You were the girl that spoke to Jason’s cliché, chain-wearing bad boy side, the one which wanted to flip the bird at everyone who passed by. It was why he loved you so much, he didn’t give two shits and neither did you, which explained why you were both the type to make out in the middle of a public place just to prove you belonged to each other. Bruce was terrified of you both and your antics, Dick thought you deserved each other and Alfred, he was, well, y’know.

Alfred.

Maybe it was the way you were yelling over the phone to some bitch from work, or the way the look in your eye spoke to his wild child side, that made you so sexy to him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the thing, but if he had to put it into words, it’d probably be something like so. Damn. Hot.

But when you came off the phone and sat on his lap like it was your own personal throne, of course he accommodated you— like hell he wouldn’t, right? And by instinct, your lips met his, hot, burning, frustrated on your part and his own made way for it, cause you were his damn queen and you deserved to be treated like one. Who cares if his hair was mussed by the time you pulled away?

“That’s my girl,” He grinned against your lips, biting his own, cause god, were you the most brazen thing ever and damn, did he love it. There ain’t a world in which he wouldn’t look at you and not feel insanely attracted to you, it was practically law.

“That was fuckin’ sexy.” Jason chuckled, hand squeezing your thigh from where it was draped over his lap, grinning like the devil like the handsome son of a bitch that he was. Well, his statement is kind of redundant, you could’ve worn a potato sack and still have been damn sexy to him, no biggie.

Kind of a miracle, how you could play him like a well-tuned six string and vice versa, but he wasn’t about to question it, cause this shit? It was pretty perfect.