She can hear it, hiding beneath the urgency.

Jason Todd is tired of the fight.

As quick and as painless as she can manage, she carries on. A mantra playing on repeat in her head, she vows stability to her amateur hands.

Inexperienced, they trace the scars with fragility. Bestow love upon the crevices, the indents permanently etched onto his withered skin.

Visible to only her, they are for her to cherish.

Discarding the needle, she moves onto bandaging his head. She does so, gently and ease overtakes the tension wrapped around his body.

He lets go and she feels the fire dissipate.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this yourself, Jay,” she hums, absentmindedly, yet her words are shrouded with clarity.

Finishing the job, she moves off the floor and away from him. She gathers everything used and quickly disposes off the waste. Eyes unable to tolerate the bloodied gauze for even a moment longer.

Eyes unable to watch a bloodied him for even a moment longer.

Jason senses it.

He sighs, and his words drown in glorious misery, “I can’t stop. Not until I find him.”

Hidden within the declaration, lies the truth:

Not until he kills him.

* * *

The hum of the radio softly crowds the kitchen, musical notes flowing melodically around her, she gently sways to the beat.

It lies within the movement of her fingers, the way she twirls the wooden spoon, a dash of salt sprinkled in the pot with spontaneity- it all omits from the cages of memory.

Memories of him, of what he loves, of what sprouts comfort in the confinements of his perilous life.

The mere thought of him incites a welcomed heartache; it beats restlessly against her rib cage, an outcry to be set free, to blatantly feel without restriction.

It is loud, only to be hushed at the sight of him.

A smile creeps up the edges of her lips as the sound of the lock makes way to her ears; symphonic, it burns with contentment.

The lock twists open, and his footsteps echo against the creaks of the floorboards.

Her heart speeds up, eager and impatient. Truly, it beats for him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jason smirks, smug and interested, he leans against the entryway, staring at her with sheer intent of attention.

Wiping her hands on the dish towel, she sets it on the counter and makes her way towards him. Quickness tracing every step.

The greeting occurs with ease, his arm around her waist, hers around his neck. Grip tight, the pair hold each other close.

“You’re here,” words muffled by his skin, her smile dances evident between the words.

Pulling apart with his hands on her shoulders, he places a kiss onto her warm forehead, “Figured it was time to test out the spare key,” he shrugs.

She smiles, wide, happiness on pure display, “I’m glad you did.”

Peeking over her head, he furrows his eyebrows at the sight of the pot boiling away, “What’re you making?”

“Guess!” she cheeses, teasing him.

Moving towards the stove, he gasps with over dramatic glee, “You didn’t.”

Laughing, she grabs his hands, pulling him towards her once more. Standing close, she beams at him, “Oh, I did. Thought you could use a little pampering,” she pokes his chest gently.

Eyes closed, he groans in giddy satisfaction. Grabbing her right arm, he sets his upon his shoulder and his on her waist. Intertwining the other two, he asks, “Dance with me?”

Expression melting with adoration, lips contorting into a warm pout, she whispers with full discretion, “Of course.”

“Thank you, doll, for everything,” he hums, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair.

Closing her eyes at the impact, she reciprocates the sentiment, “I’d do just about anything for you, Jay.”

At her words, he finds himself lose control, feels the intensity of affection infest his veins but it remains a secret, for now, it is soon.

Silent, he allows his movement to speak in place of his words. Silent, he hopes it conveys what really hides behind.

He sways them to the music from the little countertop radio and she follows his lead. Speech now disregarded, the pair stare into each other’s eyes. Gazes heavy, they radiate intimate fondness.

They stare, they study, they search as everything fades away into the dark abyss.

It is amidst each other, in this moment, that they find the true meaning of living; when the world falls quiet into a noise of blur and the focus resides on the one that they adore.

It is amidst each other, in this moment, that they find the true meaning of falling in love.

* * *

Red rimmed and drenched, her eyes trace over the window. Precipitation taints the glass and trickles down, leaving behind a watery lane merely remnant of what once was there.

In mimicry, her tears follow. Warm to feel, there lies a burn in their trail. A salted pain consuming her whole.

She feels her insides contort, conjoin, all blend into one another. Tearing each other apart, she aches all over. A blinding rage brewing beneath the commotion.

Rubbing at her forehead with harsh strokes, she breathes sharply, still refusing to face the culprit of her demise, standing tall, right behind her.

“I can’t believe you would do something so stupid, Jason!” she mutters, tone quiet, words laced with grieving anger.

He huffs, infuriation following behind every little moment. Helmet thrown carelessly on the bed, his jacket spews across the room, landing with a light thud, blood splatters create intricate little patterns on the wooden floor.

His blood.

His silence plays like mockery, amplifying every emotion within her. She turns, abrupt and stalks towards him. Grabbing his bicep roughly, she forces him to face her, halting his de-robing.

“Answer me, damn it. Don’t just act like nothing happened.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes sharpen, she can see a storm brewing between the ocean blue irises. He gets close, impossibly, bodies almost touching, he gets in her face. His warm breath fans across her skin, rapid and haste; he has had enough.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, huh? I made a mistake. It was a small miscalculation.” His words have the edge of a razor, the prick at her skin, prod until they feel her succumb to the pain, until they feel her bleed all over.

Stumbling backwards, she laughs. The once melodic sound now devoid of all humour. A certain darkness shadows her. She tilts her head towards the ceiling, taking a breather before facing him once more.

“A miscalculation? You call standing in the line of fire a miscalculation? Telling a maniacal mass murderer to ‘take his best shot’ is not a miscalculation, Jason, no, it’s a fucking death wish.”

He moves towards her, deliberate steps eliciting creaks from the floorboards below. He moves until he has her up against the wall, hands holding her arms in a steady grip. Leaning down, at eye level, he grumbles in a dangerously low baritone, “Enough, alright? I’m right fucking here. Standing in front of you, breathing. Why is that not enough?”

Exasperated, he does not look away. Darkened, dilated pupils bore holes into her own. Venom drips from his speech; it’s poisonous tip slowly injecting her veins and contaminating her blood. Prickly in nature, it evokes a pain unknown to her.

Resting her head against the wall, she closes her eyes and at the intrusion, her tears create a stream. Establishing camaraderie, they flow one after the other.

Tired, she does not have the heart to wipe them away.

Prideful, he does not have the courage to wipe them away for her.

Sniffling, she stares directly at him. Jason sees the anger dissipate and leave behind, uncaged, a glorious sorrow.

It is enough to make his heart break.

“You don’t get it, do you? If you die, you don’t have to deal with that but I do. Your family does. I don’t want to see that, Jason. Please, don’t make me.”

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he falls silent and allows her words to sink in.

She pushes him away and he lets her with ease. She steps out of his hold, he does not stop her, and she heads towards the door. With her hand lightly hovering over the doorknob and a hesitant look back, she whispers in a hoarse, broken tone, “We already buried your brother, Jason, I sure as hell won’t be burying you next.”

Walking out of his sight, she leaves the door open.

A short moment passes by and he hears the distant thud of the front door and finds everything inside of him crumble at the seams.

A petulant child, he clutches at his hair, grabbing, pulling, tugging. Inflicting pain upon himself, he seeks punishment. Craves it as her words echo back to him in repetition.

They stab at his skin with taunts and mockery, bestow upon him unparalleled guilt.

He feels himself break, submit to the melancholic horror and he lets himself fall.

On his knees, he cries out; he cries out for his brother, for her, for himself.

He cries out for the ambiguity that haunts him:

Who is he, if he does not seek vengeance? Who is he, if he simply embraces caution?

Time goes by. Seconds, minutes, hours, he struggles to decipher between them. Standing beneath the shower head, he lets the scalding water pour over him. A bloodied stream makes its way towards the drain.

He ponders. Rubbing his hands over his face, he thinks over his words, his actions, his impatience.

Strategy forgone in the name of brotherhood, he had delved head first into battle. Caution thrown to the wind.

Jason had seen red, out for blood, he failed to think of his potential demise. He had failed to recall the ramifications.

It lays heavy over him, hurting his chest, seizing his breath.

Amidst his dilemma, he hears the shower door open and a small splash indicating movement.

Her hand trails up his back with delicacy, tracing the engorged scars, her finger tips reek of familiarity. At the recognition of her soft touch, his body relaxes.

Hugging him from behind, she sets her palm on his chest and he quickly grabs a hold of it, pressing a wet kiss into it.

“I was worried about you.”

With her head resting on his back, her words are muffled by his drenched skin, “I’m sorry.”

Turning around, he tugs her close. Hands on her back, he lets the water pour over her too, “Don’t be. It’s raining out, just didn’t want you getting sick.”

He smiles. She can tell that it is forced.

Heart aching, she pushes her fingers through his wet locks, pulling them back out of his eyes. She dotes over him.

“I was out of line before, Jay, I shouldn’t have said that. I was just upset. Gosh, I was being a massive jerk, I’m so sorry, honey.”

Rushed, her words pile over one another, afraid to lose momentum, afraid to lose him.

Cupping the back of her head, he pulls her into his embrace and holds her tight, “No, you were right. I wasn’t thinking. I’m gonna be more careful. I promise you, baby, no one’s gonna take me away from you.”

Pulling away, she shakes her head and offers him a disheartened smile, “You can’t promise me that, Jason.”

Leaning down, he touches his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, he whispers with sincerity, “I can. I’m not gonna leave you. Not when I can help it.”

She huffs out a watery laugh, feeling a certain weight escape her gradually, “Okay. I’ll just have to trust you on that.”

In suddenness, he leans in.

Jason kisses her. With fervour, with passion, with his apology. He pours his grief into her, allowing her to take away his sorrows. To mend his irrationality.

Harsh, rough and messy, he kisses her to prove his reliability.

He is here and he is here to stay.

Detaching, his eyes remained shut as he catches his breath. Her lips swollen and parted, release pockets of air and yearn to feel his once more.

Pupils blown and widened, they stare him down with acceptance.

This is who he is. This is who she wants.

Stumbling into her, he lets her carry his weight, “Stay with me, tonight?”

Lips inches apart from his, she conveys her answer with a kiss, “Always.”

* * *

The sun blares bright, drowning the pair in its warm, orange glow. They bask in it; blanket spread out on the dewy grass, they lay cuddled close together.

Jason’s hand traces the length of her back; soothing and gentle, it moves up and down in a slow, repetitive motion. Her’s rests loosely across his chest, lazily drawing obscure patterns with the tip of her finger.

His actions are calm, riddled with tranquility-a feeling so foreign to him, the moment reads surreal.

It is with the soft, inviting drum of his heart and his serene touch that she finds the cradle of slumber coerce her, nearly lulling her to sleep.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fall asleep,” she slurs, voice slightly muffled by his t-shirt.

He places a doting kiss to her forehead, “That’s alright, doll, you can sleep if you want to.”

With immediacy, she turns on her back and grabs a hold of his hand to interlock their hands, halting their movement entirely. Staring at their conjoined fingers, she expresses in a hushed tone, “No, you took the day off and I wanna spend every minute with you. We don’t really get to do this often.”

He feels a pinch, a small crack, an odd emotion swimming in the pitfalls of his stomach. It borders on guilt; guilt for his frequent absence, guilt for her unwavering loyalty.

Jason thinks for the moment, she understands his frame of mind.

It begs clarity: perhaps, he does not deserve her, yet he is far too selfish to leave her.

Pulling their joined hands close, he kisses the back of hers , once, twice.

“I’m sorry. I should be here, it’s not fair to you,” he whispers feigning composure. His voice betrays him completely.

Moving to rest on her elbows, she detaches their hands to cup his cheek. Thumb lightly caressing at his stubble, she stares into his eyes, hoping hers convey even a semblance of her devoted affections, “Hey, I didn’t mean for it to sound as if I’m unhappy. I understand what you do, I just wanna cherish the moments that we spend together. I don’t want to forget anything.”

Silence invades him. He lets the minutes pass to take in her words, to allot to them precedence. He does not let his gaze falter.

His stare is gentle, his blue irises are calm; no storm brewing within them, they are simply a subdued wave.

Shying beneath his intense examination, she cannot help the small laugh that escapes her tinted lips “What?”

Expression unfaltering, Jason whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She smiles. There is a slight skip in the beat of her heart, a flame that lights up within her bloodstream. A cape of happiness engulfs her.

Surprise does not accompany his confession. The sentiment had always followed them, hidden beneath gestures, within gazes, in the safe confines of their soul.

“I just hope you don’t get tired of me.”

Manoeuvring skilfully, he flips them around. Her on her back, him on top, with his weight held up. Groaning, he rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes, “Oh, baby, I don’t think I could get tired of you even if I tried.”

She laughs, wholeheartedly. A brazen giddiness robbing her of all rationality, “Yeah, is that so?”

He nods, eager, before dropping his head in the crook of her neck, littering it with loud kisses. Tickling her skin, he evokes joyous giggles from her.

Pulling away, he faces her with a boyish grin, “Baby, this city could fall apart and all I’d care about is you.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, wordlessly, she pulls him close and kisses his lips, once, twice.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he proclaims with sincerity.

“I love you, Jason Todd,” she mimics his tone.

* * *

In their shared bedroom, the pair unwind with ease. Moving around each other seamlessly, they have each established their own routine around each other.

Standing in front of the dressing table, she takes off her earrings, setting them delicately in their box.

Jason stands by the bed, messily shedding himself off his suit.

“Tonight was fun, no?” she hums, attention derailed by her stubborn necklace. Arms getting tired, she struggles with the chain.

“Yeah, which is how I know B didn’t plan it,” Jason laughs, putting on an old, withered t-shirt.

“Need some help, darling?” he asks, already walking in her direction.

Throwing her arms down in exasperation, she groans, “Please.”

He stands tall behind her, close enough for her to feel his warmth. Hands resting on her shoulders, he flashes her a smile, “Pull your hair up, baby.”

She complies, staring at him through the reflection. Rough, calloused fingers work diligently with the flimsy chain. They brush against her skin on the back of neck and her eyes flutter to a close and with a sigh, she feels goosebumps line up her body.

Her heart races, adrenaline courses through her and she feels the exhilaration from his presence pull her apart, ripping her to shreds, rendering her merely an obedient object of his affections.

“Here you go,” dismantles her reverie and she is brought back down, opening her eyes, she sees him through a misty blur, holding out her necklace for her to take.

Clearing her throat, she shakily grabs a hold of it and sets on their dresser. “Thank you,” she sends him a smile, standing up straight.

Pulling her towards him, he holds her steady towards his chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rests his head in the crook of her neck, gazing at their reflection with a love struck expression.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She laughs, a certain shyness provoking her, “Only a few times.”

Nuzzling into her, he smirks, “Well, in that case, you look beautiful.”

Patting his arm a few times, she flashes him an amused pout, “Thank you, baby. You looked very handsome yourself.”

Standing up straight, he flexes his muscles at her, “Oh, I know I did.”

Pushing back into him, she snorts, “Okay, narcissist. Unzip me?”

His hands make way to the zipper immediately at her command. His hand hovers, he takes his time with it. He feels his mind wander, all the possibilities suddenly becoming known.

Perhaps, it is within comfortable domesticity.

Perhaps, it is within casual romanticism.

Perhaps, it is simply within their relationship.

He wishes for it to be his forever.

“Marry me?”

He unzips her.

She freezes.

Her eyes widen and she turns to him, holding up her dress, “What did you just say?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze, “Do you wanna marry me?”

“Are you proposing? Is this you proposing, right now?”

There is a certain panic, a certain disbelief, a certain thrill tainting her tone.

Laughing, he ushers her towards the bed and sits her down on it, kneeling down before her, “Baby, relax, okay? This is just me confirming that when I do ask you’re not gonna laugh in my face.”

One hand on her chest, the other goes to cup his cheek. With tears brimming, she lets out a small watery laugh, “I would never say anything but yes to you, Jason Todd,” she whispers gleefully.

“Guess I better start looking for a ring now, huh?” he teases, overjoyed.

Wordless, she simply seals her answer with a kiss.

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