hi hi

More than one alpha in your hotel room flinches at the sound of your croaky and creaky voice. Sore from coughing the day away, raw, and therefore quiet. Hoseok drops to his knees again by your nestside. Anger forgotten as he cups your cheeks with both palms, rough. You lean into the touch reflexively, eyes puffy and cheeks swollen and pouty. Putting all your weight into those hands, strong enough to heave bodies and crush skulls.

In the olden days, Hoseok might have been a warrior. He might have done more with his body beyond dancing and protecting his pack, correcting Jungkook when he gets the least bit primal, and settling Namjoon’s tendency to be a bull in a China shop.

In a different age, he might have cleaned his armor free of blood before even daring to kneel for you. And since his time in the military, each touch to you feels different- each touch has him checking his hands for blood before he crosses that line. This feels just as precious, like you might break.

But now you narrow your eyes at him, huffing.

Hoseok hums, pecking your forehead gently, unperturbed by your displeasure as it relates to his actions. He’s not worried about getting sick, about you transferring your cold to him. Not even a little bit. Alpha immune systems are infinitely stronger than omega's.

“Now I’ve woken you as well. Can you forgive me?” You pout up at him, and collectively the whole room exhales a held breath. Hoseok’s alpha is incapable of being out for blood with you awake and needy, completely docile when you look at him and whine for more attention. He cups your chin gently, fingers splaying under the curve of your jaw. Rubbing away at the joint, feeling for swollen lymph nodes and finding them, massaging them out with a displeased growl. You hiss at the feeling; they must be tender.

“I’m sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep. Alpha is handling it.”

But you pout and reach, clinging to the hem of his shirt. Whining softly, Hoseok has his arms open, ready to hold you should you wish it. Hoseok glares behind him at the people here. Weighing his need for bloodshed and his need to hold you. You know exactly what you’re doing, relaxing him so that the others can escape. Hoseok lets you do it.

He glares at them out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t dare raise his tone to a barked order or a growl as you press your face into his shirt and chest, purring softly. The movement takes you out of the nest a little bit. You’re fully clothed, but his shirt rucks up a bit and the lights overhead turn it translucent, bearing just a hint of waistband and the smallest curve of your stomach.

Hoseok’s alpha wants to blind the people in this room for even looking.

“Get out.”

They don’t need a second warning; the tone is more than enough. They file out in moments, taking their things, the heart rate monitor, the timed IV drip, everything sans the medicine and food. Leaving the two of you blissfully alone (these moments that are few and far between on tour). They can forgive his attitude this one time. Hoseok is usually an angel, just not when you're sick. Not today.

You nose into the front of his shirt, trying to get his scent on you, slightly distressed when you can’t smell him through your congested nose. He pulls back only slightly and gets the back of his hand against your forehead. Feeling for a fever, his mouth turns down into a frown when he finds it.

Seejin is the last out. Hoseok’s instincts narrow in on you, at ease now. He says something about cough medicine and leaving it on the counter for later in case you need it, and that he’ll be just next door in case you get worse and need to be taken to the hospital later. Seejin cares about you too, Hoseok knows this. He's known you just as long as Hoseok has.  

But Hoseok is not really paying attention to anything else as you start to purr again, pushing your cheek into his hand, dragging it across his wrist. Hoseok can’t smell you at all; your scent, normally intoxicating, has been turned dull by sickness.

This stupid, stupid cold.

For any of the others, it might just be a 24-hour thing. They’d just take vitamins or maybe some fluids and go to bed early and be fine the next day. But not you, no- never you. Hoseok curses the past for what he can’t change and the future for what's coming. He looks down at you. That lurch in his stomach, the fear of losing you, too much to consider. He's thankful for the shadows that keep his stricken expression hidden. You're not looking at him.

But you must be able to scent it on him, somehow, reading his mind the same way you always do.

“It’s just a cough Hobi, there’s no need to-” his growl is loud, a warning before you tell him not to worry- like worry isn’t his natural state. Already, he feels the need to put your scent gland between his teeth, biting his lower lip to keep from doing just that.

“You know I have reason to worry.” You don’t challenge him, and he bends over, dragging his head and throat across the top of yours, hair fluffing. Curly and dark and homey smelling, up and over. Replacing your sour and dull scent with his, a protective aura around you, and a warning to anyone who could come close. He takes your hand and drags it over his throat as the last of the staff exits with a scurry.

Hoseok keeps going until your eyes are heavy-lidded, until the hotel room is quiet beyond the hammer of his pulse, until your breath comes easy and even.

Any other day, he’d ask permission before trying to get you scent high, but not now. Now Hoseok’s instincts necessitate it. It doesn’t work; you’re scented docile only for a few seconds before you start coughing again.

In that moment, Hoseok makes his decision.

Hoseok holds you through it. Worrying and tucking your hair behind your ears until you detangle yourself from him and curl over your knees in the nest so that you’re not literally coughing into him. The base of it is littered with tissues and a candy wrapper that he pick up to put in the wastebasket with a frown.

He gets you water, and you drink half of it gratefully. Hoseok stands above you, watching, worrying as you wheeze.

"I'm very worried about you. I think we should go to the hospital."

"No shit."

"Will you be serious about this for once?"

"Not unless you give me a reward for it."

Hoseok's annoyance climbs half has high as his endearment. The fondness wins out. "No more sweets. You need nutrition if you're going to get better."

"But they make my throat feel better."

"Jolly ranchers are not a food group. There's medicine to make your throat feel better."

"But it's yucky."

"Pup-"

"Fine." You pout, your lips are chapped. "but I want french toast for breakfast."

"Deal."

"With ice cream."

"Pup-" He tries to reply, but you start coughing again, into a tissue again. Hoseok is relieved, not revolted, when there’s no blood on it. But still, he watches and waits, standing above you, ready to be needed.

You hold the glass up and he takes it without being prompted, putting it on a side table. When you wipe your mouth and open your eyes, they look a bit more bloodshot.

Your face breaks out into a smile. "At least I can't smell your icky concert sweat." Hoseok is not amused in the slightest. Not in the mood for joking at all, sighing, pushing his hair back from his face. "What?"

“I need to shower. I can call Seejin back in to watch you, but I should only be 5 minutes.”

You let out a little chirping trill, in the back of your throat, cute and unbidden. Starting to pull your body onto your knees and push yourself up and out of the nest, making alarm bells go off in his head. “I’ll come; I feel sweaty too.”

“No no no, you need to rest,” you start to pick yourself up regardless, and Hobi realizes that you’re in his clothes, the shirt he’d left at the foot of the bed this morning when he’d woken soft and sleepy. Hoseok is not surprised that you’ve put it on, that you’ve had it on all day. And yet the lump in his throat sweetens and thickens.

He rationalizes that the steam will probably help your lungs.

You don’t listen, and Hoseok wishes he hadn't find it endearing. You ignore him, teetering as you get out of the nest, swaying until he makes a deep growl in his throat, stooping till his hands can wrap under the curve of your thighs. You cling to his shoulders, a little startled to suddenly find yourself in his arms.

“Hobi, I’m heavy.”

“And I’m strong. Didn’t know we were stating facts- although for the record you’re lighter than a feather,” he says, lifting you a little more, bouncing in his arms. You cling to him. Letting out these little peeling giggles that have Hoseok’s stomach going all fluttery. “Really- Seokjin Hyung’s gonna have a field day when he realizes you’ve dropped a kilo.”

You giggle again. Pressing your face into his shoulder as Hoseok leads you through the penthouse suite into the master bedroom and bathroom beyond. You wheeze and play with his collar.

“And Yoongi.” you add.

“And Yoongi hyung too.”

“And Jungkook, and Tae Tae and…”

You name all your packmates, clearly feeling slightly more hazy from omegaspace than usual. A predicament that Hoseok usually savors and finds no less adorable now. He resists the temptation to praise you and push you down further (because if getting you to take medicine normally is a herculean effort than getting an omegaspacey you to take it is nearly impossible.)

but still. hoseok hears what he might say where he to indulge you. What a smart pup we’ve got. What a good pup, letting alpha carry you. I'd carry you everywhere if you'd let me. Can you open up wide and let me give you what you need? can you let me see all of it?

Instead Hobi says this; “All of them, all of them can’t wait to see you, can’t wait to have you home.”

You cling to him a little harder. A little more. “Wanna stay with alpha.”

Hoseok’s glad you can’t see his facial expression break and falter, twisting with an indescribable amount of guilt. “I know, pup. I know.”

The bathroom isn't half as nice as the one you have back home. A conflation of glossy marble and black fixtures. He sets you down on the vanity counter. Distracted by the way you’re nuzzling into his throat, suddenly very interested in the smooth column of his unblemished skin, and digging your cute little omegan teeth into it. They're too dull to mark him, but his neck is sensitive. He pulls back with a jerk, the tingle of pleasure plain heating his blood. You playfully snap your teeth at him, and he laughs.

“Alright- enough.” But you don't want to let him go, trying to trap him between your legs, he pushes them apart and your cheeks pink up. He grins at you knowingly before he leaves you there, sitting on the vanity.

He doesn’t have to tell you off again, feet swinging against the vanity as you watch him. He turns the shower on, twisting to feel the temperature and make it just right. His shirt pulls up and your socked feet nudge the triangle of exposed skin and his ticklish ribs.

Hoseok jumps, growls, and you giggle. He reaches back without looking to grab them, playfully tugging at them. Half playful and Half mindful of being gentle.

He doesn't look back at you until his blood cools. Waiting for his mind to calm down and the shower to heat up. Schooling his scent into something more mild, and less alpha, prepared to claim before he turns around. Thinking through thoughts of mint ice cream and mistakes in choreo and snakes and everything else that he finds completely unsexy.

The load of good it does him. He turns around and almost trips over his own two feet.

You're bare under his shirt, underwear dangling by your foot before it hits the floor. Joining the tiny sleep shorts already on the ground. You consider Hoseok from under your lashes, no command. No help me undress alpha. No nothing.

Hoseok cannot stop himself from stepping forward to pick it up, folding it, and putting it on the counter. Hands shaking.

Some things, like his penchant for details, needing everything in its place, do not go away. Not even when Hoseok is feeling instinctual and out of control with fear. Not even now. His grip on the edge of the counter is white knuckled. And the bathroom slowly starts to fill with steam.

“How was the show?” You hum, hands skipping up his bare arms, you pretend you don’t notice his breath increasing or how he’s nearly panting at your hands trail gently up to his elbows. Hoseok has to swallow before he can speak.

“Good. I don’t know. probably shitty. There are still kinks with the new song,” he taps back, his fingers and your fingers, your own little language.

"Oh kinks."

"Shut up." But it's all fond. “Hands up pup.” Your hair fluffs over your bare shoulders when he detangles you from his shirt, folding it too, and Hoseok fiddles with your split ends a bit, checking and humming. Mentally making a note to schedule you for a haircut when you get home. It’s not that he’s particular, it’s just that you don’t like to think of these things- like facial appointments and haircuts. These are pack alpha responsibilities. Making sure that his pack is properly looked after.

Hoseok knows you do best and fight the least when you’re simply handed your schedule. The choice of whether you disobey it is up to you, of course. But both you and Hoseok know you won’t step out of line unless you want a correction or have a good reason for it.

And you might like it a little, being corrected by Hoseok.

“But you like the backup dancers?” Your hands reach for the hem of his shirt, helping you get it over his shoulders. And he lets you try to do the same as he did for you. Fiddling with it as you go. Squirming as your hands slowly skim up his back, over his shoulders. Feeling every divot and dimple with a happy little squirm.

Your heels dig into his lower back, and he grabs your ankle before you can pull him closer. You ignore him and start to undo his belt. Hoseok can already feel his cock filling out, but ignores it, unable to tear his eyes or his attention off of your face.

“I do,” Hoseok closes his eyes briefly. Confessing after a moment. “They’re just not the guys, you know?”

You sniffle, and Hoseok feels guilty for telling you. Even though he tells you everything. When you're sick, he feels like he should be better about burdening you further. But you're always sick.

Before enlistment, Hoseok would have never said a fucking word. But now, you stop trying to encourage him between your legs, pausing to put your palm against his cheek. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes.

“It’s fine. It won’t be forever. It’s alright.”

“I know, but-” he opens them, and you're looking up at him so sadly. And he knows in that moment that his frustration, his agitation, his quickness to anger- hasn't escaped you at all.

He helps you into the shower. Sometimes when Hoseok gets like this, he has a hard time stopping touching you. He’s always got his hand on your waist or the nape of your neck. Right now he clutches at your hand like it’s a lifeline. Gently guiding you to the in-shower bench before you stop before it and shake your head, hair starting to get wet.

“Wanna stand for a little and get tired, I’ve been nesting allll day.” You drag out the last few syllables and eye him expectantly. Hoseok is too pleased to show it. Hoseok can feel his scent settle, less sharp, more pleased.

His scent is as far as it goes, because Hoseok can see how haggard you are. The hollows under your eyes, the unsteady way you sway beneath the heat. He sits with a sigh. A crack of his knees, muscles aching. You stand between his legs but not before adjusting the shower head to cover both of you.

It’s a little bit hot. And Hoseok stirs, worries. This is a nice shower, not as nice as the big one back home with the overhead rain shower option that Namjoon likes so much, but it will do.

“Hobi,” you wind your hands around his shoulders. For stability as well as for touch. “Stop worrying.”

Getting clean together is an intimate affair, with every drag of soap, he starts to smell less and less like other people and more and more like you. The dewy scent of berries bursts in the steam of the shower, washing away the scent of sickness and leaving just you. The simple soap complements it like cold milk to honey. Hoseok cannot breathe deeply without being inundated with you.

He considers you under damp eyelashes, soap suds, and all. The way it drips down your skin, carving from clavicle to belly button. Hair going dark with water. Hoseok keeps track of it all.  

It’s hard. A little too hard. You’re so warm that his body can’t focus on anything else. His skin pinks up under the water, but yours doesn’t. You stay shivering, and you even lean in closer to him. Hoseok catches your palm before it slides down his chest. Stomach jumping.

He’s still hard against his thigh. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and having you stand nude in front of him does the trick 9 days out of 10. Hoseok’s not immune. His self-control only goes so far. You rest your hands on his shoulders, start to rest your knee against the bench to get onto it, and straddle him. he holds you at arm’s length.

But his control is close to breaking. You sense it. You start to back up but he doesn't let you. Now that you're close he keeps you there to touch at his discretion.

He cradles your ribcage in both hands, fingertips meeting behind your back, thumbs digging into the meaty swell of your breasts. Resisting the urge to rest his face against them. To bury his cheeks there where nothing can hurt, where those worries won’t matter, and it’s just your heartbeat beating against his forehead, surrounded by your softness.

Hoseok growls, looks up at you. “Pup, you’re sick.”

You wiggle closer to him, disobedient. you love it like this, the give and take. Pressing his buttons the way only you can. asking for closeness and then squirming away. A game.

His need to bite climbs higher. And if this is a game, Hoseok doesn't know if he wants to win or lose.

“I’ll be better in a few days. Always am. But in a few days, we might be in a less nice hotel room with a less nice shower and I won’t be half as willing.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, like he’d ever debase you by booking anything less than the top floor, but he leans in too. Acquiescent. All alphas are like this; pack alphas are especially prone to indulgence. Hoseok is nothing if not eager to please.

At least he's not as bad as Jungkook or Namjoon, both of them would have had you mounted on the floor by now.

“You’ll be grumpy?”

“Yes. Very.” You threaten. His resolve breaks, and he nips at your throat, noseing at the hollow there.

(In a few days, you’ll be oceans away from him. You won’t be next to him at all, and he can hardly bear it. He doesn’t say that. Doesn’t tell you yet. Where you go isn’t up to you anymore. He won’t waste his last night with you for a few weeks on an argument. Especially when it might make you sicker.

At least at home under the watchful eye of Jin and Yoongi, you won't get this bad again.)

You can’t disobey him for long; you’re pliant when he pushes. Hoseok raises one eyebrow at you, and you wither, eyes tipping down, pout acquiescent.

He nips at the skin beneath your jaw harder this time, hard enough that his teeth leave an imprint. Your breath hitches. And he drags his teeth down your midline, leaving a faint red mark in his wake. Just a little. Just enough to feel like a claiming mark. It's not a mating bite- but until the others get home, it will have to do. His command is absolute. You stay still, stop squirming, and move closer to him.

“Behave.”

You pout and reach for the shampoo and his hair, washing it clean. It’s not necessarily sexual, just intimate. Showering together is about the only act of service he allows from you (the pack as well, there's something ritual and domestic and powerful about an omega washing their alpha- making it so that only their scent is on them)

Hoseok is also weak for it; his hair is one of his weak spots. It feels like a reward even if he knows he doesn't deserve it. His hair is dark and plastered to his skin. Hoseok closes his eyes, lips parting in a deep groan as your fingers scrub against his scalp.

You're never shy with scratching; you know how he loves it when you get a little rough. Just enough for him to feel it. He fully fills out between his legs, no longer a half chub but full and pulsating, aching and pink. Jumping when you scrape behind his ears.

“I should be doing this to you.”

“I showered this morning, I washed my hair too.” Hoseok fades, a little disappointed. You usually let him wash it. His eyes are beady as he looks at you, eyes flickering down your midline, hungry. You smile, using the handheld showerhead to wash him off, letting the suds carve their way down his shoulder.

“You put my shirt on after you got clean?” You blush, and Hoseok leans forward to nip softly at the skin of your collar bones. Hoseok gets the bar of soap. And you stand still as he drags it up your thighs, washing you carefully, slowly, even though he promised to go quick.

He spends time on your stomach. Grazing your chest, ignoring it all until your breath hitches. You lift your arms obediently, and Hoseok watches, eyes heavy-lidded, breath going ragged. But his eyes on yours are cautioning.

You shuffle closer again, and this time he doesn't stop you. You move forward until the head of his cock is almost touching your thigh, brushing, dimpling the skin. He cups your hips and pushes himself back until he hits the cool wall of the shower.

“I meant it when I said you’re too sick.” Your growl does little to caution him, tugging on his heartstrings. It’s so cute when you imitate him. It’s so like an omega to imitate their pack alpha. Your growl makes his heart squish painfully.

He squishes you to his chest when he stands, fingers digging under your thighs. He carries you back to the bed himself rather than have you walk. Why would you ever need to walk when you have him to carry you? He could do everything for you and be thankful for it.

You keep your hands to yourself until you’re toweling off in the bedroom. Pajamas set out and ready. Now it’s his turn to stand between your thighs as He towel dries your hair. Fingers skimming the nape of your neck, instincts pleased at how you bear it so easily. After so long, you no longer fight him and say you can do it yourself. You go where he prods you. Body ready to be directed. He dries it off after detangling it and gently squeezing out excess water.

Hoseok thinks you’re going to behave until you nuzzle into his stomach. Mouth pressing to his skin, open and hungry.

He stops the descent of your lips, hand on your chin. He’s still hard against his thigh, that bulge barely hidden by a loosely bound plush hotel room towel. But you’re so tired, so worn looking, especially with your wet hair, making you cold and shivery. Your eyes are wide when you look up at him.

“You’re not feeling well.”

“But Alpha.” He hasn’t said no, he’s only given you his reasons why he’s resistant. But you can see it, his cock hard, his body wants it even if his brain is getting in the way. Hoseok will look after you even at the expense of his own wants and needs, and you hate it. A no would get you off his case. But you can see it, that tension, the satisfaction of a job well done, a good show and good performance- the kind of energy that can only be cured by a good fuck.

It's the same way Jungkook gets after a performance. That endless alpha need to please, to prove. To bring back something after a successful hunt, only with hands empty and adrenaline all used up.

You tug at your towel until it falls loosely around you, and part your legs and show him just how willing you are. He can't put you like this- in his bed, clean and willing- and not have you. You'll pull out every single dirty trick to give him what you know he needs.

Hoseok cannot stop how his eyes trail south. “Pup.”

“Hobi.”

He pushes you, and you giggle. You fall back against the hotel room bed in a heap, knees together. But now you've shown him where you're sweet he can't stop thinking about it. When you squeeze your thighs together and put your legs up, it makes your pussy look so puffy, like it's already been fucked tender.

He pulls himself close to you, pressing a kiss to your knee, mumbling and pouting.

“Fine. But if you want it, you’ll get it like this.” You perk up a little, and if it weren’t for the fact that he says- "and after your medicine.” He fears he might be at risk of overindulging you.

“But- but-” There are no buts, Hobi gets up to get you a glass of water to take it.

Hoseok shuts off the light now, not sure that he’ll be able to get up to shut it off once he’s knotted to you. The window blinds are open, and the city skyline stretches before you, nearly bright enough to see by. Resplendent and twinkling.

Hobi can’t look at it, can’t tear his eyes away from you stretched out on the bed. Darkness wraps around your body and gives it an almost pearlescent glow. Your knees to the side, exhaling as you turn to look at the view. Eyes bright.

He pulls you up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed to take your medicine. He holds the plastic container of red syrup to your lips and strokes your throat as you swallow. Making you open your mouth to show him that you’ve taken all of it. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, looming over you.

You can feel it when the air shifts. The tangible pull of hoseok's instincts. It was scary at first to realize how much he was holding back but you're rarely scared anymore.

When his finger hooks into your mouth to see that you've taken all of it, he keeps it there. His finger presses against your tongue, laving against the intrusion. Hoseok murmurs low. Something nonsensical, but pleased. An alpha praising their omega.

Hoseok thinks of the medicine, warm and syrupy in your belly. And feels just a little bit better about being selfish.

He thinks that the pack would be surprised. The Hoseok of before could never treat you like this, and could never give in to his instincts. He could never fuck you to that place that you need- where the world and the sweet ache of your body disappear and it’s only him left at the helm. Before enlistment, Hoseok would have said no first and meant it. He’d feel guilty about bruises, about any slight nibble, and even scold the others for not being gentle enough.

But this Hoseok is different than the one you knew before he left. This one is more in touch with that part of him, less a dog with something to prove and more a wolf dedicated to protecting his own, no matter the cost. This Hoseok is a hedonist; these kinds of instincts want and want and want with no hope to quell them.  

A dark glint in his eyes makes you try to close your legs when he looks down at you. But there is no room for you to be shy, not with his hands on you. You asked for this, and now you’re nervous.

hoseok holds your thighs apart and looks blatantly. you squirm under his gaze. he huffs when he spies it. "already?" he taunts. his fingers swipe close to where you ache but meat no resistance. they come away wet.

"Always. hurts alpha."

His hand smooths down your midline; his hips stop you from being able to close your legs entirely. He tuts, shakes his head.

“Pretty little omega, just waiting for your alpha to come home and kiss it better huh?” You nod, eyes wide and glassy and pretty. You can taste how much he wants you on his scent, open mouth. Now that he's agreed, there is no arguing. Hoseok is an alpha of great restraint- and you find it in yourself to test his resolve meanly and often.

"You can't move, you can't do anything or else I stop. Do you understand?"

"You want me to lie here and take what you give me?"

"Yes. That exactly."

"Okay."

“You wanna tell me where else it hurts?” His tone is falsely sympathetic. You squirm, legs parting a little, back arching as he tries to draw his hand away, “here?”

His hand skims down your throat, goes to your stomach, bypassing your chest entirely, and back down to where you’re still drippy and wet. Tilting, wrist lighting quick to pet over where you’re sensitive, making you instantly gasp, your hands go to claw, but then get snatched back when you remember your earlier rule. It's too much too quick, but Hoseok loves it when you get overwhelmed.

“Or here?”

“There alpha- please.”

His fingers are quick and efficient. Petting over your hole only slightly before they crook deep, instantly wet to the knuckle. This many years in, you rarely ever go tight and unyielding or too nervous to slick up. Your pussy have practically molded itself to take his knot no matter how big you’d first found it (and even then, this version of hoseok likes to watch you scramble and claw at the bed, likes to watch you take just a bit more than you can handle). Conditioning your omega not to be scared by its size had been one of your very first forays into obedience training.

Hoseok remembers not your first time but your second, bent over the edge of a nest, belly down. Pants pulled down just far enough, his legs straddling your knees. The feeling of it popping just inside. Your broken "oh" and sudden laxity- sudden surrender- that had quite literally made him feel like he was on top of the world (and the realization that maybe- he was topping the world, because his world is you.)

(Okay, that's a bad pun, Jin would be proud- but it's still a bad pun)

Across the bed, Hoseok's phone buzzes with Jin's flight information.

Nowadays, your instincts and your body have a Pavlovian response to his scent, knowing that you’ll get him in you and on you soon. Those instincts that just like his, you’re only starting to learn how to sate.

He reaches deep, lets you feel it all from the rough pads of his fingers to the faint bulge of each knuckle, to the way they widen around his palm. Craning every millimeter to pet over the part of you that grows spongy and tender in heat, now so sensitive that he can hardly touch it without you crying out and going white nuckled in the sheets to keep from clawing at his hand. Unsure if you need more or less.

You're wet enough already, and Hoseok wishes he could make the foreplay longer. He doesn’t mean to hasten. But he has several needs here, the need to get you fucked to sleep relatively quickly is one, and the need to get you close is another.

You grind down on his fingers, needy with it, almost bratty with the way you ride them. He huffs against your hair as you pick up the hem of your shirt to watch his knuckles turn glossy.

Later, after the tour, he'll have enough free time to get you sprawled out in the nest at home. He might tie you up in a pretty little ribbon just for show, might pick you up and bounce you on his knot until he chaffes, until that sweet swollen barrier in you eases and he can knot so deep there's no way it won't take.

You'd let him. Hoseok knows you would if he asked. Can see the need in you behind your eyes, a need that, like the need for a mating mark, hasn't quite made its way into conversation recently.

When Hoseok closes his eyes, he imagines a mark on your throat, an identical one on all the others. His teeth in your skin. There forever.

Hoseok knows you're waiting for the others to come home, so that you can have that conversation together. But for now, you sprawl out in the bed, letting out these little whiny breaths as he feels you, hitching one elbow under your knee just so he can watch the way your toes curl. Watching you go hazier and hazier.

Omegaspace isn’t anything new, not for the two of you alone. It seems the harder he pushes, the softer you get. Hoseok will take advantage of your susceptible state.

"Put your hands up and grab the pillow." You do as he says, your chest jiggles with every thrust of his fingers. Moving you half up the bed.

"Open your mouth and show me your tongue." You obey him without compromise. And Hoseok curses low at how pornographic you make it. Cock bobbing beneath the towel.

"Clench."

"Can't- ah!"

He pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger. Continuing to rock his fingers in deep.

"Clench."

Your eyes flutter closed, and it takes a second; you concentrate, but manage it. Hugging his fingers. Your clit twitches with the movement. It's reminiscent of the training that Yoongi put you through, especially in the beginning of your relationship when you were still a little nervous around being knotted. It wasn't much more than teaching you about your body and what feels good, and Hoseok has guest-starred in many of these lessons.

He rewards you by pressing his thumb over it and wiggling. Using his other hand to part and rub. You try to get away, but he doesn't let you. Taking his fingers out of you only briefly to hold you down by the hip.

"Ah ah ah- not so fast. You're not done."

He spots the goosebumps on your arms and makes you put his shirt back on. Unwilling to have you cold. It only takes a second.

You press your foot against his stomach, trying to push him, but he's stronger than you and hardly budges. He doesn’t do anything more than drop a kiss on your knee. Pressing his fingers over your clit and rubbing. You throw your head back and hiccup. Hoseok hides his grin in the skin of your knee. He puts his fingers back in, adding one more this time.

"Good omega."

You clench again. This time, without his command, Hoseok grins. "Can't hide huh? Can't hide when I'm touching you like this. How do my fingers feel, pup? Are you ready for a knot yet?"

"Always ready," your cheeks are flushed, lips pouty as you pant. Wetness at your waterline, wetness spilling onto the sheets, you're so wet you're leaving a dark patch. The others would riot if they saw Hoseok wasting your slick like that. "I feel like I can't breathe, you're not giving me a break."

He grins. You look so pretty sprawled in his bed. He tells you that and drinks down your answering flush, all the way to your belly button, stooping to press a kiss and nuzzle between your breasts. All the while, his other hand tugs down the towel, loosening his fat aching cock from its confines; one hand is already wet. He drags his knuckles up and down his length to dampen it. It bobs, hard and pulsating, already yours.

He picks you up under your hips, dragging you to the edge of the bed. Your arms above your shoulders and giggling. Hoseok tosses you a besotted grin. Unaware of how in love he looks, all pretense gone. He is this way- your lover and your pack alpha, your caretaker, unyielding and uncompromising. Holding you under your knees so that your body hardly even has to shift position to be fucked pliant.

He slides his cock up and through your pussy, tapping the head against your clit with a faint wet plop. You shiver and moan, and Hoseok does it again just to watch you get needy. But you’ll only have it when he wants it. you don't even bother to beg without proding, just lie there and tremble through it.

Hoseok prods, just for fun. “You ready for alpha's knot pup? You gonna keep it all nice and snug for me?”

"Yes."

"I'm not convinced you want it pup."

God, the way you make his mouth run could be studied. If the others were here, they’d surely tease and goad him into it. Claiming what’s his, that sweet precipice between your legs, cute mound, and plush thighs that almost hide the best bits unless you’re willing to pry and see where you go pink. Where your scent is heady and intoxicating. All of the alphas struggle not to rub their face into it when they're in a feral headspace. Hoseok is no different. Your scent is so good. He wants it everywhere.

Your scent is so thick that Hoseok cannot comprehend for a moment- how he stayed away all those long months and weeks. How could he even stay away for a heartbeat?

If love were medicine, you’d never get sick again.

You’ll never beg, never, not for any of the others, but for him, you don’t mind it at all. “Please alpha- please.”

He sinks home with a hiss, pushing a sigh out of your mouth, grabbing your ankle, and holding it. Watching you throw your head back, your lips part, eyes fluttering closed, smiling down at you. "Like that, yeah? You're so fucking cute, even now after all these years, you just can't handle it, huh?"

He takes your ankle, using it to fuck you closer, moving his hips, already warmed up from the performance. Fucking in and out so easily. Good- it feels so good. The hot clench of your pussy never fails to slick up like this, keeping him warm and close.

Hoseok wastes no time. This won’t be his best performance, but you don’t need that, not when you’re stripped down like this. You woke up wearing his clothes and will go to sleep smelling like him. Burning hotter than normal from fever. Nothing that he can see or touch that isn’t his.

Your hair is a damp tangle that he brushes away from your face to see your lips part in pleasure better. One hand on your ankle and the other on your shoulder. Moving you onto his cock and off of it, controlling the pace, controlling all of it.

Pleasure tugs at his gut, distracting and insistent.

Hoseok fucks slow, almost maddeningly slow. Let’s you feel the drag of his cock everywhere. Until you’re squirming, until tears are beading on your waterline and slipping down your cheeks. Fingers a white-knuckle grip on the bedspread.

“Is this how you want it? Soft and gentle. You like making me something I’m not, you like taming me, don’t you? Does it feel good? To have me docile like this- all to yourself.” Hoseok hardly feels docile; he feels near feral. You, on your back, showing your belly to him. Titling your chin up to bear your throat. All vulnerable and all his.

Hoseok drops a kiss on your knee, but he won’t nibble, he won’t nip or bite again. He was telling the truth when he said he was tame. He pushes up the hem of his shirt to touch your stomach, palming at it possessively. Where all omegas feel the most vulnerable. Where omegas only let their pack alpha's claim.

But your vulnerability is not something that makes you innocent; it’s something that makes you precious. Hoseok wants to bite; he can feel the way his lips are parted in a soundless snarl. The more animal part of him that wants to bite and take, wants to leave your body littered with bitemarks and bruises and his scent; to let everyone know you belong to him and his pack.

“Take alpha’s knot yeah? Gonna take all of it even though it’s big, aren’t you? Don’t move, I’ve got you. Just like this, yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock like a good pup.”

Your hand fists on his hip. And you nod, eyes almost too teary to see his chest, glistening with sweat, the smooth cords of muscle that make up the hands that hold you so gently but firmly. Like, there isn’t even an inch you could move that he wouldn’t approve. You go where he wants you to go and cum when he wants you to cum. Everything you give to your pack alpha.

One leg rests up against his front, the other to the side, bare and open below him as he grins down at you, soft and feral at the same time. You grab at his waist, the spot where his hip bone curves. Lines that you trace. “Want it, it’s mine.” The chain on his neck sways with his movements. Still moving. He feels how true it is, all of him belongs to you.

You cum so gently, and all Hobi can do is hiss against your neck as you gasp and clamp down, trying to fight the tip over the edge, hiding as omegas are prone to do in the column of his throat, blunt omegan teeth clamping down. Hoseok growls at the bruise but lets you.

Hoseok’s teeth dig into your ear, nipping down your throat, where he pants open-mouthed against your sweet skin. Elbows hooked under your knees, pushing you up the bed and getting behind you, shifting your position so that your legs are to the side. fucking into your faster at your comedown, eager to pop his knot now that you’ve been tended to.

Your hand blindly reaches back to hold him as he moves his hips in inefficient little circles. All but hiccupping, scrabbling at the bed for purchase. Hoseok is so gentle, so gentle as he moves you back and forth on his knot, fucking you on it until it gets too big to leave your dripping hole. Body all but pinning you to the bed.

His skin burns, and he knows that there will be scratches down his back. That's what has him cumming seconds later, as you do it again. Painting his skin red- painting his skin yours. He bites your shoulder as his knot pops swollen and paints your insides warm and drippy. Keeping your skin pinned between his teeth. Locked close, that small part of him that hasn't relaxed since enlistment, finally, finally sated.

He holds you in the hotel room bed, one elbow keeps his weight off of you, forehead pressed to yours. His dark mop of hair tickles your skin, and his hot breath brushes your face. Hoseok watches your eyelashes flutter, watches you breathe through it, mouth turned down, like the pleasure is too much, overwhelming. You shudder and wrap your arms around his chest, and Hoseok sags. Letting a bit more of his weight- just a little, blanket you.

Muscles trembling, his other hand reaching up to wipe your hair away from your face so he can see you fall apart better. “Need- need-” you shudder out.

“I know.” He answers, voice rough from all the growling earlier. His hand tangles with yours in the bed, white fabric against the darkness. Near glowing like the whites of your eyes.

He fucks you a few more times down on his knot, until you’re hiccupping, until your toes curl, and something wet and warm bursts between the two of you. The swell is so big and it makes everything tighter, that sensitive spot inside of you trembling and twitching and forced to cum again. Until there’s that treacherous flutter in your stomach and haze in the back of your mind. Eyes glossy and far away.  

He holds you in the hotel room bed that doesn’t smell like the pack- doesn’t smell like it should. Clutching you close- not like his body craves you, but like he's worried something's going to take you away again. Your breathing slows, and your scent finally sweetens. You run your fingers through his hair, half turned, your legs swing over him, hissing as your movements catch on his knot.

Luckily, this is the second night in this city, he's have a day or two of rest between now and the show over the weekend half a continent away. Which means Hoseok doesn’t need to sleep tonight when he can make it up on the plane tomorrow. His body protests regardless, nervous and anxious. Watching you wheeze

You won’t last that long. Hoseok has already contacted Seokjin; the pack's eldest beta will be here in the morning to pick you up and take you home. Following him on tour was a stupid-stupid decision. It was only a matter of time before you were going to succumb to your body’s natural fragility. And Hoseok will not be as easily swayed by you.

He's pack alpha, and his word is final. If you try and disagree with him in the morning, he won't hesitate to discipline you.

You stir a few minutes later when his knot has gone down enough to pull out, wrinkling your nose as he drags a cloth over your entrance, pink when he ducks to look and double-check. You're so not shy when you're sleepy, Hoseok and the others often take advantage of it, getting to look, getting to examine to their hearts' content. To see your hole made pink from a knot or your clit made glossy and puffy from a bit of sucking. Things you don’t normally let him do when the lights are on.

His hungry hands reach, drag, pulling a groan from his chest, eyes flinty in the darkness as they smooth over your thighs, pressing in to feel your hip bones. Everything. Your sleepy whines of protest have him pecking a kiss against your stomach, but he picks himself up to cover you with a blanket and keep you warm (like you could ever be cold with a mini heater pressed to your spine, Hoseok always runs warm).

Hoseok settles in after the pleasure has left your body leaden and your cheeks glowing in the darkness, faint baby hairs that he brushes smooth and downy.

But your sleep is interrupted, you don’t doze for more than an hour before your sickness wakes you. You cough, and he gets up to get you tea. Pressing it to your lips. At your sleepy sniffle, he’s there leaning over you, protective and possessive. His body craves this more than food or rest.

He sits you up against his body to sleep propped up, to make breathing easier. In the quiet he can hear the air slip through your lungs. Creaky and hissing with how narrow your throat has gotten from all the coughing.

Hoseok’s heartstrings tug painfully.  

Hoseok gets more and more worried as the night drags on, and you still can't sleep. You can't get more than a few minutes of deep breaths before your coughing wakes you up.

Hoseok cannot sleep, will not sleep beyond a few moments when his eyelids grow particularly heavy, staying up, worrying over you, fingers softly stroking over your cheek. And the dreams he does have already taste like violence, already leave blood in his mouth from a gnawed cheek. Teeth and mind hungry for the exultation of ended anger and someone to blame.

But there is no one to blame here but himself. Fucking you to bed has the desired effect for a little while. But it doesn’t work for the whole night.

All you have to do is ask. “Can you rub my back?” And his hands are slipping underneath the hem of his shirt, stroking over your spine.

"Anything else?" he keeps his voice quiet, almost softer than the thunder of his heartbeat. but you shake your head and close your eyes.

It's not hard to stay awake although he's certain he'll crash later, on the airplane with you safely on your way home. He alternates between watching you and keeping an eye on his phone, watching Jin get closer and closer. He should be here by the time you wake. If you ever get to sleep, that is.

You look up at him, tugging on his shirt, eyes downturned, hoseok drops a kiss onto your brow. "Sorry pup, was my screen too bright?"

You mumble something that he can't make out. He prods you again, and you answer. You can't meet his eyes, flushing terribly cute.

“Can I have more medicine? I don't like it but I think it helped, and-”

A forehead kiss cuts off your train of thought and hoseok gets up to get you more without comment. sinking back underneath the covers where you shiver, fever spiking. Opening your mouth pliant and obedient. Eyes hazy when they crack open.

A haze that only deepens as Hoseok feeds you the red syrup, one spoonful and then another.  “Swallow, good pup. Just one more.” You blink up at him a little dazed as he strokes down your throat, making you swallow, praising you when you don't make a face.

In the bed, Hoseok's phone buzzes and lights up. There is a flurry of text messages. The packmates are waking up a world away. Asking for pictures and updates. Your hand curled in the nest, your cheek squished against his ribcage. A short video of you breathing has Jimin’s concerned fussing escalating to an outright demand for Hoseok to take you home. Even Namjoon admits that your breathing doesn’t sound good.

Hobi leans up to get both hands on his cellphone and you whine from where your cheek is resting against his chest, ear pressed to the space over his heart. Texting it out.

PA (1:52 am): Hyung is picking her up in the morning.

You cough against his chest, and Hoseok soothes you with a comforting alpha grumble against the top of your head. You sniffle sadly. "Alpha, don’t feel good.”

“I know pup. I know.”

“Feel like so- so shitty."

Hoseok huffs, mouth turned down. Squeezing you just a little tighter. "Close your eyes pup, at least try to sleep for me." Sleep evades you, and you doze in and out. Your breath wheezes in your throat. Such a sad squeaky sound that if you were awake, Hobi would call you a squeaky toy.

Hoseok's phone buzzes with activity.

Yoomi (1:53am) Home? She’s coming home?

Yoongi has every right to be excited for it. He gets some light teasing for that. Out of all of them, he’s had the most one-on-one time with you since enlistment. He gets you every night, at home in the pack house, gets to watch you nest and hear about your day. A once-in-a-while treat for everyone else, but a daily ritual for Yoongi.

Hoseok doesn't know what he would have done if it weren't for Yoongi's daily updates and reassurance. Hoseok doesn’t like to think of the stress of those few months when you were adjusting. Just like now, your health took a dip- as is often the case with omegas being separated from their pack.

Hoseok knows it must have gotten worse than Yoongi ever let on. He imagines you sniffly in your nest, imagines IV fluids and sick nights like this. Imagines Yoongi waiting up with you and making sure you’re still breathing.

It's never that scary. They never count your heartbeats and find themselves thankful you've made it through the night. Your bad spells aren’t always inconsequential, and although Hoseok fears for the day that you’re not alright-

For now, you’ll be fine.

By tomorrow morning, Jin will be here in this city, ready to whisk you away home and back to your routine. Hoseok is glad they already made plans, private plans that Jin, as the eldest, and Hobi, as the pack alpha, need not have involved the others in, if only to spare them the stress.

Hobi knows that Jungkook is already pacing back and forth in his barracks, inconsolable by anyone but Jimin. Hoseok’s never been gladder that the two of them enlisted together.

Hoseok will be glad of his choice to call on Jin to come and get you because you’re not any better when you wake in the morning. Blinking dazed up a him when he prompts you to take more medicine and wipes at your sweaty brow.

By the time you wake, your things are already packed, your nest folded away and ready to be set up in the lounge at the airport. The pack’s private jet has one built into it that you’re very accustomed to. The bell of room service comes with a surprise at the door; you are too sick to hop up and greet your packmate at the door. The new plushy from France balanced on the trolley- a goofy croissant plush that Jin tries to cheer you up with.

You'll hardly touch the French toast with ice cream that you begged for the day before. You'll have to be cajolled into eating even a scoop.

Jin will greet you with two words as you whine and cling to him. You will wake up in omegaspace, and it will cling to you until you're home with Yoongi.

"Oh pup."

In the next few hours, Hoseok will be in a car on the way to an airport in the opposite direction of yours, watching videos on his phone, the grainy footage of your arrival. You and Jin and too many photographers and fans, keep a respectful but semi-shocked distance. You don't normally accompany them to the airport or at least you leave and arrive separately for your safety.

You'll be toting that stuffed animal past lines of photographers, clutching it to your chest in one hand and Jin's big palm in the other. There are already people cooing over the fact that you're wearing Hobi’s sweatshirt, recognizable because it's from his concert and it's several sizes too large. There won't be a statement put out about your condition (because it's none of their business), but people will wonder regardless. Warm fever flushed cheeks concealed by a hat and mask, carefully folded underneath the beta's arm.

You won't leave with much fuss, although that's not for lack of trying; your hands will be weak when they tangle with Hobi’s shirt, fisting the material like you can keep him close once you realize that Jin is here for a reason. His assurances that he'll be home before you know it, that you can FaceTime all the time now, that Yoongi is waiting for you- fall on deaf ears.

Hoseok knows that you simply haven’t been together enough. Enlistment was tough on the two of you. You still don’t trust that he’s not going anywhere.

You hadn't really let go until Hobi mentioned the other alpha. Hobi will remember to tease Yoongi about it later. Seokjin’s eyes widen just a little when he pulls you under your arm, suspicious glances, and Hoseok’s pink cheeks. The knotting from the night before was easily found out under the beta’s sensitive nose.

Hoseok is off to the next city, and you'll go home. Where your schedule can be more routine, where Yoongi and Jin can both look after you until you’re well again. Where you can have access to your normal doctor and can be close enough to the other alphas in case anything happens.

hoseok bundles you under your arms and squeezes you tight. tells himself that he's doing the right thing even if it feels like it's not. “It’s just a month, only a month, I’ll be home before you know it.”

"Home for good?"

"Yes. Promise."

You don't tell him that he promised the last time, you don't ask him why he's broken it yet again. and for that- he's thankful. Internally, he promises himself he'll make it up to you when he's home.

Hoseok will barely be able to stomach it when your eyes go glassy, threatening tears. Those eyes are still teary in the pictures that pop up on Hoseok’s phone as he’s packing. But they’re gone in the photo that Jin sends from 20,000 feet.

Hoseok will fly commercial as many times as he needs to if it means both you and Jin can get home safe and sound. Taking you by photographers isn’t something that the pack normally tolerates, but the idea of getting you home even a minute faster was too much of a temptation.

In the photo you're bundled to Jin's chest, a glass of champagne to the side remains full but a small plate of fruit is half empty. Hoseok zooms in on it just to see how much you've eaten. You're covered with a thick blanket, and Jin's finger pokes into your cheek, dimpling in it. You look puffy, but you don't look like you've been crying.

The picture does more to settle Hoseok than he expected, sitting in first class, letting out a held breath. The last little bit of anxiety never truly goes away, but a fair bit of it does.

It's not much longer now. Not much longer at all until the pack will all be together again. The weather is already starting to shift. When he pulls up and away. He picks out the pink trees in the city, fluffy and faint from above. Cherry blossoms. Spring is here. Summer soon. by the time the world warms the whole pack will be back together.

Hoseok only has to close his eyes (take a deep breath, count to seven) and wait.

~-~

Notes:

CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIFE THIS SERIES WILL HAVE 2 MORE PARTS

i love it when she's like a little bit bratty to him, like you can totally see the parts of her personality peek through and i love they're dynamic, a few things like the jolly rancher sweets discussion where last minute additions- but i do feel like it needed it.

the m.c: trying to fuck. hobi: you need a haircut

lowkey i'd be so mad if he was my alpha like- you have a whole omega meal laid out infront of you and you're thinking about split ends???? make it make sense??? she's right to give him a hard time about litterally everything.

i hope that her actions show that she actually is interested in pleaseing hobi- even if she can be a bit of a bratt.

its when writing things like this that i remember that hoseok and i have the same mbti type, i feel so fond for him. Whenever i write him he feels like a childhood friend i haven't seen in years but pick up right where we left off.

oh i added like 1k to the smutt because it wasn't good enough- i hope you like hobi being all domanding and dominant.

i dont know why the idea of hoseok and the others like- rubbing their faces against her pussy to get her scent on them is so fucking hot but- ah. i lowkey think they make her wear a plug of some sort that lets them know when she's slicking up or clenching down or turned on. i also love the idea of yoongi having her in his studio. sitting on his desk, pussy right there so that he can look at it for motivation.

“Tradition, tradition, tradition!” Joker sang, spinning the rusted metal like a baton. He tapped it against your legs, your ribs, the chair.

“Did you know your darling Jaybird and I had a dance once? Ohhh, it was beautiful. I hit him, he screamed, I laughed, he bled. Like music. And when I was done—well, let’s just say he had a little nap. Six feet under, HAHAHAHHA!”

The first strike cracked against your ribs, knocking the air from your chest. You bit down against the scream, but the gag muffled it anyway. Another strike followed, then another. Pain flared white-hot, flooding every nerve.

Joker crouched in front of you, tilting his head like a curious child.

“Hmm. Strong one, aren’t you? I see what he likes. Oh, Jason always did have a thing for the stubborn ones. But stubborn breaks. Everything breaks.”

He pulled the gag loose just long enough to force words into your ears.

“Tell me, do you think he’ll come for you? Or do you think he’ll hesitate? Mmmm, I bet he’s terrified, isn’t he? You remind him of everything he couldn’t save. His mommy, his daddy, his little self. And when he sees you broken—oh, he’ll hate himself more than he hates me. And that is the joke.”

Then he went to work again, slashes of a knife across your arms, shallow enough to sting, to bleed, to paint. He laughed with each line, each drop. He wanted you alive. He wanted Jason to see.

Jason knew the second something was wrong. You hadn’t answered your phone. Not once, not twice, not after three calls. He told himself you were asleep, that you’d forgotten to text. But the itch at the back of his skull wouldn’t let him rest.

By the time he checked the alley near your route home and found your dropped keys, his heart was already in his throat.

“Bruce—he’s got her. It’s him.” His voice was gravel over the comm.

“Jason—”

“Don’t say it. I know it’s Joker. I’m not waiting.”

And he didn’t. Not for orders, not for backup.

Back in the funhouse, Joker leaned against the wall, crowbar still dripping faintly.

“You know what I love about Jason?” he purred. “He’s predictable. Punch first, brood later. Oh, he’ll storm in here, guns blazing, eyes blazing. But when he sees this—” he gestured to your bloodied body, “—ohhh, it’ll be just like old times. I’ll watch his face crack. That’s the real masterpiece. Death is boring. Suffering? That’s art.”

He crouched, forcing your chin up with the crowbar’s tip. His green eyes glittered, mad and bright.

“Don’t worry, darling. You’re not going to die. Not yet. You’re just the punchline.”

Joker was a conductor, and you were his broken instrument. He paced around you, humming a carnival tune off-key, twirling a crowbar sticky with dried blood and your fresh one.

The torture didn't stop.

Joker cackled, planting the crowbar against your shoulder with mock tenderness before yanking it away and cracking it against your shin. Pain ricocheted through your body; your scream ripped raw from your throat. Joker laughed, doubling over like it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

“He cares. Isn’t that hilarious? A Bat who actually lets people in. The others brood and sulk, but Jason? Oh, he opens his door, he lets someone close, he loves. That’s his big mistake! See, love makes you weak. And weakness—” he dragged the crowbar slowly up your arm, leaving a smear of red, “—is my favorite color.”

He shoved a camera in your face, a cheap handheld camcorder duct-taped together, blinking red. He crouched, grinning too wide, and spoke directly to the lens.

“Smile, sweetheart Say cheese! This is going straight to your boyfriend. Let’s see if he laughs as hard as I do.”

Jason hadn’t slept. His helmet sat discarded on the Batcomputer console, his hair sticking damp to his forehead as he leaned over the screen. His fists were bloody from punching walls, his throat raw from shouting at empty air.

“Where the hell is he?!” Jason’s voice cracked, fury and panic blurring.

“We’re tracking what we can" Oracle’s calm voice filtered through the comm, her fingers racing across keys. “He wiped out half the traffic cams in Old Gotham—”

“Because he’s there! He’s in the goddamn amusement district, I know it!” Jason slammed a hand on the desk. His whole body trembled.

Bruce stood behind him, silent, grim.

“Jason,” he said at last, low and heavy. “We will find her. But if you go in blind—”

“I don’t care! She’s out there with him!” Jason whirled, his eyes bloodshot, his chest heaving. “Do you get it, Bruce? It’s happening again! He’s doing it again—and it’s my fault. If I’d been there—” His voice broke. He gritted his teeth hard enough to taste copper.

Before Bruce could answer, a sharp buzz hit the comm line.

Every monitor in the cave flickered.

Static bloomed, then resolved into a grainy video feed: you, bound to the chair in the funhouse, blood soaking your shirt, your face scraped.

Jason froze. His lungs stopped working.

Joker’s painted face leaned into frame, far too close, his grin splitting wide.

“Helloooo, Bats and birdies! Guess who I found wandering all alone? Oh, don’t look so cross, she’s been excellent company! Well—screaming company, but I like variety.”

He yanked your head up by the hair, forcing your face toward the camera.

“Say hi to Jaybird, sugarplum. He’s watching. Ohhh, look at those eyes. He looks like he might cry.”

Jason staggered back a step, his chest caving in. His hands curled into claws.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Jason-” Bruce’s voice cut sharp.

“Don’t you—don’t you dare tell me not to! Look at her!” Jason jabbed at the screen, his voice shattering into a raw scream. “LOOK WHAT HE’S DOING!”

On screen, Joker tapped your face with the crowbar, leaving a streak of blood.

“You know what’s great about déjà vu? It never gets old! Last time, it was poor little Robin, and Batsy never made it in time. Ohhh, but this time—it’s even juicier. Because now Jason gets to watch! Isn’t that poetic?”

He raised the crowbar high. The camera caught the brutal swing as it smashed into your side. Your scream echoed through the cave speakers. Jason flinched like he’d been shot, a strangled noise tearing from his throat.

Joker bent down, breathing heavy with excitement.

“Oopsie! Did that hurt, darling? Don’t worry. I’m saving the grand finale for when your lover boy arrives. I want him to see your last smile.”

The feed cut to static.

Jason stood rooted, his whole body shaking, every vein alive with rage and guilt. His vision blurred red.

“I swear to God—” His voice was a rasp, broken glass and smoke. He grabbed his helmet, slamming it down over his head. “If he kills her, it’s on me. I’m not letting it happen again. I’ll put a bullet in his brain, I don’t care what you say.”

Bruce moved into his path, stern, immovable.

“Killing him won’t save her.”

“It’ll be justice!” Jason roared, shoving Bruce back, chest heaving. “You didn’t stop him then, and you’re not stopping me now! She’s all I’ve got, Bruce! She’s all I’ve fucking got!”

For a second, the cave was silent but for Jason’s ragged breathing.

Then Alfred’s voice, soft, steady, but cutting deep:

“And what will she wake to, Master Jason, if she survives, and the man she loves has become what that monster always wanted him to be?”

Jason froze, helmet tilted down, his shoulders trembling. His voice came out small, broken.

“I can’t lose her. Not like that. Not like me.”

Back in the funhouse, Joker set the camera down, angling it perfectly to catch every angle of your pain. He paced in front of you, manic energy vibrating through every twitch of his body.

“You know, sweetheart, I almost feel bad for you. Almost! Because deep down, you know it, don’t you? He’s broken. He’s not like the others. He’ll never forgive himself for this. And that guilt, mmm, that’s better than blood.”

He slammed the crowbar across your back. You cried out, the sound tearing from you before you could stop it. Joker clapped like a delighted child.

“Ahhh, music to my ears! Don’t worry, lovebird. Jason’s on his way. He always is. And when he comes, I’ll give him the same choice I gave Batsy once upon a time. Save the girl—or catch the clown. Either way…” He leaned in, whispering against your ear, his breath rancid. “You die laughing.”

Jason’s helmet fed him the faint buzz of Oracle’s voice through the comm, tinny, urgent, cutting through the static of his panic. “Jason—I found it. He’s in the old Monarch Theater. Heat signatures confirm—at least two. One’s moving, the other’s… barely.”

Barely.

The word shredded him. Jason didn’t even respond; he was already vaulting across the Gotham rooftops, heart hammering in his throat. The Monarch.

Of course it was the Monarch. Joker loved irony, loved stages, loved memories soaked in blood. Jason hit the pavement hard, boots skidding against wet asphalt as he tore down the block, every muscle wired, every breath jagged and sharp.

He pushed through the shattered double doors and the theater swallowed him whole—dark, hollow, dust clinging to the air. Somewhere in the back, a faint metallic clink echoed. The smell hit him before the sight did—iron, copper, blood. Too much blood.

“Please be alive” his voice cracked inside the helmet, though he wasn’t speaking to anyone.

He followed the sound down into the funhouse maze Joker had built in the theater’s bowels. Mirrors warped his reflection into grotesque shapes, laughter tracks from a busted speaker looped and warped into static. Jason ripped his helmet off, couldn’t stand the distortion. He needed to see with his own eyes.

And then he did.

You were slumped in the chair, arms bound to rusted metal, face a mess of bruises and blood, your lips cracked and trembling with shallow breath. Your chest rose—barely—but it rose. Jason’s knees buckled so hard he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the frame. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a crowbar.

“Fuck—fuck” his voice came out strangled as he sprinted forward, dropping to his knees in front of you. His gloves shook so bad he could barely untie the ropes cutting into your wrists.

“Baby, hey, hey—it’s me, it’s me, you’re okay, I got you, I got you…” He pressed his forehead against your shoulder for half a second, just long enough to ground himself before he forced his shaking hands to keep working.

You made a sound then—soft, broken, a whimper of his name that hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

Jason’s throat closed, eyes burning, tears stinging hot behind his lashes. He cupped your face gently, terrified of hurting you, but needing you to know. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here, I swear to god, I’m not leaving you with that fucking clown. I should’ve been here sooner—I should’ve—fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

He got the last rope free and you collapsed forward into his chest. He caught you instantly, holding you so tight his arms ached, but still terrified you’d slip away if he let go even for a second. Your blood soaked through his suit, warm and wet against his skin. His breath hitched, ragged, desperate, pressing shaky kisses against your hair, your temple, whispering like a prayer: “Stay with me, please stay. Don’t do this, don’t leave me, I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

From the shadows, a faint echo of laughter drifted, bouncing through the funhouse walls. Joker was gone. Of course he was. The bastard had staged it perfectly—left just enough life in you for Jason to find, just enough pain to make the memory sear. Jason’s head snapped toward the sound, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Every cell in his body screamed at him to hunt Joker down, to put a bullet in his skull and watch the blood spill.

But then your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, clutching his suit with what little strength you had. Jason froze, then grabbed your hand, pressing it to his lips.

The rage burned, white-hot, begging to be unleashed, but he forced it down, swallowed it whole.

You came first. Only you.

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.” His voice cracked again, rough and broken but steady enough to hold onto. He slid one arm beneath your knees, the other bracing your back, lifting you gently but quickly into his arms. You were so light it terrified him. Too light. His vision blurred as he looked down at you, your head lolling weakly against his chest. “Fuck, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Don’t you fucking quit on me.”

He bolted out of the funhouse, through the ruined theater, his boots pounding the cracked floor. He didn’t care about stealth, didn’t care about backup, didn’t care about Joker’s games. All that mattered was getting you out.

The night air hit his face as he crashed through the doors, sprinting across the empty street. He fumbled with the comm in his ear, his voice breaking. “Oracle—I’ve got her—I’ve got her but she’s bad, she’s real bad, call in a fucking ambulance right now, do you hear me? Now!”

“Jason—” Oracle’s voice cut in, controlled but urgent.

“Don’t fucking argue, Babs, I need a med team here and now!” His voice cracked into a sob on the last word, his throat raw. He ducked into the alley, your body trembling faintly in his arms.

He lowered his head, whispering against your ear, every word ragged, desperate: “Just hang on, baby, please, don’t you dare leave me. You’re stronger than this, you’ve always been stronger. Just a little longer, okay? Stay with me. For me.”

Your lips moved weakly, whispering his name again, almost inaudible. Jason’s whole body shook, and he pressed his face against your hair, choking out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “That’s it. That’s it, I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”

The faint wail of sirens grew in the distance. Jason held you tighter, rocking you slightly, his whole body a shield. He could still hear Joker’s laughter in the back of his skull, still feel the phantom weight of the crowbar, but it didn’t matter. Not now. Joker could live another night. Because right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping you breathing.

Jason burst through the ER doors like a storm, boots squealing on the tiles, your limp form cradled tight against him. Nurses and orderlies gasped, rushing forward, their hands reaching, their voices sharp and professional. Oracle had called a trusted medical team, people Bruce had learnt to trust.

“We need to take her—”

“No! No, don’t touch her!” Jason barked, clutching you tighter, panic flashing behind his eyes. His voice cracked, wild. “She needs me—she needs—”

A doctor met his eyes squarely, firm but not unkind. “If you want her to live, you have to let go. Right now.”

Jason froze. Every muscle in his body locked, screaming against the order, but the sight of your blood dripping onto the sterile floor broke him. His breath hitched, his arms trembling violently as he slowly, so slowly, eased you into the stretcher. His hands lingered, desperate, fingers tracing your cheek one last time before the nurses whisked you away. He staggered forward a step, but they blocked him, pulling him back. The doors slammed shut with a brutal finality, leaving him staring at the small window, your form already swallowed by white coats and machines.

And then the silence.

Jason’s chest heaved, his bloodied hands hovering uselessly in the air. Without you in them, he felt like he was collapsing inward. He dropped to his knees on the polished tile, his helmet clattering to the ground beside him. His hands shook uncontrollably, smearing red across his face as he dragged them through his hair.

“Fuck—fuck, this is my fault—” his voice cracked, raw and jagged, bouncing off the sterile walls. “I should’ve been there, I should’ve known—he took her because of me, because of me!”

“Jason.”

The voice was steady, familiar. Jason looked up through blurred vision to see Dick standing there, already crouching beside him. Behind him, Tim, Barbara, Damian, and Bruce hovered like shadows, their faces drawn tight with worry.

Jason’s whole body shook with anger and grief. He shoved Dick’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t—don’t fucking comfort me. You saw her—did you see what he did to her? That’s on me! I let her walk home alone, I let her—” His voice broke again, ragged. “I swore I’d never let that bastard take someone from me again. And now—”

Bruce stepped forward, his voice low, even, but heavier than steel. “Jason. This is not your fault.”

Jason’s laugh was sharp, ugly, broken.

“Not my fault? He only went after her because of me! Because she matters to me! Don’t you get it? Joker doesn’t give a shit about her—she’s just another way to get at me. And I handed him the knife.” He slammed his fist into the wall beside him, the sound echoing. Blood smeared across the tile. His forehead pressed against the wall, shoulders trembling. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

“Then she’d be here alone” Dick’s voice was soft but firm, cutting through Jason’s spiral. He crouched closer, his hand hovering just above Jason’s back like he wanted to ground him but wasn’t sure he’d be allowed. “You got her out. She’s alive because of you. That’s the only reason she’s still breathing in there.”

Jason’s breath caught, a sob tearing through his chest before he could choke it down. He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled, broken.

“She was so fucking cold, Dick. She could barely say my name. I thought—” His throat closed, his body curling forward, folding in on itself. “I thought I was gonna lose her right there in my arms”

Tim, hovering just behind, shifted uncomfortably, his voice quieter than usual but clear. “She’s in surgery. She’s in the best hands in the city. They’ll do everything they can.”

Jason snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot, wild. “That’s not good enough! You didn’t see her—you didn’t hear her! She was begging—” His voice broke off, collapsing into another sob. He dragged both hands down his face, streaking blood and tears across his skin. “I can’t do this again. I can’t bury another person I love because of him.”

Barbara’s voice cut in from behind, calm but steady like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’re not alone, Jason. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Jason shook his head violently, his hands tugging at his hair. “Yes I do! Because it’s always me, Babs! It’s always my fuck-ups that get people hurt. She’s lying on that table right now because I wasn’t there, because I let my guard down. What if she doesn’t—” His voice cracked again, breaking into silence. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled tight to his chest.

For once, Damian broke the silence, his tone sharp but not cruel. “She is strong. Stronger than most. If she chooses to fight, she will win.” His eyes narrowed at Jason. “But she will not forgive you if you give up on her now.”

Jason blinked at him, startled. The words dug under his skin, raw and sharp, because he knew Damian was right. He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob, burying his face in his arms.

Bruce moved closer, crouching so he was eye-level with Jason. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “You can’t carry this blame, Jason. Joker chose this. Not you.”

Jason’s head snapped up, his eyes burning with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “Then why does it feel exactly like it did when you left me there?!” The words exploded out of him, venom and grief intertwined. The room went still. Jason’s chest heaved, his eyes wide, like he hadn’t meant to say it but couldn’t stop it. His voice cracked, smaller now, breaking apart. “It feels the same. Cold. Helpless. Like I was too late.”

The silence stretched heavy.

Then Dick finally sat down beside him, shoulder pressing firmly against Jason’s, grounding him without asking permission. “But this time’s different,” Dick said quietly. “This time, you got there in time”

Jason didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He just let the tears spill, silent and raw, his body shaking as he pressed his bloodied hands to his face. And for once, he didn’t fight them when Dick stayed by his side, when Tim lingered close, when Barbara’s presence steadied the air, when Damian’s quiet stare held no judgment, only truth, and when Bruce remained crouched, silent, unmovable, like the anchor Jason had spent his whole life both needing and resenting.

The waiting room was too bright, too clean. Every second the fluorescent lights hummed above him felt like another nail driving into his skull. Jason paced like a caged animal, his boots pounding a restless rhythm against the tile. Every so often, his bloodstained hands curled into fists until his knuckles whitened. The others sat scattered across the room — Dick with his elbows on his knees, Tim cross-legged in a chair with his phone forgotten in his hands, Barbara leaning against the wall, Damian stiff and silent in the corner. Bruce hadn’t moved from where he stood, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the swinging double doors that led deeper into the ER.

Hours. Hours since they’d taken you from him. Hours since the last time he saw you, broken and bleeding, whispering his name like it was your last breath.

Every time he blinked, he saw it again.

The bruises. The blood. The way your body had felt so light in his arms, terrifyingly light.

Jason slammed his hand against the vending machine, the crash echoing through the sterile space. “What the fuck is taking so long?!” His voice cracked, raw with panic. “They’ve had her in there for hours — what if she doesn’t—”

“Jason.” Dick’s voice was steady, but Jason caught the tightness behind it. “They’re doing everything they can.”

Jason spun on him, eyes wild. “Yeah? And what if it’s not enough, huh? What if I walked in there too late? What if all I did was give her a couple more hours of pain before she dies in a fucking hospital bed?!” His voice shattered at the end, a raw sound caught between a sob and a scream.

The room went still. Even Damian’s sharp tongue stayed quiet.

Jason dragged both hands down his face, streaking dried blood across his skin. His chest heaved like he couldn’t catch air. “God, I can’t—” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I can’t lose her. Not again. Not like this. Not because of him.”

Barbara’s voice was calm, firm, cutting through the storm. “Jason, listen to me. She’s strong. She made it this far. That’s because of you.”

Jason laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Because of me? No, Babs, she’s in there because of me. She’s bleeding out on some fucking table right now because I was stupid enough to think I could have something normal. Something good.” He dropped into the chair beside him, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. His voice cracked again, small, broken. “She’s paying the price for loving me.”

Bruce finally spoke, his voice low, steady, and heavy with something Jason didn’t want to name. “That’s not true.”

Jason snapped his head up, his eyes burning. “Yes it is! Don’t you get it, Bruce? Everyone close to me gets hurt. Everyone. And now she’s—” His voice strangled off. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling. “I swore I’d protect her. That’s all I had to do. And I fucking failed.”

For once, Tim’s voice broke the silence, quieter than usual but clear. “You didn’t fail. You got her out. She’s alive because of you.”

Jason looked up at him, eyes wet, voice hoarse. “For how long, Tim? How long before she realizes being with me is just a fucking death sentence?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Nobody answered.

Hours dragged on. Jason refused to sit still, pacing until Dick finally grabbed his arm. Jason yanked away, but Dick held firm. “She’s fighting in there. Don’t you dare give up on her out here.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his throat tight. He pressed his palm to his face, swiping away tears angrily. “I’m not giving up on her. I’m giving up on me. Don’t you get it? I can’t be near her anymore. I can’t—if she wakes up and I’m still there, what’s stopping him from trying again? He knows. He knows she’s my weak spot now. He’ll never stop.” His voice cracked. “And she’ll never be safe.”

Dick shook his head, his voice sharp but full of something almost pleading. “Don’t do that. Don’t you put this on yourself and walk away. She loves you, Jason. That’s not weakness. That’s the only thing keeping you human.”

Jason’s laugh was hollow, painful. He slumped back against the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling like he was begging it for answers. His voice was raw, a rasp. “Love is what Joker feeds on. It’s what he rips apart. And I gave him the perfect fucking target.” His breath hitched. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. I should’ve—” His voice broke, tears slipping silently down his face. “But I didn’t. And she’s paying for it.”

The double doors finally swung open. A doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask. Every head in the room snapped toward him.

Jason was on his feet instantly, stumbling forward like his legs barely worked. “Is she—?” His voice cracked hard. “Is she alive?”

The doctor’s gaze softened. “She’s alive. She lost a lot of blood. Multiple fractures, significant internal injuries. But she made it through the surgery. She’s stable for now.”

Jason’s chest collapsed, the air rushing out of him in a broken sob. He grabbed the edge of the nurse’s desk to stay upright, his head bowed, shoulders shaking with relief and grief all tangled together. His voice came out small, wrecked. “Thank God… thank God…”

But then the doctor continued, gentle but firm. “She’s in a medically induced coma. We need to give her body time to heal. It could be hours, or days. There are no guarantees.”

Jason’s head snapped up, his face streaked with tears.

“A coma?” His voice rose, cracking. “You mean she’s—she’s not—” He couldn’t finish. His body folded in on itself again, both hands gripping the back of his neck as he staggered away from the group, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I almost lost her. I almost fucking lost her.”

Bruce reached for him, but Jason shoved past, pacing hard, his boots squealing against the floor. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what I’m talking about! She’s in a coma because of me! Because she let me love her!” He pressed both hands against the wall, head bowed, tears dripping onto the tile. “I can’t—I can’t stay near her. If she wakes up and sees me, all she’s gonna see is pain. All she’s gonna see is what Joker did to her because of me.”

Dick stepped closer, his voice low, tight. “And what do you think she’ll see if she wakes up and you’re not there? You think she won’t notice? She fought to stay alive because of you, Jason. Because she wanted to see you again. Don’t you dare take that away from her.”

Jason froze, his back to the group, every muscle strung tight. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts.

Finally, his voice cracked out, soft, desperate. “What if she doesn’t wake up at all?”

The silence was deafening. Nobody had an answer.

Jason’s hands pressed harder into the wall, his forehead against the cold surface. His voice was barely audible, but the words cut deep. “I can’t lose her. I’ll break if I do. I don’t come back from that.”

And in that sterile hospital hallway, with his family behind him and you fighting for your life behind closed doors, Jason Todd: bloody, guilty, terrified, felt the walls closing in. He loved you so much it was killing him, and all he could see was the cruel possibility that Joker had already won.

The room was sterile white, filled with the low hum of machines and the quiet beeps that measured life in tiny intervals. You had been under for hours, you had no idea how many, fighting a battle no one could help you with but yourself. The surgeries had been long and brutal; Joker hadn’t left much of you untouched.

Jason had spent that entire time pacing hallways like a caged animal, fists raw from punching concrete walls, refusing food, refusing rest. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse from yelling at doctors every time they told him to “be patient.”

But when you finally stirred, eyelids fluttering open with painful effort, you weren't met with Jason.

Barbara sat by your side, Oracle having stationed herself in the chair since the first surgery ended, her hand wrapped gently around your bruised one. Even if Jason was scared about you seeing him, he had to know you were okay, he thought it was better like that but no one believed it.

Her voice was soft, almost motherly, when she leaned forward.

“Hey… hey, easy. You’re safe. You’re in Gotham General.”

Your throat was too dry to speak much. Every movement was agony, your ribs protesting, the bandages tight, IV lines tugging at your arms. But you managed a breath, a whisper that was barely audible.

“…Jason?”

Barbara’s heart clenched. She had expected it, she knew Jason’s name would be the first word, maybe the only one, on her lips. Babs stroked your hand carefully, keeping her voice calm even though she was already turning toward the door in her mind.

“He’s here. He’s been here the whole time. I’ll get him.”

Out in the hallway, Jason was sitting on the floor against the wall, head buried in his hands, staring blankly at his boots like they held the answers to every mistake he’d ever made. Bruce stood nearby, stoic but tense, while Dick leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching Jason carefully. Tim sat beside him with a cup of coffee he hadn’t touched. Damian was perched further down, silent as ever, though his sharp eyes never left Jason’s broken posture.

When Barbara stepped into the hall, Jason’s head snapped up instantly.

“She’s awake” Barbara said, voice firm but warm. “And she asked for you.”

Jason froze. For a split second, he looked like someone had just gutted him again: disbelief and fear flooding his features all at once.

“She… what?” His voice cracked, rough from hours of silence.

“She wants to see you, Jason”

He was on his feet before the sentence ended, his heart hammering like it was trying to break his ribs apart. But something stopped him in his tracks, his own damn guilt. He hovered, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight.

“She shouldn’t” he muttered, shaking his head, voice harsh to cover the break in it. “She shouldn’t want me. Look what happened because of me. Joker knew. He knew I’d lose it if he touched her. He went after her because of me.”

“Jason,” Barbara cut in, firm now. “She asked for you. That’s all that matters right now.”

Bruce’s deep voice followed, calm but weighted. “Go”

Jason looked up at him, almost as if searching for an excuse to be told no. But Bruce just held his gaze, silent, steady, like he always did when the lesson was obvious.

Jason swallowed hard, turned, and shoved through the door.

The moment he stepped into the room, the machines seemed too loud, the air too heavy. He hadn’t seen you conscious since Joker had taken you. Seeing you like this, pale, battered, but alive, nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

You turned your head weakly, eyes struggling to focus, but when they landed on him, your lips curled just slightly.

“…hey” you rasped.

Jason froze halfway between the door and her bed, his throat burning, his chest tight. He looked like he might fall apart just standing there.

“Jesus Christ…” His voice cracked, and he moved forward, slow like you might vanish if he rushed. He took the chair Barbara had left and dropped into it, his big frame hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands shaking when he finally reached out and brushed your fingers carefully.

“You shouldn’t…” His jaw clenched, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t be asking for me. You should be telling me to get the fuck out. That I ruined your life. That I dragged you into my shit and nearly got you killed.”

Your weak fingers squeezed his, barely there, but enough to shut him up. Your voice was quiet, raw.

“...you’re the only one I want here”

Jason sucked in a shaky breath, eyes squeezing shut as he ducked his head to hide it. A tear slipped down anyway, dripping onto the sheets. His other hand came up to cover yours, holding you so gently it looked like he was afraid you might break apart under his touch.

“God, sweetheart…” His voice cracked again, lower now, full of the weight he couldn’t hide anymore. “I thought I lost you. You don’t know—fuck—you don’t know what that did to me.”

You tried to smile again, weak and pained, but soft. “..guess I’m too stubborn to let him win”

Jason let out a wet laugh that was half a sob, bowing his head until his forehead rested lightly against the back of your bandaged hand.

“I’m so sorry” he whispered, voice breaking open now, raw and desperate. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve known. I swore I’d never let him touch anyone I—” He cut himself off, chest shaking, before forcing it out. “Anyone I love. And he still got to you.”

Your eyes, heavy but clear, stayed on him. Your whisper was almost nothing, but it carried enough to stop him in his spiral.

“…i love you too.”

Jason’s breath hitched, and for the first time in what felt like forever, something other than guilt cracked through his chest. His shoulders shook as silent tears ran down his face, his hand trembling as he brushed his thumb across yours.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice trembling hard. “You’re it for me. You’re all I’ve got. If I lost you, there’s nothing left. Nothing. And I can’t—” His voice broke into silence, the words strangled in his throat.

You gave the faintest smile, eyes barely able to stay open. “..but you didn’t lose me.”

Jason leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your bandaged hand, clinging to you like a lifeline. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. Not for a second. He’ll never—never—touch you again. I swear it.”

The fluorescent lights in the hospital wing hummed faintly, the only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Jason hadn’t moved from your bedside since the moment the doctors had allowed him to see you.

He was still in his gear, helmet discarded on the floor, chest armor peeled off with shaking hands hours ago, but the rest of him was a mess: blood on his gloves that wasn’t his, bruises spreading purple along his knuckles from punching every damin wall in the hospital.

But he wouldn’t leave. Not even for a second.

You had fallen asleep again, weak and still fragile after the surgeries that had stretched through the night. Jason sat slouched in the chair beside your bed, his head leaning close to your arm, one of his large hands wrapped around your smaller one like if he loosened his grip you might slip away again. Every time the heart monitor beeped too slow, his whole body tensed.

Every time you stirred, he was instantly awake, whispering to you in that low, rough voice that cracked with things he’d never admit aloud.

Sometime near dawn, your fingers shifted in his palm, brushing weakly against his skin. Jason’s bloodshot eyes flicked open. You whispered his name, and he bent closer, forehead pressed briefly against your knuckles.

“I’m right here, sweetheart” he rasped, voice hoarse from hours of silence and swallowed sobs. “Not going anywhere. You scared the shit outta me, y’know that?” His thumb brushed over your bandaged knuckles gently, careful not to hurt you. “But you’re tough. Always were.”

Your lips curved faintly, too weak to laugh, but the intention was there. And Jason, who’d been a storm of violence and fury for days, melted instantly, his whole body curving in to shield her from everything—even the memory of Joker.

It was well past sunrise when exhaustion finally overtook him. Still holding your hand, Jason’s head dropped onto the thin mattress at your side, eyes sliding shut. The chair creaked under his weight, but he didn’t move, and soon he was asleep, his cheek resting against the blanket where your arm lay.

You woke first the next morning. The sun filtered pale through the blinds, spilling across Jason’s broad shoulders where he was hunched uncomfortably in the chair, his hand still clasped around yours even in sleep.

You turned your head slowly, every muscle aching, and just looked at him for a long moment. His dark hair was mussed, face slack in sleep but still tense around the edges, like even unconscious he was bracing himself for another fight.

The sound of the door opening drew your attention. Bruce stepped inside, his presence filling the room instantly. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable as he took in the scene: Jason slumped in the chair, you awake and watching silently.

Finally, Bruce’s gaze shifted to you. His deep voice was quiet but firm, carrying weight that made her throat tighten.

“I’m glad you’re still with us” he said simply. It wasn’t flowery, not warm in the way someone else might have phrased it—but it was Bruce. Which meant it was heavy with meaning. Relief. Gratitude. Even guilt.

You nodded faintly, too weak to respond, but your eyes softened. Bruce’s jaw tightened, and after a pause he stepped closer, resting one gloved hand carefully on the railing of the bed. “You’ve been through enough. Focus on healing. We’ll handle the rest.”

It was his way of promising you that you didn’t need to carry the weight alone, that he wouldn’t let Jason shoulder it alone, either.

Your eyes flicked down to Jason, still asleep and refusing to let go of your hand. Bruce followed your gaze, and something softened in his expression. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper.

“He hasn’t left your side.”

Your lips curved faintly, your heart monitor beeping a little faster. You knew. You had felt it in every brush of his thumb against your skin, in every whispered word through the haze of pain.

Bruce lingered a moment longer, silent in the way only he could be, communicating volumes without saying anything at all, before stepping back.

“Rest,” he said finally, and turned toward the door. But before leaving, he paused, his eyes on Jason again. “He needs this as much as you do.”

And then Bruce was gone, the door hissing shut softly behind him, leaving you in the quiet once more. You turned your head back toward Jason, watching him sleep, and though your body hurt, there was a deep calm in her chest now.