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You aren’t brave.
You’ve never been brave. Bravery gets you killed and wounded. Bravery is marked by defiance, and defiance isn’t something you’ve ever been able to afford.
And if you were—deep, deep down, in the darkest and most animalistic parts of your body, brave—now would be the time for it to show up. For some sort of spark to rush your body, for your chin to raise and words to be spat.
But you’re not.
You’re just you, and you’ve stumbled into all the wrong places, but you’re not brave enough for regret either. You’re afraid, so afraid, but regret would mean being brave enough to think of how you could’ve avoided this. To think you ever could’ve avoided it, that you’d ever have been strong enough to escape this.
Jason’s going to be so pissed at you.
He told you to keep a gun, and you told him you’d be fine, when really you just didn’t trust yourself with it. You keep your pills in a lockbox and all your sweatpants haven’t have drawstrings since you were a teenager. A gun feels like you’re asking for trouble, and you weren’t brave enough to think about what trouble could look like.
When you had—in the dark, while Jason was off doing night shifts—it always came in different forms. Gas suddenly filling the halls, the door breaking down, someone pulling you off into a dark alley and not caring for your pleas. You’ve lived in Gotham long enough to know what trouble could be, even if you tried not to dwell on it.
But this was more than trouble.
This was danger.
And you aren’t brave.
“Lock the door,” Jason had said, right before he left for work. “Don’t answer it for anyone but me, and make sure you ask-“
“For the password.” You’d finished for him, giving him a soft smile. “I know, Jay, we do this every night.”
“I know, babe, but-“
“It’s so I’m safe?”
He’d sighed. “I know it’s a lot but-“
“It’s not a lot.” You’d shrugged. “I’m just telling you I know.”
Jason had scanned over you, nodded—mostly to himself—then folded over you in a long hug.
“I’ll be back in the morning.” He’d muttered, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Call me if there’s even just fuckin’ wind you don’t trust, and-“
“You’ll come home.” You’d hummed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I know. Be safe.”
Jason had grunted, and you’d swallowed it again. The I love you. Don’t be brave and jump in front of a bullet on patrol, because I love you.
But he doesn’t know. That you know what his night shifts are, and why he’s so paranoid about your safety.
You’d always hoped that one day, he’d tell you.
You’d never been brave enough to ask.
And he’d been holding you off the ground, before he left. He always held you like that. Like you were going to try and run away from him, or some invisible force would rip you out of his arms.
He’d left, and you’d listened to him. Blinds closed, lights off, door locked. Watching TV on a laptop, so people didn’t see the glow of the TV.
But it hadn’t been enough. You don’t think it ever would’ve been, but it had been a nice illusion. Something had smashed, out in the living room. You hadn’t had that gun, and you’d tried to call Jason, but you hadn’t been fast enough. And now you’re in danger, and you’re not fucking brave enough to get yourself out.
Because Jason taught you how to break out of handcuffs—he’d seemed to think you wouldn’t, for one second, question why he knew that when he allegedly ran an underground chop shop—but if you do, there’s no way you’ll be able to run without being caught. You’re stuck under a dramatic spotlight, with Harley Quinn singing to herself and watching you.
She keeps trying to make conversation. She even took off your gag, after an hour.
You’re staying silent. It’s your best bet to make it out of here alive.
“Did I tell ya you’re pretty?” She leans forward, and you just stare at her. “I don’t know how the bats get all you cuties to work for them. Mr. J offers dental, y’know. And I know you ain’t getting’ paid a you fair fuckin’ salary, cause corporations are a buncha fuck-face ding-dongs. We’d pay you better, if you’d wanna flip.” She traces a hand over your cheek, and you force yourself to stay still. “I bet Batman ain’t even payin’ you at all. You look like a smart gal, though, so you gotta be in it for somethin’.”
Silent. Your best bet is silent-
“Mr. J don’t pay me.” Harley muses, mostly to herself, smushing your cheeks as if you’re a child. “That why you’re with ‘em? For love?”
You don’t move. Or breathe. And Harley sees it.
“Oh, it is for love! Aw, you’re so cute.” She shakes your face, smile almost manic as she gasps. “Oh, you gotta know his identity, right? You’ve seen under that spooky, sexy cowl-“
You can’t stop the bitter curl of you lip, a little sickness forming at the idea of fucking Bruce, and Harley sees that too.
“Not the bats, huh? Hm.” She angles your face around, like the answer will be written on your skin. “Then who are you goin’ all puppy on, sugar? You into bendy, brainy, or shooty-“
“Harley.” A mocking voice cuts through the warehouse, and Harley’s smile grows. “Stop playing with our food, we need her alive so Batman can see her die, that’s the whole fuckin’ point-“
“She’s not with the bats, puddin’!” Harley spins away, and a ragged breath escapes your throat. “She’s sweet on one of his associates-“
“Do I look like I care?” Joker snaps, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. Pale and scarred and ugly, something twisted right under his face that makes him so ugly. “Hey there, little girl. They’re gonna come for you, aren’t they. And then,” he laughs, and the sound crawls over your skin. “Well, I got a big show planned, and an even bigger finale! You’re gonna be a star.”
You just stare at him, and he frowns.
“Harley?”
“Yeah, Mr. J?”
“Has she been this grumpy the whole time?”
“She has.” Harley whines, appearing over the Joker’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t even play with me! It’s the right gal, but maybe she’s sorta dull in the head-“
The Joker laughs. “No, she ain’t. Look at her.” He grabs your face—a little tighter than Harley did—and pulls your lips into a grin. “You’re just afraid, aren’t you doll. You know why you’re here, and it’s so scary.”
He’s mocking you. You still don’t react.
Something flashes over the Joker’s face, and his words morph to a sneer.
“You been spending too much time around those bores of vigilantes, don’t know how to have fun? Don’t worry.” He slaps your cheek, and you bite your tongue to fight the sting. “We’re gonna have a good time together. All you gotta do is wait here, and when I’m back, we’ll play.”
You swallow the bile, and remain still. You’re not brave, but you won’t break either. The Joker scoffs, and vanishes back into the shadows, grumbling something about how annoying it is that you won’t just fucking cry. Harley plants a kiss on your cheek, then runs after him, and you’re alone.
Not dead yet.
Still alone.
And there’s a lot of time to think in the dark. A lot of time for your life to flash before your eyes, before the gun is even pointed at your temple.
But you don’t even really think about your life. Not the shadows and hospital and nights behind a locked bathroom door.
Jason.
All you can think about is Jason.
You don’t know how it happened.
You keep to yourself. Don’t go out after nightfall, stay away from dark corners and highly populated areas. And lowly populated areas. Mostly you just go to work, then go back to your apartment. It’s safer like that. Lots of people means mass attack. No people means isolation, an easy target.
But it happened anyway.
And it started with him.
He didn’t even save you. He just appeared in the basement, when you’d been doing laundry.
“Hey, dollface.” Someone had groaned from the shadows, and you’d frozen. “Can you close the door behind you?”
You’d listened. Kicked it back with your foot, gripping your laundry like it would possibly be able to do anything, if you were attacked. Then he’d emerged from the shadows, and you hadn’t even been able to scream.
The Red Hood. In your basement. Suit tattered, mask still very much in place, staring at you. Maybe staring at you.
It was sort of hard to tell.
“You’re not on of Black Mask’s goons.” He’d said slowly, and you’d shaken your head. “You live here?”
“Yes, sir-“
“Don’t call me sir,” he’d muttered. “I’m not- Do you think I’m gonna kill you?”
You’d stared at him for another second, then shaken your head. If he wanted to, he would have. And he was still sticking to the shadow, face tilting up to the door every few seconds, body braced like he was worried you’d attack. But he was huge. You wouldn’t stand a chance, even if he was unarmed.
But he was still tensed.
And you really didn’t think he’d attack you.
You’d been right. Red Hood had stepped off to the side, and let you do your laundry.
“You have a lotta clothing.” He’d said, and you’d shot him a frown.
“So?”
“Nothin’.” He’d shrugged. “Just, uh- I can’t leave yet. Conversation. Do you wear those skirts?”
“No, they’re decoration.”
He’d stared at you, you’d stared back, and when he’d spoke again you could’ve sworn you heard a smile.
“You use them as hats, sweetheart?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” He’d fallen silents, and you’d sighed.
“Can you please stop looking at me?”
“Why? You’re nice to look at.”
You’d shot him a small frown. “Do you break into people’s basements and hit on them a lot?”
He’d shrugged, still hovering in the shadows. “Nah. But I didn’t break into your basement with the goal of hitting on you.”
“So you are hitting on me?”
“I guess. Is it working?”
You’d snorted, and looked back to your clothing. “No.”
“Damn.”
There had been another silence, Red Hood still looking up the stairs every few seconds, and you’d cleared your throat.
“Do I have to be worried about Black Mask breaking into my basement?” You’d tried—and failed—to hide the quiet fear in your voice, and he’d chuckled.
“Nah. And if they did, I’d protect you.”
“Oh, would you.”
“Yep.” He’d paused, definitely grinning now. “Is this working?”
You’d ignored him. “Your clothing is ripped.”
“It- Huh. Didn’t notice.”
“How did you not-“
“Lot was happening, dollface.” He’d waved you off, suddenly no longer in the shadows, but leaning on the washer. “Why’d you notice?”
There was heat radiating from his body. And his arms were big, and his voice—even through a modifier—sounded deep. Rich.
It wasn’t some misplaced confidence, that let you look up at the blood red, blank mask.
It was mostly just his voice, and some animalistic part of your brain that wanted to touch him.
“It’s kind of obvious.” You’d whispered. “I can fix it, if you want.”
There has been a pause, then, “Really?”
You’d nodded, ripping your gaze back to the washer—yep, all the clothing was still in there—and the Red Hood had cleared his throat.
“Do you fix the clothing of random assholes who break into your basement a lot?”
You’d swallowed, and shaken your head. “No.”
“Huh.” He hadn’t moved away. He might have gotten closer. “You got an angle?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Something I gotta do for you. Nobody just does favors in Gotham, princess-“
“Sorry.”
“Don’t-“ He’d sighed, and you’d kept your gaze fixed on your clothing. “You got nothing you want in return? For real?”
You’d sighed, tapping your fingers on the washer. “I’d like for the Black Mask not to kill me. Please.”
The Red Hood had laughed. A real, deep laugh that—even through the mask—sounded sort of heavenly. And you’d heard all the stories about him and his alternative crime solving.
But in the basement, he’d mostly just seemed like a man. He had broken gloves you could fix. A way of talking and standing that made you trust him more than the men at work. He was close, but never once touched you. His voice had something to it that made you want him to keep talking.
“You got a deal,” he’d said, and you’d still been able to hear that smile. “Can I have your name?”
You’d sighed, and told him. He already knew where you lived, and your sense of self-preservation had never been high. And he’d repeated it back, but it hadn’t sounded like your name. He’d said it slowly at the start, and with a slight sort of infliction at the end. As if he was trying to memorize it. Like it could mean something more than just a name.
“You can call me Red,” he’d offered, and you’d given him a small smile.
“Okay, Red. Are you going to let Black Mask kill me?”
He’d laughed again. It was sort of an addicting sound. “No, sweetheart. I don’t think I will.”
So it had started with Hood. After the first suit, you expected to never see him again, but he came back. Appeared in the same corner of the basement, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Could you do me another favor?”
You’d screamed that time. And somehow, even under the mask, you’d seen him pale.
In the moment, he’d spent about two minutes apologizing for scaring you. Now, he teases you about it. Calls you Frog Princess.
“Cause you’re leapy.” He’d said, and you’d rolled your eyes.
“It’s Princess and the Frog, Red-“
“Nah, that’s the movie. The fairy tale is frog princess.”
He’d been right. And pretty fucking smug about it, too. Then you’d told him you’d start locking your windows, and he’d scoffed, but stopped gloating.
Because he came in through your windows, now. All of them did.
It had started with another favor. Then another. Then he’d started leaving things in the corner of the basement when he didn’t have time to wait for you. And there had been more and more things, and then you’d come down the stairs and Red hadn’t been there, but Nightwing.
“Hi!” He’d beamed at you, and you’d needed to start carrying a baseball bat or something. “You’re the lady that fixed my pants, right?”
“Your-“ You’d sighed, because you knew those had been too thin for Red. Not his style, either. “Yeah. Why?”
He’d held up a suit with a sheepish expression. “I’ll pay you a hundred American Dollars.”
You’d cross your arms. “Can I make that Ethiopian Birr?”
“Uh, sure?” He’d titled his head. “Are you being serious?”
“No.” You’d extended your hand for the suit. “I don’t need you to pay me, I’ll do it.”
Nightwing had beamed at you, and passed over the clothing.
After him was Robin. Then Batgirl, then Signal, then Red Robin. They started taking your design inputs. Bringing you things that didn’t need fixing, just so you could look at them. And Black Mask hadn’t killed you yet, but you’d started to dread the moment Batman himself appeared in your basement, so you’d told Red which window led to your apartment.
And you’d become the Bat’s unofficial costume manager. You don’t know why. Maybe it was that you were free, and did good work. None of them ever asked you why you had bullet proof fabric—Gotham flea markets were fascinating places—and you never asked why they didn’t have anyone else to go to for this.
Most of them would flit in and out. Drop things off, maybe make light conversation, then vanish.
But Red always stuck around, for maybe longer than he should.
And you always let him. You liked him too much to kick him out.
“I like the thing you did with my jacket, sweetheart.” He’d said, sprawled out on your couch like it was nothing. At this point, it kind of was. “Fucking pockets. You’re sorta a genius.”
You’d laughed softy. “Only sorta?”
“Sorry. Total genius.”
You’d flushed. “Thanks.”
“No problem, dollface.”
“Am I dollface, or sweetheart?”
He’d hummed, the sound static through his mask. “Which one do you like?”
You’d shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Lie.
You like when he said your name.
And he had to know that—the asshole—because he’d drawled it, watching you move around your kitchen with that audible grin. “I know you care, you’re a shit liar.”
“I don’t-“
“I’ll keep calling you Frog Princess- Fuck-“
You’d thrown a pillow at him. And he’d just laughed it off.
“You feel strong, princess? Attacking an unarmed man?”
“Yeah,” you’d stuck your tongue out at him. “I do. And you’re not unarmed, Red-“
“Can’t prove that.”
You’d leaned over the back of the couch, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a gun.
But you’d barely gotten to give him a smug look before you’d frozen.
You were leaning over him. He was holding you by your arm, to stop you from falling further. And your breath had hitched because he was warm. And strong. And close-
“Careful,” he’d muttered your name. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Your voice had been breathy. “I am careful.”
He’d sighed. “I know, princess. Still would rather this,” he’d pulled back the gun. “Stays with me.”
“What if I need to shoot someone?”
It had been meant to be a joke. You and Red both knew you couldn’t if you wanted to.
But his voice had been so serious when he’d said. “Then call me, and I’ll take care of it for you.”
And, more than almost anything else in the world, you’d believed him.
It takes five seconds when you meet Jason. For you to know.
He stumbles into the connivence store you pull night shifts at, soaking wet from a storm, wearing a red hoodie, and taking up your whole vision.
It’s not just that he’s built exactly like Red. Same shoulders that you spent far too much time thinking about, same broad chest that—after that first moment on the couch—you’ve kept touching with small shoves and whacks, that Red has crowded all your space with while both of you giggle about something stupid. It’s not just that he walks like Red, with long, loose steps but a tension in his legs.
It’s his voice.
“It’s pouring.” He mutters, staring out the windows, and you shrug.
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Guess I have too.”
You know there.
The smile in his voice, more casual and prominent without the mask.
But you don’t react. You can’t. You might be wrong, and then you’ll just be accusing some guy of being the Red Hood-
Then he looks at you, and you’re even more certain.
He’s—somehow—exactly what you pictured.
Handsome.
Dark hair with one white streak. Sharp jawline, almost glowing green eyes, and deep scarring near his neck and on his cheeks.
But still handsome. Suited to his voice, his everything.
Then he scans over you, extends his hand, and says, “I’m Jason.”
Jason.
His name is Jason.
And when you tell him your name, you’re certain. He repeats it back—the exact was Red did—and nobody else has ever said your name like that. Nobody else ever would.
“If I buy you one of those coffees,” he jerks his head to the shitty machines in the corner. “Are you allowed to drink it?”
“Yeah, but I won’t. They taste like shit.”
He laughs. It’s Red’s laugh.
And you’d had small conversations, with the other Bats. Where they say that Red doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile, either.
You believe them. Jason sort of smiles at you like he’s forgotten how.
But he’s smiling at you.
It feels like it means something. You’d like it to mean something.
“Can I drink shit coffee and talk to you?” He asks, and you tilt your head.
“Sure.” You pause. “Nothing better to do?”
“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
It means something.
So fast, it means something.
Jason gets your phone number, then he calls you. Then, like it’s nothing at all, you’re friends.
“What do you do?” You ask, turning a coffee cup in your hands, and Jason leans over the table.
“You think you can keep a secret?”
You nod, and his lips twitch.
“I sorta run a chop shop. Lotta late nights, and I know it’s not an honest living, but who gives a fuck about that.”
You let out a slow breath, and shrug. “You could try stripping.”
“I did.” He smirks at you. “My pole dancing was fuckin’ horrible. Got sacked in a day.”
You laugh, he grins at you, and you don’t know what the other Bats were talking about.
Jason smiles all the time.
Maybe not with his mouth, but to himself. Invisible and dry, but so obvious when you know where to look. And you do.
You know him when the hanging out becomes half of your free time.
“I like your apartment.” He tells you the first time he comes over—just to watch a movie, because you’re not brave enough to ask if this is more—and you have to force down a laugh. “It’s very you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, princess,” he bumps his shoulder with yours. “But I sorta don’t hate you.”
You hum, and you’re leaning a little too close to him. But without the suit and mask, he smells like salt and old books, and it’s sort of intoxicating. “Is that good?”
“Yeah.” A shadow flashes over his features. “You’re one of five, if that helps.”
“Oh.” You flush, offering him a soft smile. “Then I sorta don’t hate you either.”
Jason grunts and looks away, but his face is flushed at well.
It matters.
He wraps his arm around you on the couch—legs spread and head tipped back—and brought you your favorite candy without you asking, so it matters.
You know him when you say goodnight, and then he’s back at your window—now in the mask—only a few hours later.
“I like my belt.” Red tells you, and you don’t know how he thinks he’s fooling you. Jason does the exact thing, of just telling you that he likes something, as if he’s trying to prove he’s paying attention and cares. “It’s thick.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” He drops on your couch, spreading himself the same way as always. The same way he did, only hours ago. “Any big life developments?”
You sigh, and focus on your hands as you choose your words carefully. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I met a guy.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “You like him?”
“Yeah,” you bite your lower lip. “A lot.”
Red grunts. “But?”
“There’s no but.”
“I know a but when I hear one, dollface-“
“There’s not a but.” You snap, and Red falls silent as you take a steadying breath.
He’s trying to bait you into saying something bad about him. He hasn’t done it as Jason yet, but he’s done it as the Red Hood. You tell him something good about him, and he tosses it off. He says that whatever hero vigilante thing he did last night wasn’t that good, then look at you like you’re supposed to agree. And doing it here is fucking mean—to both of you—but you can’t tell him you know. He has to tell you first. But you won’t fall for it anyway.
You don’t have anything bad to say.
“I like him a lot.” You mutter, still unable to face him. “I just don’t know if he likes me.”
“What?” You can hear Red’s frown. “Why?”
“Cause he hasn’t asked me out.”
“Ah.” Red lets out a sharp breath, his voice dropping slightly. “Don’t worry. He will.”
You shrug. “I’ll be fine if he doesn’t-“
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. He’d be a lucky asshole if you said yes, and I bet he knows it.”
He knows it.
You know him.
And the very next day, Jason’s knocking on your door with his hands in his pocket, and clears his throat.
He mutters your name, watching you carefully. “What’s a guy gotta say to have you?”
“That.” You beam at him. “That’ll work.”
It gets serious quick, as wll.
Maybe it’s because you’ve known him a while, and even before that you felt like you knew him forever. But soon Jason has a toothbrush in your bathroom, you wear his shirt to bed, and you have favorite places to go for dinner. If the other bats notice that you clearly have someone half-living with you, they don’t mention it.
You’d bet that Jason told them. It can’t be a coincidence that the only nights no one shows up are the nights Jason is staying over.
There will be a time when you have to talk about it. When you have to take his face between your hands and scream that you know. That you’ve always known. That some insane part of you loved him when he appeared in the basement, so there was no way you couldn’t know.
But for now, you let him carry you to bed after you curl up in his arms. Let him do his little patrol of your apartment, then hold you tight to his chest as you both drift off to sleep.
And tonight isn’t the first night you wake up like this.
It won’t be the last.
At least you know what to do.
Jason’s shoved you away from him, and he’s rolled himself off the bed. Fallen to the floor then shot up, the toy gun you put under the bed in his hands.
You keep a real gun on your side of the bed. Just in case. Jason says. But he also tried to convince you not to sleep with him because of this, so you compromised for a toy gun.
In this state, he doesn’t notice the difference. Feral eyed and aiming it around in the dark, breathing ragged and weak noises leaving his throat.
He doesn’t shoot you, as you crawl to the edge of the mattress. He never shoots you. Something flashes over his features, and he mutters you name the same way as always.
Like you’re holy.
“It’s me, Jay,” you offer him a soft, sad smile. “Just me, baby. You’re okay.”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t fight it as you slide of the bed and pull him into your arms.
It only takes a second for him to hold you back. To cling to you like you’re going to vanish. Sobs are muffled in your neck, and he’s massive but folded so gently over your body. You trace your fingers through his hair and hum until he comes down, and mutters your name against your skin.
“You should leave, princess.”
You kiss the top of his head. “I’m good.”
“One day I’m gonna hurt you.”
“So I’ll leave when you hurt me.”
“You shouldn’t let it come to that-“
“Jason.” You mutter. “Do you really think you’re going to hurt me?”
There’s a long silence, then he mumbles.
“No. But I’m not always- Shit, I’m not good for you-“
“Why?”
He sighs, and even though you both know how this ends, he keeps up with the dance.
“I got issues,” he says your name, and it’s still a prayer. “I’ve done things, that- You deserve better than fuckin’ this-“
“Yeah, but I want you.”
“You shouldn’t. You’d leave me, if you didn’t-“
He doesn’t say it. Neither of you have said it yet, and you don’t know how to be the first.
But you can hold him a little tighter. And let it hang in the air, before you break the silence.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Jay. I’m here. And I’m not leaving until you tell me and mean it.”
He always holds you back. And you both know.
You might know a little more.
But it doesn’t matter.
You breathe, when he’s here. Feel more important than you are.
So you’re not letting him go.
Time flies by.
Jason doesn’t tell you.
And you should be furious about that, but it’s too fucking easy to love him.
He makes the bed, when he stays over. He kisses your forehead, whenever he sees you. He keeps saying your name like you’re the only thing in the world and smiling at you. Everyone always tells you he never smiles, but he smiles at you.
Even his father—Bruce Wayne, which Jason decided not to mention until the very last second because he likes surprising you—says he’s never seen Jason this happy. Never had Jason introduce someone to the whole family—now you’ve worked out Batman’s identity too, which is great for you—and never heard him laugh this often, like it’s nothing at all.
You love him more with every single second.
He’s got scars, but he’s not stuck in them. And when you kiss them, his hand tangles gently in your hair and he lets out a soft, happy sigh. He pays such close attention to you, there’s never again a question of if this is something.
It’s everything.
You and Jason eating dinners and his hand in yours as you walk down the street. You still scream, when he comes around a corner, but he just laughs and pulls you into his arms.
Domestic. Peaceful.
Still haunted by the Red Hood.
“Look at my goddamn boots.” Jason grumbles—voice static through the mask—and holds them up for you to see the soles and sides torn, almost like-
“Did you step in a bear trap?”
“Yeah. Can you fix it?”
“Red, I- Where even were you-“
“Docks.” He says like it’s obvious. “I’m fine, sweetheart-“
“You’re an idiot.” You snap, grabbing the boots, and he’s still for a second.
Silent for longer, as you patch up his boots. But he couldn’t gotten hurt. It’s sour in your gut and sore over your ribs, he could’ve gotten seriously fucking hurt-
“Do you worry about me?” He asks suddenly, and you sigh.
“Yes.”
He grunts. “You don’t have to-“
“But I do. I will.”
There’s a long, heavy silence, and Red coughs.
“I can take care of myself, y’know-“
“I know. I don’t care.” You shoot him a glare, marching over to drop at his side. “I’m allowed to worry about you, Red. You do worrying things.”
He snorts. “You got no idea-“
“Yeah.” The memory of Jason, shirtless beneath you and littered with scars, flashes through your head. “I do. And I care about you. So I worry.”
“Aw.” He drawls. “You care about me, dollface-“
“Yeah.” You snap, glaring at his mask. “I do.”
Red stares at you, but you don’t waver. Not for this.
Jason’s there whenever you have a panic attack. He walks you home every night, stress over your safety every moment, and then lets you hold him when he waking up thrashing, on the rare nights he passes out in your bed. He always mutters an apology after, and protests when you turn on the light and tell him to read to you.
You love him. He’s in pain, and you can see it whenever he stumbles back covered in blood, and it fucking eats at you that he won’t let you love him back, but you love him. He’s not your Jason—hood, whatever—if he’s not a little bit fucked up, but still fighting through it.
You’re just waiting for him to let you fight with him. And until then—and a long while after—you’re going to just care, and hope he understands.
That you’re here.
And not going anywhere.
“How’s your boyfriend?” He mutters, and you want to smack him.
He sounds so bitter, as if he’s not your fucking boyfriend.
“He’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep.” You shrug. “Perfect.”
And he is perfect.
Jason’s fucking perfect.
His mouth, brushing softly over yours, always asking a silent permission before he takes more. His kisses, deep and delicate, like he’s worried he’s going to bite you. His teeth when he does bite you, because you lean your neck back and give him a soft, pleading expression that he knows far too well.
“Now?” He mutters your name, holding you naked on his lap. “You were up all night-“
“So were you.” You mumble, trailing your hands down his bare chest. “If you’re too tired, baby-“
Jason cuts you off with another, deep kiss, and you sigh into his mouth.
It took a while for him to get this comfortable with you. Only two months for him to believe you when you told him you’d like him to touch you—taste you, have you, fuck you—and four months together before he took off his shirt during sex. Another two for you to have sex with the lights on.
But you never mentioned it. Never asked, because you know where that conversation goes, and he’s not ready for it yet. It’s another example of how it’s amazing he doesn’t know you’ve figured it out, though. He’s got an autopsy scar, and Red’s told you about how he died. Jason’s told you his full name, let you meet his family, and somehow thinks that their story of faking his death because stalkers was something you bought. You would’ve been insulted if you didn’t know he was trying to protect you. If he didn’t spend every moment in your presence calling you his smart and pretty girl.
You’d worry he didn’t love and trust you, if you weren’t smart. If he didn’t moan your name like a hymn, when you palmed him over his sweatpants. If he didn’t attach his lips to your neck and suck small, dark spots as you rolled your hips on his thigh, the ache between your legs slowly building with every second.
When you slowly start to kiss down his chest, Jason grabs your chin and gently tips it up, frowning at your lust blown expression.
“Princess, you don’t have to-“
“Want to.” You whisper, kissing just under his pec and watching, mesmerized, as his head tips back. “May I?”
He nods, watching you under hooded eyes, and you resume your path.
Over his abs, along the sharp V of his hips, then slowly pulling his pants down and taking his cock in your hand.
Jason groans as you slowly start to stroke him, and you don’t need to look up to know he’s staring at you. A soft moan leaves him as you press a gentle kiss to the reddened tip, his finger tangling in your hair as to you spit on him and play with his balls.
His hips jerk, when you take him in your mouth, and you moan as he bumps the back of your throat.
“Fuck,” Jason groans your name, and you set a slow, lazy pace. Jerking off what you can’t get in your mouth, swirling your tongue and sucking him like he’s a lollipop. “Jesus, pretty girl, you’re so fuckin’- God-“
He’s slurring his words already, grip on your hair tightening, and you want him to lose control. It always takes a minute, to get him to snap, but fuck, you love it when he does. When Jason fucks your face until you can feel it, and you know he trusts you because he doesn’t do this with anyone else. Doesn’t want anyone to see that side of him.
But you worship it.
Just thinking about it makes you press your legs together and take him deeper in your mouth. Move your fingers back down to his balls as you flick your tongue over the slit on the tip of his cock. Whine with pleasure as his hips slam up, and roll your hips against the mattress.
“Shit, sweetheart, you gotta slow down-“
You obey without thought, turning your pace torturously slow, and he groans.
“Fuck- I- I gotta-“ Another jerk of his hips. This time he tries to take away his hand, but you reach up. Hold it against you, then go a little faster.
Look up at him with that same pleading expression, and almost cum just from the sight.
Jason’s always beautiful. But watching you with a starved, desperate expression and blushing at the sight of you sucking his cock, he’s a work of art.
And he understands in a second. Groans your name and shakes his head, but understands.
“Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, dollface.” He yanks you off his cock, and a little droll falls out of your mouth as he runs his thumb over your lower lip. “You need me to take care of you?”
You nod, and moan as Jason pushes his thumb into your mouth. Suck him the same way you did his dick, grinding your ass against the sheets for a little bit of friction.
“Shit,” he lets out a ragged breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You want my cock?”
You hum, and his jaw clenches.
“Then take it how I want,” he all but growls your name, and you beam at him. “Think you can do that for me?”
He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, you take a deep breath, nodding like a bobble head.
“Yes- Please, Jay, touch me-“
You moan as he drags you up his chest, pulling you into another long kiss, and he rolls you over without a single grunt.
“Whatever you want, my love.” He mutters against your lips, and your mouth falls open as a thick finger slide between the folds of your cunt, then pumping slowly in and out of your fluttering pussy.
“Jason,” you gasp, hips rolling as his palm presses to your clit. “So good, feels so good-“
“Always fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart.” His lips return to your neck, and you whimper. “Never enough for my needy girl, is it. Always ready for my cock, always beggin’ for it-“
“Yes.” Your back arches off the bed as Jason crooks his fingers, then rubs that spot deep inside of you. “Need to feel you, baby, please-“
He cuts you off with another deep kiss, and you melt into the mattress.
And Jason’s got you. He’s always got you.
His fingers vanish for a second, then he’s slapping your clit with his dick. Swallowing your whine of protest as he repeats the movement, then pressing his brow to yours and looking down between your bodies.
He’s lined himself up at your entrance, and he always watched himself slide into you with a moan rumbling in his chest and look of awe on his face.
And Jason doesn’t talk, when he’s inside you. You’re not sure he can. There always a mumbled so good, takin’ me so good, then his face presses against your neck, and it’s all about feeling. Jason’s cock buried inside you for minutes at time before he starts moving, his arms caging you to his chest, and his lips teasing over the soft crook of your neck.
It’s only when you start to squirm and whine, that Jason starts to fuck you.
Sometimes is rough. Hard and fast, with bruising kisses and force. You think he’s always trying to mark you in a way that will last, like you’re not already his.
Other times, it’s like this.
Slow. Soft. A little fucking sacred, because Jason’s moaning your name against your skin and touching you like you’re holy, but still dragging so painfully good inside of you, bringing you right up to the edge without ever letting you fall over. The are parts inside of you that you didn’t know existed, until Jason found them and used them to unravel you. Parts that love the slow, lazy attention of his cock, even as the rest of you starts to buzz with electricity. You wiggle in his arms, but he only holds you tighter and kisses you harder.
A silent message of wait. I’ve got you, pretty girl, but you gotta wait.
It’s so hard to wait. Jason’s warm around you and in you, the feeling of him splitting you open better than any drug, and the heat in your gut ready to burst the moment he gives you permission.
But tonight, he wants to touch you slowly.
So you wait.
But you still play dirty.
You squeeze around his cock when he’s pressed against your cervix, then again just the tip is still in you. Then you moan his name as his hips rut forward.
Jason pushes up on his elbows, giving you a flat expression, and you smile back stupidly.
He rolls his eyes, and doesn’t pick his pace.
But he stays hovered over you.
And that’s how you know you won.
Jason’s thumb finds your clit as he fucks you. Still pulling out like he as all the time in the world, then slamming home so hard the bed creaks. And you’re right there. So fucking close, unable to get that last push to cum-
“Jay.” You whisper, reaching up to grab his face. “Please.”
His throat bobs, and he nods, his thumb pressing down and rubbing in furious circles, and your orgasm washes over you in an instant. Stars dance behind your eyes and your toes curl, the pleasure dragged out as Jason finally speeds up, chasing his own release as you spasm around him and moan his name.
He cums inside of you, kissing you like he’s going to war as he paints your cunt white.
It takes him a moment to pull out, after you both come down. He clings to you, cock twitching as he slowly fucks his cum into you.
You’re not sure he knows he does that. But you don’t mind.
It makes you feel like his.
And this is how you know Jason loves you.
He mutters your name against your lips, the tone alone one of soft praise, then pulls out with a grunt. He cleans you up after, brings you water and guides you into the shower, before wrapping you in a towel and carrying you back to bed.
He holds you to his chest, as you both start to drift off into sleep.
And for some reason, you have to tell him now. When there’s still water clinging to his eyelashes, and his arms around relaxed around your waist.
“I love you, Jason.”
His eyes shoot open, and he looks terrified. Mouth opening and closing, pale faced and holding you tighter.
But he doesn’t run.
“It’s okay if you can’t say it back,” you whisper, and Jason’s throat bobs.
He mutters your name, voice hoarse, and you shake your head.
“I’ll wait.” You kiss his jaw, and he lets out a soft breath. “But I love you.”
He sighs, and nods, kissing the top of your head.
“You’re amazing.” He mumbles, and when you smile at him, he smiles back.
He won’t say it now.
But you know anyway.
He’s going to blame himself, if he doesn’t get here in time. You’ve pieced together bits of his past from news clips and timelines, and you know he’s going to rip himself apart.
You haven’t slept since Harley grabbed you, and you’re starting to feel it in your skull.
Soon, it’ll be over. You’d rather be asleep when that comes.
But, as you hold it in the dark, one last time—you love Jason, and it’s more holy than anything else—you know he’s going to blame himself.
He’s going to take that promise from the basement, and rip himself apart with it.
He’s strong. Braver than you are. And he’s been through worse. And maybe he’ll look at ruined gloves and tattered jacket and cry. Or maybe he’ll preserve you somewhere.
But he’ll keep loving you.
That’s never really been a question.
Mostly, you wish you’d been braver enough to tell him that you knew. That you knew, and you loved him all the same, because he’s not Jason if he’s not a cryptic, dramatic asshole.
But you weren’t.
At least he knows you love him. And you know he loved you. He wouldn’t have risked so much if he didn’t, wouldn’t have stayed when it was easier to cut and run. So all you can pray for, as the exhaustion pulls you under, is that he’ll forgive himself.
Maybe smile again, sometime after you’re gone.
He knew.
From the goddamn start, Jason knew it would end like this. It always ended like this. Good things didn’t just fucking happen, not to him, not in a way that lasted.
If he was a better man, he would’ve stayed away from Her. She would smiled at him in the basement, he would’ve turned down Her offer to fix his clothing, and She’d be safe. He might have thought about Her for the rest of his life, but he was used to not getting what he wanted. Jason was good at not getting what he wanted. Life was shit, but he did it anyway.
That didn’t mean he got to live with others. To have something as soft and delicate as love, because he’d always known it would break. It always broke.
But She was so goddamn stubborn. Beautiful and unwavering, more resilient than he could ever hope to be, telling Jason She loved him when he was made of cracked and sharp, pointed edged.
She always soothed them. Always spoke in that pretty voice, and made Jason feel like maybe there could be something for him. Something in the future, in the dark, filling up all the cracks of his head he didn’t know how to mend.
He never thought of Her as a lighthouse, though. He wasn’t a ship lost in the dark, and Gotham was a storm because Storms passed.
She was a moonbeam. Shimmering in the dark, illumination and gentle and always there, even when he thought She shouldn’t be. It wasn’t up to Jason if the moon glowed. It just did.
She did.
And She loved him.
Jason.
She loved Jason.
But She didn’t love Red Hood.
And it had killed him at first, to only visit Her in the mask. He couldn’t press Her lips to the soft parts of Her throat through the mask. Couldn’t smile at Her, when she’d become the only thing that made him really, fully smile. There was nothing bitter or mocking or fake about Jason’s smile when it was for Her. It wasn’t a tactic for intimidation or a forced expression to make his family think he didn’t still have a lot of anger, boiling in his gut. Anger at the people in charge, letting everyone hurt and never lifting a finger. Anger at all the people, who made him worry that one day, he’d lose Her.
Anger at the Joker. For everything.
He’d pushed past the anger at Bruce, for not killing the Joker after Jason died. He was just Jason. He could die over and over, and maybe the world would be better for it if he just stayed dead.
But if She didn’t wake, Jason was going to kill Bruce himself.
This was the exact fucking reason the Joker needed to die. The reason Jason should’ve just been content with loving Her silently as Red Hood, instead of pretending to just happen upon Her at work and have her for real.
Now he was going to lose Her.
And he could die and come back again, kill the Joker a thousand more times, somehow turn Gotham into a paradise, and he’d never be able to repent for losing Her.
He couldn’t lose Her.
He’d never even said he loved Her. As Jason, or Red Hood.
She looked so small, curled on a cot in the Batcave. Alfred said She’d be fine. If Alfred said She’d be fine, She’d have to be fine. There wasn’t another option.
But She’d wake up here. And She was smart.
She’d realize why She was here. See Jason—even in his normal clothing, because Dick had made him change out of the Red Hood suit while Alfred looked at Her—and realize that his chop shop job was a lie. Then She’d leave him, and the only truly good thing in his life slip through his fingers.
It was for the best.
He’d been a lucky fucking asshole to have Her at all.
And it was always going to end like this.
He’d explain, She’d leave, and Jason would be stranded in the dark once more. But he knew the dark. He knew the spaces of it that could be warm enough to keep him alive, and how to navigate the colder parts. He knew that good things didn’t last.
So when She made a soft sound and Her eyes fluttered open, Jason braced himself for the bullet. He’d take it easy, stitch up after, then keep going. Keep loving Her after she left. Make sure She stayed safe, just like he’d promised.
Let Her go on.”
“Jason?” She mumbled, blinking up at him with a pretty frown. “Jay, my- my head hurts-“
“I know, princess, it’s okay.” His voice sounded more strained than he’d wanted. He couldn’t stop it. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
She made a muffled, weak noise, and reached for his hand.
He wasn’t strong enough not to take it.
“Jay?” She whispered, eyes still clouded with exhaustion. “I- What happened?”
He swallowed, forcing out the words he’d spent the past few hours rehearsing. “We got to you in time. Got you out. Took Harley and Joker in. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Oh. Okay.” She sighed, tugging slightly on his arm. “Can you lie down with me?”
Fuck, he wanted to. There was nothing that sounded better than folding his body over Her’s, feeling the warmth that meant She was still alive. That he hadn’t completely failed.
But he couldn’t.
He had to tell Her first, before Steph or Tim wandered in and accidentally snitched about what She seemed to be too tired to put together.
Jason muttered Her name, staring at the floor, and She hummed.
“Yeah?”
“I- I gotta tell you something, sweetheart.” He should let go of Her hand. He couldn’t. “’S my fault they took you.”
“Jason-“
“No, I- Just let me say it.” His voice broke slightly, but he couldn’t pussy out now. He’d never say it otherwise. “I’m Red Hood. Harley must’ve seen me leaving your place, in the suit, then gone after you.” He swallowed, unable to look up and see Her expression. It would be over the moment he did. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She was silent for a moment, and it was suffocating. Wired and heavy on his shoulder, their hands still connect, the last time he’d be allowed to feel Her-
“Harley didn’t know we were together, Jay.” She said, voice far too soft for how angry She must be. “She didn’t know who was going to come save me. She just knew I did work for Batman.”
Jason frowned. She didn’t seem to be dwelling on the point.
“And it wouldn’t be your fault anyway-“
He grunted Her name, shaking his head. “That’s not the fuckin’- I’m trying to tell you that I’m Red-“
“Hood?” She finished for him, and She should be pissed.
Why the hell didn’t She sound pissed-
“I know, Jay.”
He froze, and looked up. She was looking at him so gently. No hatred etched under Her features, no fear in Her shining eyes, just-
The same.
Exactly how She’d always looked at him.
She must not understand.
“No- You- I’m Red Hood.” He raised his voice slightly, because She had to get it. Jason needed this to be over, now. “I was in the basement with you, I hit on your while you did laundry-“
“You tried to hit on me while I did laundry.” She corrected with a small smile. “I told you it wasn’t working.”
He gaped at Her, then shook his head.
“There’s- Dollface, there’s no way-“
She scowled at that. “Jason, I knew from the first moment I saw you-“
“How-“
“Because I love you.” She said it so simply, but that wasn’t supposed to be the truth anymore. “I just- I knew.”
Jason stared at Her, still frowning slightly, but relaxed.
Telling the truth.
She’d known. The whole goddamn time, She’d known. Every time he’d left for “work” She’d known, whenever he crawled into bed with strange bruises She’d known, when he woke up screaming or kissed her or fucked her, She’d known-
“And you stayed?” He rasped, and She looked at him like it was an insane question.
“Of course I stayed.”
“No- Sweetheart, you should’ve fuckin’ left-“
“Why? Jason, I love you-“
“No.” He repeated it, because it had to be true. Everything Jason knew about the world said that She shouldn’t know and love him. “You’re too good for that-“
She scoffed. “Oh, fuck off-“
“You’re too good for me!” He roared. “Fuck, I- I’ve tried to tell you, but you never fucking got it, you’re too good for me, princess. I kill people-“
“I know-“
“Then you should’ve left-“
“Jason Todd.” She hissed, sitting up on the mattress, still holding his hand. Why wouldn’t She let go of his hand. “I love you because of who you are, not in fucking spite of it. I love you as Red, and I love you as Jason, and I am not too good for you-“
“Yeah, you-“
“Are you going to love me less?” She snapped, Her grip almost strangling. “Just because I know and still love you?”
Jason scowled. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does-“
He muttered Her name, and She shook her head, yanking him forward. He could’ve fought it. He was stronger.
But he never did. Not when it was Her.
“It matters.” She hissed. “If you love me less, it matters. Because if you do, I’m leaving you. I’ve told you, I only go when you make me.”
Goddamnit, She was stubborn. “You should leave.” He muttered, and She shook her head.
“I won’t.”
“You-“
“I won’t.” She repeated, holding his gaze. “Not until you say it.”
“Say-“
“Say you don’t love me anymore.”
Fuck. “I never said I love you-“
“Yeah, but I know you do.” Something flashed over Her beautiful features. “Did. Tell me you did love me, and I’ll go. But you have to say it.”
He should.
Jason always should have stayed away.
This wouldn’t last.
But fuck, he wanted it to. And looking at Her, glowing in the dark of the Batcave, still here, still loving him, it wasn’t possible to hate himself enough to make Her leave.
“I won’t.” He muttered. “I won’t say that, princess. I can’t.”
“Then I’m not leaving. Okay?”
Jason sighed, and—despite all of it—She smiled at him. Rested Her brow against his, and squeezed his hand.
And Jason still had Her.
And She was still good.
“I love you, Jay.” She mumbled, holding his gaze. “All of you.”
There was a heavy lump in his throat, and a sting behind his eyes that meant tears were coming.
But She still loved him.
So despite all of it, Jason smiled back.
“I love you too.”