masked men hoe

𓆝 ⋆. The calm you kept me in

𓆝 ⋆. Merlin's bloody balls

𓆝 ⋆. On the Other Side of the Glass

𓆝 ⋆. Domestic Hazards

𓆝 ⋆. You Waltzed Into My Heart

𓆝 ⋆. The most consistent thing

𓆝 ⋆. I should be sleeping

𓆝 ⋆. Symptoms may include denial

𓆝 ⋆. Moonlit Reveries

𓆝 ⋆. A silence he knows by heart

𓆝 ⋆. You mentioned it once

𓆝 ⋆. Let me be yours

𓆝 ⋆. Vellichor — the strange wistfulness of endings

𓆝 ⋆. Familiar Enough to Miss

series 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

𓆝 ⋆. intro (end of the world) ⚝ A lyrical exploration of love as refuge and defiance, following Ominis Gaunt as past and present intertwine, and he learns that choosing someone does not have to mean losing himself.

𖦹 Verse (Part I) 𖦹 Pre-Chorus (Part II) 𖦹 Chorus (Part III)

𓆝 ⋆. “meow,” – nemo, probably ⚝ A collection of domestic moments, feline crimes, and the continued use of Sebastian Sallow as a benchmark for punishment. Ominis Gaunt is a cat person, whether he admits it or not. Nemo is unrepentant.

after standing around like an absolute idiot, jason finally kicks his feet up and strides after you.

get the girl, he screams to himself. get her back.

he calls out your name while he jogs, turning his head in all directions to spot you among the late night campus fog. what the hell was he even thinking letting you walk away? you’re drunk and upset, there was no way in hell he’d let you walk home by yourself this late at night, not even if you hated him.

no one else was around at this hour, they were all at clubs, parties or sleeping. it shouldn’t be hard to find you. he definitely didn’t want you walking all by yourself and this upset. for a couple minutes he couldn’t find you anywhere, and you weren’t going to respond to his desperate calls of your name.

but then he sees you, sniffling to yourself on the curb by your complex. with slow, quiet steps, he moves in behind you and slips right next to you on the curb. you don’t even look up to know it’s him. you don’t say anything either, just take a ragged breath and wipe your tears on your sleeve. he decides to bite the bullet and shakily says your name.

“i’m sorry. i’m so so fucking sorry.” he tries, “i should’ve told you sooner.”

you don’t say anything for a moment, trying to compose yourself as the silent tears dissipated and his voice went cold again. the wind from the cold winter air pushed past your wet face and cools the bare skin on your neck. but it didn’t matter. the feeling hardly grounded you in the soft winds that held no meaning behind its intense pulses. finally you stand and he follows after you.

with tearful eyes, you look up at him just to silently plead for him not to follow you again when all you wanted was peace and quiet. all you wanted was to have a moment to process this newfound information beyond the devastating hatred you felt right now.

he lets out a shaky breath, speaking as softly as he can, “i’m not letting you walk home alone like this. you don’t have to talk to me but, don’t ask me to leave cause i won’t.”

you don’t protest but the words slip past your lips in your drunken haze before you can help it.

“i hate you jason,” lip trembling as you walked alongside him.

“no you don’t,” he sighs, hands shoved deep into his pockets, “the same way i could never hate you princess.”

“i do. i really do. i hate the way you walk and that stupid tuft of white in your hair.”

his eyes soften, looking up to watch your face as you pretended not to feel his gaze. you go on.

“i hate the way you look at me and the way your friends know me. i hate that you’re grayson’s brother and i can’t escape you. i hate that you’re in all my fucking classes and even school won’t take me away from you.” you pause to stop yourself from crying, but it was too late, the tears flowed.

you took a shaky breath and bit your bottom lip, silencing your words and trying to keep unbothered. but you were so bothered by this, by him, by the disruption he had caused to your quiet life before him. just months ago, you had this simpler existence where you were on track to graduate with honours. no worry of any boy or any person who could have this much power over you. now you’re crying on your way home from a frat party because the boy you like was just using you for a bet.

like he reads your thoughts, jason stops his movements. he gently grabs your arm, pulling you closer to him as he watches you pretend like what you felt for him was hate.

“what else?” he tries, furrowing his brows down at you, “what else do you hate about me?”

you scoff softly but continue anyway, “i hate that you know me and can act like you care. i hate that shit so badly jason, and you don’t even really know me. fuck, i don’t really even know you.”

he bites his tongue, trying not to scream out loud, but i know you, i know you so well. i’ve watched you for months. i’ve loved you for longer.

he knows right now they will fall on ears that don’t trust any of his words and he couldn’t blame you. he doesn’t deserve trust right now.

for a moment he lets the silence cling and the reckoning pull both of you underneath the pain of what couldn’t been. what would have been if he wasn’t such an idiot and if his love was something he believed was worthy of giving out. that it was something he was capable of receiving. you sniffle and shuffle backwards. he lets you.

you choke on a strangled sob, turning around so he wouldn’t see the tears soaking your cheeks.

“most of all, i hate myself because i can’t hate you at all.”

and his heart completely crumbles.

in a second he whispers your name, “please don’t walk away from me again. let me prove it to you. let me apologize.”

but it’s too late and you’re walking away and to your front door that he’d walked you to. you don’t turn back, just shuffle away as he watches.

his words falling empty because you’d convinced yourself, that this wasn’t something he took seriously. the door shut behind you with a sound that he swore he would have to become accustom to.

jason knew then—he ruined everything.

the next several days, jason called, texted, showed up at your front door. he sent flowers and groceries. he cooked the same pasta he made you on your first date and left it at your front door when you wouldn’t open it and he knew you were inside.

“i’m just going to leave this here, okay?”

you threw it out. you threw all of it out.

this wasn’t forgiveness. what he was doing wasn’t proving anything to you. all it did was tell you that he was guilty and rightfully so.

instead you poured your heart into school, into your internship and into your job. you told yourself that the life you had before him was enough for a reason. losing your virginity based off of a bet isn’t the worst thing in the world and it was okay. you asked him to do it right? so it wasn’t so bad that all he wanted out of it was just sex.

and you decided that love maybe just wasn’t in the cards for you, at least not yet.

it had been nearly two weeks since you last saw jason todd, but man he kept trying.

you were purposefully ignoring his presence and walking past him when he tried to stop you outside of the lecture halls. anxiously scratching the back of his head in the way you understood all too well.

but you ignored it, as much as it hurt.

how do you form a relationship based off a bet?

it’s not like ignoring him is easy to do either because he was desperately trying to talk to you, fiddling with his fingers when he saw how little you wanted to see him. you walked past him all the same because what he had done was unforgivable.

when you did see him, it wasn’t by choice.

you need a distraction from him, so working with him was absolutely not an option.

right now you’re settled in your practical, sitting by your new partner while the professor settled in. when you emailed the professor and begged him for a new partner, you were randomly assigned with whoever was available. what you didn’t think about, was that jason todd’s bestfriend and partner in crime was the one being assigned to you—roy harper.

roy smiles at you, small and nervous, “hey, uh, i can ask him to let me switch again, i really don’t mind working alone.”

without looking up, you shake your head, “no, it’s fine. we’re both adults.”

he nods slowly, “right.” clearing his throat before turning to you fully, “are you still part of the research team?”

you nod again, not wanting to actually hold a conversation with his guy whose literally made a bet based on your damn virginity. looking down to your laptop to open a document and turn it towards him.

“nice, cool. sick. it’s like you’re a grad student or something.”

you don’t respond, just give him a small smile and look forward to your prof setting up his things. the professor is pulling out his laptop and stack of papers to lecture you. you already did the readings, you had to because it was keeping you from thinking about all the things that went wrong.

you can feel his presence as soon as he enters the room because it was smaller than the lecture hall. this was a room of 30 students and jason’s tall stature could not go unnoticed. not those big arms of his or those shoulders you wanted to bite. he tries to approach you, saying your name like he’d been practicing it on the way inside.

“i’m sorry, i know you don’t wanna talk about that but um, should we discuss the paper?”

you hardly move your gaze upwards, still trying not to acknowledge him even while he towers over you. he doesn’t budge or try to move so you speak, “we don’t need to discuss it.”

he sighs softly, “i get it, you don’t wanna see my face. i can just do my part separately and add it to the document—” you don’t let him speak.

“that’s not necessary, i have a new partner.”

jason freezes. roy looks up from next to you and he gives jason a small wave with just three of his fingers.

now jason is alone, with no group member.

he stammers, gripping the strap of his backpack a little tighter, “but i thought we’re partners…”

you pay little mind to him, “you can use the research we did before cause i already picked a new topic,” humming as you trail your gaze up the projector screen as your professor begins to log in. “so you’re alone now, just like you wanted.”

harsher than you meant to sound. meaner than you originally thought it would sound. your partner next to you clearly saw the tension, grimacing softly before burying his face behind his phone screen.

“right,” jason says softly, gaze locking on the side of your face, “sorry for bothering you.”

and he walks away.

part of you felt bad for responding to him that way. that softer part that still had love for him tried to convince you to apologize. but jason hurt you. he let you love him while he didn’t care enough to tell you the truth. he lied about your relationship to your face multiple times and probably would’ve continued if you roy hadn’t exposed him in front of you. that feeling of unease wasn’t for nothing—he used you.

so no, you didn’t feel bad anymore, he can go fuck himself. you’re an adult, yes, but he’s an asshole. he had a choice and he made a shitty one that came at the cost of you, and he didn’t care.

you sniff softly as you open a document with your class notes on your laptop, starting to type out the title for today’s lecture—wrongful convictions.

“hey, can we please ta—” you don’t even acknowledge his presence, just continue walking past him in the lecture hall and out of the door.

without having to turn around, you knew he was following you, but you slip your headphones off to drive the point across—leave me the fuck alone. jason’s eyes meet yours, wild and strained, though he nods in understanding and steps out of your way.

you don’t turn around to confirm that he’s not following you. you don’t sigh to show you were annoyed. you don’t move out of turn in any regard besides putting your headphones right back on. but you knew, you felt it, his gaze hard on your back, seeping through your clothes. undressing you without meaning to because you were doing the same to him. even if you told yourself you didn’t want him, or want to see him ever again, that feeling of his warm body pressing yours into his mattress. the soft pants that escaped him everytime you made out, holding you like something entirely sacred that was worthy of being worshipped. he made you feel, god, he made you want in way you never have wanted before. jason todd made you bloom and that made you fall so hard. though it was a lie, and you had to remember.

you have to protect yourself first.

you’re barely ever home now.

the research opportunity the professor offered you was more work than you ever thought it would be. you’re busy finding subjects to be interviewed, legal experts who are willing so share their opinions and students who will join low stakes questioning on campus.

on the way to your apartment, you run into grayson. his hands tucked into his pockets when he sees you and starts towards you, calling out your name.

“hey,” he smiles all gummy and bright, “where have you been? missed ya,” striding along to keep up with you.

“you know, school shit.” dismissive as ever.

“that’s never kept you from answering my texts before,” huffing alongside you, “why are you walking so fast dude, jeez.”

“i gotta get home, you know. it’s been a long day and i just wanna lay down grayson.”

“grayson?” he questions, slowing down as you continue to walk forward, “did i do something?”

you sigh, stopping your legs and turning back to him, “no, what could you have possibly done? i’m just exhausted is all.”

he scratches his head, the same nervous tick his non-biological brother had that you tried not to think about.

then he sighs softly, “i dunno dude. you called me grayson. you never call me my full government name. and you haven’t texted me back in like a solid two weeks. clearly i’ve done something or maybe i’ve suddenly grown a hideous wart on my face that i can’t see,” splaying with dramatics, “can you at least tell me what i did?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, “you didn’t do anything, just drop it.”

he contemplates, staring at you in the way he always does when he’s turning something over in his mind. he blinks slowly before moving in a little closer.

“did my brother do something to you?”

instinctively, you flinch slightly before huffing a small laugh. “i don’t want you involved gray.”

a soft sigh escapes him as he says your name, “please? you’ve been ghosting me for two weeks, i just want to know, is it his doing?”

you stare at his genuineness and the crinkle around his eyes as he blinks at you. hopeful and still utterly unaware of how his earlier words had made you trust jason even more, claiming, my brother is responsible and sensible and he’s a good guy. you replay his words in your mind from that morning when he caught you leaving jason’s room, he must really like you.

you don’t want grayson to blame himself, cause it wasn’t his fault. but you couldn’t lie for jason. you weren’t gonna hurt grayson into thinking this was his fault. so you offer a small smile.

“ask him about it.”

grayson sighs before you can walk away, touching your shoulder, “okay, okay, fine. i’ll ask him. i won’t bother you about it again. but i miss you. i miss my bestfriend and bruce keeps sending me pictures of us from the manor asking when you’re gonna come over again.”

with reluctance, you pull grayson into a hug, sucking in a sharp breath of air to keep yourself from tearing up and failing horribly.

you hadn’t let yourself really feel what had happened, just shoved it down so far that it bubbled up into frustration. you buried yourself in work, offering up more hours to your professors research study and taking up another campus opportunity to tutor first years. you were trying so hard not to think about this for reasons you weren’t even sure about because of how little you tried thinking of anything but schoolwork. this used to be your favourite thing to do, your passion, but now it’s your escape. you hadn’t even told anyone about what had happened, just kept yourself isolated to pretend like you were moving right on. then grayson asked you, didn’t pry it out of you but genuinely asked you, and you couldn’t do it anymore.

muttering against his shoulder, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to ghost you, i’m just kinda busy and dealing with stuff. it’s not on you and i shouldn’t have made you feel like it was.”

“don’t apologize to me, just talk to me like we used to,” he pulls back, noticing a tear on your cheek that you struggled to hold back in all of these last two weeks. he frowns and wipes it with his thumb, “jeez, i’m sorry, fuck, what did he do?”

you sniffle, laughing softly as you pull away, “i told you to go ask him. he should tell you.”

slowly, he nods, letting you step back away from him and your brief emotional outbreak. “just, come over more okay? i’ll get him to leave you alone, i’ll make him leave if you’re there but just seriously come over. i really do miss you.”

you nod, letting grayson pull you into another hug that you knew you needed. you melt into it, mentally pushing down the feelings and emotions that threatened to boil over before pulling away again and promising to come over sometime this week.

and then you walk away.

this time grayson doesn’t stop you but his mind reels and his feet move with purpose because he needed to know what happened.

the house is pretty quiet when he gets back.

wally and hal are watching some game on the television with pledges sitting around them, bringing snacks and standing silently when not addressed. conner and tim are sitting in the kitchen with roy cooking something that looked like two much for the three of them. grayson blinks around the room looking for his brother and doesn’t find him. roy looks up.

“who you looking for?”

“my brother. you seen him?”

roy shakes his head, seasoning his ground beef and stirring it on the stove.

“great. you’re just as useless as the rest of them.” he sighs, opening the fridge to crack open a beer.

roy snickers, “trouble in paradise president? is zatanna still trying to get back into your bed?”

tim hums, “yeah, more like dick is the one trying to get into hers.”

“no,” grayson murmurs, taking a long swig, “she’s actually with john. like for real this time cause she said they’re working shit out. whatever the fuck that means.”

conner fiddles with his lip piercing, playing with the ball at the end and grinning at grayson, “don’t worry dude, you and her are like magnets. plus wasn’t she jealous of that girl your brother is seeing? she’ll come crawling back when she notices that they broke up too.”

with his back turned, roy tenses. then he opens the oven and pulls out his potatoes to turn them over. vigilant as ever, grayson notices, taking a long swig and shooing conner and tim out of the room. they stagger, spoon in their mouths as they waddle over to the living room to eat there.

roy shoves the pan back into the oven and turns it up to 400f.

“spill it harper. what do you know?” grayson starts, setting his beer on the counter.

“what do you mean?” he turns, wiping his hands on his stolen apron.

“something happened between her and my brother. i know he had to have told you or something cause she’s hardly speaking to me and i haven’t seen him home in days.”

roy sighs, “it’s kinda stupid. well honestly it is stupid and it’s my fault.”

grayson furrows his brows, “go on…”

“we made, well, i made a stupid bet and jason felt pressured into acting on it,” tearing his apron off and folding it before tucking it into the drawer under the oven, “i kinda thought i was helping since he was scared to ask her out but now jason’s moping around and she’s hella dry when i text her about our assignment.”

“assignment? i thought she was jason’s partner?”

he nods, “they were until she asked to switch and now she’s stuck with me.”

“and this bet? what was it?” already growing restless and annoyed with roy.

“i kinda told him that, if he didn’t ya know, get with her that i would,” he avoids his gaze as grayson stands up, “but i didn’t! i swear, i wouldn’t have, i just wanted to pressure him into asking her out. i didn’t know that he’d really follow through with it!” raising his hands in surrender.

“you fucking idiot. you bet on what? him sleeping with her?” walking closer to roy as he keeps his hands raised.

“okay yes, at first but i didn’t think he actually would!”

grayson groans, dragging a hand down his face and leaning against the counter, “fuck now it makes sense why she wouldn’t talk to me. you idiots could’ve chosen literally anyone else jeez fuck.”

“look, it’s my fault. it really is.”

“yeah no shit, but it’s also jays!” he yells, “you guys act like fucking high schoolers when you’re both twenty somethings.”

roy truthfully did feel bad for what he did, he nods along and takes the verbal abuse because he knew he fucked up. contributing a couple quiet, you’re rights and sighing softly when grayson lectured on like the big brother he is.

after nearly half an hour of laying it thickly on roy, grayson steps back, watching his posture slouched and half of his meal prep burnt. grayson finishes off his beer and throws it in the recycling bin.

“now where the hell is my idiot brother?”

roy shrugs, “i haven’t seen him all week. he’s avoiding me like the plague.”

grayson gives a small annoyed smile, “good for him. you are the fucking plague.”

at the library with roy for second time, it’s just as awkward as the first.

he’s sitting there, tapping his foot and squinting hard at the screen in front of him, sighing and rubbing his hand over his face like he’s confused. after the first hour, you turn to him annoyed.

“can you stop that? it’s really distracting.”

“sorry, i just don’t get what any of this shit means. legal precedent? cease and desist orders? what the hell does it have to do with ethics?”

you sigh, closing your laptop to look at his. you read over the work he was doing and immediately spot his faults, highlighting the articles that had no business being on his screen and sharing the document with yourself.

“it’s cause you’re comparing your notes to a random article you found online. these aren’t peer reviewed so they make no sense.” opening up a new tab and searching up your schools research database, “here, only search for stuff from here.”

roy nods at you then the screen, smiling softly, “thanks.”

turning back to your own screen you mutter, “don’t mention it.”

the two of you go silent for another twenty minutes, occasionally looking over to make sure he was staying on track. you couldn’t help but think about how jason challenged you. how when you worked with him, his mind matched yours and the two of you could hold an intellectual conversation that didn’t feel forced. not that roy was a complete idiot, just that he didn’t care enough to really understand the concepts let alone do the readings. you just missed jason.

you sigh as you stand and grab your coat.

roy lifts his head, “you leaving?”

shaking your head, you pull your arms through the sleeves, “no i’m just gonna go get some air.”

and you’re about to leave him behind to go stand outside when you spot a familiar black haired boy standing against the brick walls. you stop dead in your tracks. the orange glow between his fingers growing bright as he pulls hard and huffs out a cloud of smoke that engulfs him again. his head leaning against the bricks and his eyes looking entirely worn out and sunken in.

something in your heart pangs, because he looks utterly exhausted. overworked and under appreciated even though he fucked with your heart just weeks prior.

roy notices, his eyes follow your gaze and find his bestfriend leaning against the wall outside of the library. jason lifts his free hand to rub between his eyes, the bridge of his nose turning red from how roughly he was doing it. too busy in his own head to realize anyone was watching him.

with a heavy sigh, you take off your coat and sit next to roy again. reopening your laptop when you feel him staring at you.

“what?” you ask, annoyance heavy in your tone.

but roy softens his voice, “i’m sorry.”

you turn to him, bewildered by his sudden apology. “i don’t care. don’t apologize to me for your own conscience harper.”

he sighs, “no, i mean i’m sorry for ruining,” gesturing in the air between you and jason, “that. the two of you.”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance to mask the hurt you felt deeply, “whatever, it wasn’t serious anyways. we just hooked up. who cares.”

“he does. he really does and he’s too much of a loser to have come up to you and tell you that.” he sighs this time, “it’s my fault that he even did it. i told him to or else i—”

“look roy,” you interrupt, “i really don’t care about what you and your boys talk about and i especially don’t give a shit about how many high fives you guys exchange when you discuss the girls you’ve slept with. so don’t apologize to me for being exactly who i thought you were and just finish your part so we never have to see eachother again.”

with a soft scoff, he nods and leans back in his chair, “i see why he likes you so much.”

you groan into your hand when he interrupts, “just let me finish and i won’t tell you again,” watching you drop your hands and reluctantly nod, “jason liked you alot and i pushed him into sleeping with you.”

watching you tense as he says the words, he lowers his voice, continuing, “—and i knew he did because he wouldn’t shut up about you for months and it was pissing me off cause he’s a wuss,”

you felt your body growing warm and bit your lip as you nodded for him to continue.

“so don’t blame him or grayson, blame me. i’m the one that told him to do it or i’d try sleeping with you.”

at that you laughed in his face, “oh please, like i’d sleep with you.”

he looks genuinely offended, “hey, i’m pretty irresistible.”

“yeah okay ed sheeran look alike.”

roy stammers, “wha? i’m here pouring out my heart to you and admitting my wrong doings and you’re making fun of me?”

you shrug, grabbing your stuff and pretending like his words didn’t give you a brand new perspective to work with. you shove your stuff into your bag, “you make it easy to make fun of you. you’re a womanizer, lowkey a slut,”

he interrupts, “highkey. i worked hard for that title, but go on,”

“—a sleezebag who exploits his own bestfriend and an idiot who doesn’t know the difference between criminal and corporate law when your whole degree is based on knowing the damn difference.”

“fine but can you actually think about what i said.”

with one last glance out the window, you find that jason was no longer there but your feelings for him remained. roy’s words fell heavy on your heart and you couldn’t help but feel like jason really did just make a shitty choice. you knew jason well enough to know he was susceptible to peer pressure when it came from someone he cared about. something told you he truly did believe that he would lose you to roy if he hadn’t acted but it didn’t excuse the fact that he didn’t even try to build something beforehand.

shoving your phone into your pocket and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you pushed your chair in, “no promises.”

walking back to your place from the library, roy gave you alot to think about.

you walked to the campus bistro and grabbed baked goods to soothe your own feelings. chocolate croissants, twisted cinnamon donuts, a fresh baguette and almond croissants. the light blue box clutched in your palms, you made your walk down the pathway with the intention of going home, watching criminal minds and stuffing your face.

the chilly winds sent pieces of your hair behind you while you took long strides trying to get back to your place.

if what roy was saying is true, then maybe jason really didn’t want to hurt to you but in his own fucked up twisted way, he was protecting you?

it’s hard to try and rationalize it because he could’ve gone about it a million different ways and he chose to put you in an impossible position. now you’re stuck ignoring your bestfriends and keeping secrets from them just because you didn’t even know how you felt. you’d isolated yourself because a part of you felt like you had let yourself fall into this. you didn’t want to feel any more embarrassed than you already did and that was your own doing. nothing you did was inherently embarrassing, but that didn’t stop you from feeling like you put yourself in this position.

roy could’ve been protecting his friend for all you knew because what does he have to lose? he’s probably trying to get you back into the frat so jason could get back into your pants.

but that doesn’t make sense… you knew that couldn’t make any sense.

why would roy lie?

anyway, even if what roy said was true, jason knew what he did was wrong and he did it regardless. why should you keep letting that dictate how you lived your life and the people you interacted with? why should his wrong doing create strains on your relationships with everyone else?

with a heavy purpose and a clouded mind, your feet led you to the frat house instead of your own. the door was unlocked like it always was and you push it open, calling out graysons name.

“gray? are you here?” already slipping off your shoes and shutting the door behind you.

“he’s not here,” hal says, walking out of the living room with his shirt sideways and his hair tossed.

he yawns wide and rubs his face, “you haven’t been here in awhile huh?”

you shake your head, “did i wake you?”

he shrugs and flicks his wrist like he’s dismissing it, “nah, i should’ve woken up hours ago to study for my physics exam.”

“physics?” you question, face showing your disbelief.

hal laughs, “what? you expect all frat guys to be complete idiots?” pausing to let you reply but he continues, “well, you’d be right. cause if i don’t ace this exam, i can say goodbye to aerospace engineering.”

offering him a small smile, “when’s the exam?” you question while you shrug your coat off.

“two days.” he sighs, eyeing the box in your hands.

you nod, “okay, that’s okay. you got time. just go study somewhere no one can bother you, you’ll be fine.”

with a sweet smile you could never expect from frat boys, hal laughs, “you’re too nice for your own good.“

at that you open up the box in your hands, holding it up to him and offering him the pastries inside, “take some.” hal shakes his head, “no seriously take it and go study while no one is here. brew yourself a coffee or something on that fancy machine you guys have and never use.”

hal stares at them, eyeing a chocolate croissant before grabbing one, “thanks.”

“take ‘em with you,” you smile, “i brought them for gray so just save him an almond croissant. he likes those.”

he nods, taking the box from you to take to the kitchen, “him and jason both. good thing you brought three.”

the smile you had fades into something else, though it’s still enough for him to mistaken it as genuine. hal makes his way to the kitchen and you go up the stairs to go study in grayson’s room until he gets back.

walking up the steps to go to graysons room, you hear distant sounds coming from jason’s but you ignore them. the closed door does nothing to stop the magnetic feeling you had towards knocking on it. but you don’t.

you’re here for grayson. you’re here because you hadn’t seen him in a while and he told you he misses you and you do miss him too.

like you’d usually do, you drop your bag by his desk and plop on his bed, to scroll through your phone for a bit. responding to messages and emails from your professors reminding you to finish the work they gave you before the end of the week. you groan to yourself and slip your phone back into your pocket to force yourself to lock in and do some work.

you sit at graysons desk with your laptop out for maybe ten minutes before you hear his voice echoing through the halls, clearly on the phone with someone. his footsteps stop around the other end of the hallway and you hear distant heavy knocking. it’s probably just him talking to one of his frat bros. you didn’t tell him you were coming anyways so you stayed there, typing away with music playing in one airpod.

“open the fucking door jason,”

that’s what got you to slip the airpod out and tune in to whatever was being said. getting up, you creep towards the door to get a better sense of what was happening. opening the door, you turn your head just enough to watch their altercation in front of jason’s bedroom door. the door opens.

“yeah?” jason asks, utterly exhausted look on his face.

your heart pangs despite it all and roy’s words repeat in your mind that jason wasn’t coming home. that he was getting back late, that he really did feel sorry.

grayson shoves him into the wall next to his door and says your name, “did you sleep with her because of a fucking bet?” jason’s face doesn’t change, the same regret evident as grayson shoves him harder, “did you?!”

jason doesn’t meet his gaze but he takes accountability and he nods, “yeah i’m an idiot—”

you barely had enough time to cover your mouth to mask your gasp when grayson pulls his arm back just to drive it forward. his fist meets jason’s face, hard. your eyes widen as jason takes his older brothers punch to his mouth.

he doesn’t try to stop him.

he doesn’t block his face.

his tongue darts out just to lick a speck of blood that had already formed there, trailing up to look at grayson.

grayson looks angrier than you’d ever seen him before, pushing his brother off of him and stepping away.

“you could’ve literally dated anyone. literally fucking anyone and you did that to her. my friend. and now she doesn’t come by anymore cause she doesn’t wanna see your stupid face.”

jason’s head hangs low, looking utterly ashamed with himself and takes his graysons ranting like he knew he deserved it.

“i fucking vouched for you! i told her you were a good guy and you just… christ jason what’s wrong with you!”

the cold feeling slithered down your spine as you watched this unfold. the way jason just took it all, letting the words sink in like he was sorry, it irked you for some reason. why isn’t he defending himself? why is he letting grayson tell him off? why the hell is he acting hurt when you’re the one who was embarrassed?

graysons scoffs at him, calling him pathetic under his breath. his footsteps descend down the steps and out the door, slamming it shut behind him. jason stands there for a minute, wiping his nose and lip on his sleeve. then he turns around to go back into his room.

something in your mind shifts and you find your chest heaving.

what the hell was jason so upset for when he did this to you?

without really thinking, you’re stomping down the hall and into jason’s room. he’s touching his split lip when he looks up as you slam the door shut behind you. he’s wide eyed, inches away from his bed, when says your name, surprised and uncertain.

you shove him backwards from his chest, “stop doing that!“

he doesn’t stop you, he lets you shove him around, “stop what?”

“quit walking around like a fucking kicked puppy. stop acting like you’re the one hurt by this!”

he sighs, dropping his hands to his sides, “i am hurt by this.”

you push him again, hard enough for the backs of his legs to touch the bed, “you did this jason. it’s your fault, now you’re moping around the library, letting your brother punch you. not coming home at night. god, you’re so frustrating.”

he nods, eyes broken and still unwavering on you like you’re his remedy and his prayers answered, “i’m sorry.“

this time you grip his shirt because he’s still doing that. still looking at you like that.

the anger boils over into something else, “stop fucking apologizing to me.” you huff, “stop pretending like you care.”

then his eyes meets yours, tearful and quivering lips, and his hand clasps over your wrist, “but i do care. i care so much, i just can’t believe let myself fall for something so stupid and hurt you.”

you sigh, long and strangled as you grip his shirt tighter, “no you’re not. you’re sorry you got caught. you weren’t gonna tell me otherwise. you just let me believe that we just happened naturally not forced by a fucking bet.”

“i…i did. i was going to tell you but i was scared that it meant i’d lose you.” his perfect eyes boring into yours, a tear slipping down his cheek, “i liked you,” pausing to correct himself, “i like you so much. it was wrong of me. you should hate me. i don’t blame you.”

“just shut up!” you grabbed at his shirt, crumpling in your fist as your faces were inches apart.

chests heaving against the other as you watched his sorrowful eyes fall to your lips.

and that breaks you.

the tension was boiling like it was about to snap. you’re hot and bothered and he was everything you wanted while nothing at the same time. you couldn’t help it.

with a breathless gasp, you pulled him in even closer by his collar and crashed your lips into his, in an attempt to mask the way you were desperately trying to hate him. lips hard against his while his hands found your hips immediately. despite how badly he’s been wanting this, wanting you again, he hesitates to draw you even closer until he’s nearly on the bed, tugging at you as his lips part and reattach onto yours.

with a sloppy kiss, you pull back to shove him backwards onto his mattress. he bounces as he hits it, his hard body shifting as his weight settles and shifts upwards to watch you.

panting hard you shift on your feet like you’re evaluating what you were doing and what you wanted. so many thoughts reeling in your mind as his perfect, wet eyes watched you, his face damp from how you both had been making out so sloppily as if you’d never touched before. you press in and watch as his legs desperately part for you to move in closer. he stares at you in bewilderment, silently calculating what you wanted here when your hands find the hem of your shirt and you lift it up and over your head.

he’s breathing heavily as you climb on top and straddle him and desperately leaning into you while you press your lips into his again. achingly needy for you but he lets you take control, he hovers his hands over your thighs when you grab them and place them where you want them to be. when he finally squeezes the plush of your thighs, you moan into his mouth and he laps at yours, swallowing down the sound.

his lips trail down the side of your face while you fiddle with the button of his jeans. he lets you take what you want, moving his hips to help you maneuver him out of them and doesn’t dare to try to make you strip out of any layers. this was about you, for you. he watches you with lustful and hungry eyes just barely hiding his dismay for himself. you yank his face back up to yours, kissing his perfect face and lapping at the split in his lip before licking it clean. without hesitation, he moans at the sensation, hips involuntarily bucking up into yours. you gasp, sharp and hurried when you finally pull away to look at him.

the state of him a mess, his lip swollen and red and cheeks flushed. his shirt was sideways and his jeans were at low at his hips, revealing his deep v-line. your shirt was somewhere on the floor and you were sure you were soaked through your panties from grinding into him like a feral animal. this was pure need and adrenaline. this was weeks of pent up anger and frustration. all the things you’d heard from grayson and roy this week were only making you want him even more. even if you knew this was wrong. jason wanted to use you, even if it was a bet based on his feelings for you, so now you were taking it back. this was your decision. this was you taking what you wanted.

you stare down at him, hand sliding up his back and the nape of his neck until you tangled your fingers through his hair. he moans so beautifully, it could’ve torn you apart. the smallest smile forming on his face like he had been waiting for this. but you couldn’t let him have that. you lean down to whisper against his lips.

“this doesn’t change anything,” the sound vibrating against his skin, “this doesn’t fix us.”

leaning backwards until his back was nearly touching the headboard, he stares up at you. that smile disappearing completely.

“it doesn’t?” asking with the most innocent tone, you almost felt bad for him again.

you shake your head, touching your lips to his to watch him chase after you before putting a hand to his chest and whispering breathlessly, “no jay, this changes nothing.”

something in his eyes falter as he stares up at you, something reminiscent of barely concealed restraint and desperate want, “if that’s what you want…” he trails off, hands finding their way up your spine, “whatever you need, sweets.”

you nod, closing the distance and kissing him just as hard again. your hand finds the hem of his shirt and tug at it to him to pull it off. he obeys, leaning back just enough to tug the shirt off his back and drop it on the ground next to yours. scooting up with one arm around your waist, he drags you closer to his with his eyes unrelenting all over you.

shifting up your sides and down your stomach. his fingertips graze slow enough to send shivers up your spine and you let out a soft gasp. throughout it all, he watches you, blood still fresh on his lip as you continued to lap at it but now you watched him all the same. savoured him. when he tries to kiss you again, you push him flat on his back to take your hands up with unfamiliar cadence and unclasp your own bra. his mouth gapes open as he tries to sit up again, but your hand on his chest keeps him there.

you breathed his name, “stay there.”

he nods and drops back to let you take control. you push the rest of his jeans down his legs with his boxers alongside it. with quick movements, your pants hit the floor but your panties stayed on, just enough to tease both of you. the same fire that erupted earlier, the tension that boiled into something that resembles love and lust, it reignited. your hands move between the two of you as you palm at his throbbing length and jason gasps your name. but he doesn’t move. he doesn’t try to touch you again. he lets you do it because he knows it’s what you want.

still in his lap, you hover over him, pushing your panties to the side and guiding him closer. his breath hitches as you touch his tip to your entrance, just barely keeping your composure as it presses there. you continue to hover, taking a deep breath as you start to sink down on him. jason gasps, hands clenching around nothing and groaning your name and choking on his spit.

“oh my god, you’re so—”

he writhes, barely keeping his composure as you take him inside deeper, stopping as the girth starts to sting. this was only your second time and both with him. you still weren’t used to his size. he knew this and his hands reach your hips. you whine at the feeling, and jason breathes your name again, touching you so softly that you wished you could’ve hated him.

“do you want help?” he pants, “i can help.”

thighs burning, you gasp sharp and shake your head down at him, “no, i can…i can do it.”

inching him further, you drop the rest of your weight on him and take it all like just you said you would and completely without his help. he mewls your name as you start to bounce on him, slowly dragging and grinding your hips while he rubs against your slick walls. his neck stretches out on the pillow like he had you just weeks ago and his restraint nearly crumbles. but this was your turn. he moans broken and long as you move faster.

“oh fuck baby,” gasping out, his hands grasp your hips, not moving you but grounding you, “it’s yours, it’s all yours.”

spurring you on, your movements resume. bouncing on his thick length and letting your head fall back as pleasure builds deep. he can’t help it, not when you’re on display for him. not when the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen is bare and taking everything she wants from him. he was utterly yours. jason lifts his head while you’re too blissed out to protest and his lips latch over your breast, tugging and sucking until the peaked edge pebbles and you make a broken sound that he loves so dearly. your hands move from his chest to his hair and hold him there, tangling through his dark locks as your hips continue their movements. jason moans, louder than you’ve ever heard from him, his hands move lower and cup the soft globes of your ass as you make faster movements. switching to the other breast, he continues to knead the plush of your backside while his eyes roll back.

all of this spurs you on. his hips start to buck back into yours, just enough to remind you that he was as autonomous as you are and the peak is there before you know it. he thrusts up deeper while you watch him unravel beneath you.

jason cries out your name, beautiful in all of his glory, “please baby, you gotta slow down i’m gonna—”

you don’t listen to him, you don’t let him finish his sentence, pulling him up by his hair to kiss his plump lips. the kiss is all hurried and heated like neither of you could ever get enough. jason is just as eager to have you. he whines again, as his hips stutter, bucking up higher and higher. reaching deeper until you can hardly move back into him and you’re the one saying his name as your orgasm crashes over you. he holds you through it, kissing you back while you panting and moaning into his mouth, spent from how ferocious this was.

jason groans right back, “god, i love you,” following right after you as you clamp around him, pushing him over the edge. his release is warm and pulsating as rope after rope paints you from the inside.

you gasp as you feel it, the feeling was something raw and pure, making you feel everything all at once. but his words, his stuttered confession as he took you in the most intimate way possible—it unravelled you more than you’d like to admit.

he whimpers something incoherent as he thrusts up into you once more, the last spurts shooting into the warmth that welcomed him.

the high is over as soon as it comes and you collapse onto his chest. despite how spent he is, his arms wrap around you as he holds you against him and struggles to catch his breath. he’s about to say something, his chest rumbles under your ear but you lift your head and kiss him again, slower and with more purpose. jason absolutely melts, his fingers tighten around you as he chases your honeyed lips. lapping at you and stealing your breath. you sigh into him before you push him back down and reel over his blissed out words.

i love you.

a few moments pass where he holds you in his arms, still buried inside like he belonged there and a sick part of you knew he did. jason lets out a shaky breath and tries to speak again, clearly flustered and beating himself up.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to do that inside of you, i don’t know what came over me—”

you cut him off, “i didn’t move. it’s fine.”

you feel his adam’s apple bob as he gulps and slowly nods as if in slow understanding, “still, i should’ve said something though.”

not wanting to discuss it you stop him again, “let’s just not talk about it okay?”

the hesitation in his response could’ve made you sick. but the warmth of him kept you there. he nods again, “yeah, sure, whatever you need.”

you hate how sweet he was being but you snuggle closer into his arms. he pulls his covers over both of you and waits until you settle in his arms. continually making soft movements that somehow felt more intimate than how you’d both just ravaged the other. his hands making slow, barely there movements up and down your bare back as he started to succumb to the sleep that he hadn’t had in weeks.

after a while, you feel his breathing start to even out and his grip loosen around you. but you’re wide awake. everything was so fresh and so soft, it felt overbearing.

hours go by and thoughts continue to swirl you reckless like you hadn’t just slept with the man who broke your heart. you take a moment to bask in this, his warmth, his care. all of the feelings you’d been fighting these last couple weeks are resurfacing and demanding your attention. a slow, single tear slips down your cheek as the realization hits all over again that jason had the ability to hurt you. he had the capacity to hurt you and you didn’t know what to do with that.

then you’re getting up because you didn’t wanna be here when the sun rose.

you pry his arm off of you and start to step away, ignoring the sick feeling that started to settle in your stomach that told you this felt safe because jason already proved you wrong once.

cupping your face in your hands like it could take the warmth from your skin, you back away and grab your shirt off the floor. pulling on your clothes in a way that felt more shameful than you intended, you grab your bag from the front of the door you’d slammed shut and make your way out of the house.

no one to stop you this time. no one to blame for this mistake—no one but you.

jason groans as he wakes up, hand reaching over to the left side of his bed like it’s searching mindlessly. his hand flexes and grasps around nothing but empty air before he opens his eyes and see that you weren’t there. confusion floods his mind as the faint scent of your perfume lingered and clung to the fabrics tight.

like a ghost in the night that he could’ve dreamt of, he sits up and scratches at his head.

did he imagine you here?

was he pining after you so hard that he’d had a wet dream about you?

slowly, he lifts up the sheets to find himself entirely naked and confirm his suspicions.

you left—again.

jason pulls out phone from his table to check the time, 11:21am. shit, he’d missed his first lecture of the day which was also the one he had with you. and he wanted to talk to you after last night. he scratches at his head, dark hair disheveled as the options weigh in his mind. after a few moments, he hovers over your contact, clicking the message button.

the contact photo is a photo he took of you when you weren’t looking. perched in your library chair, hovering over your computer and deep in thought. jason had never seen anyone so devastatingly beautiful without even trying and he couldn’t help but snap a photo while you were unsuspecting. he smiles to himself as he starts to type out a message.

can we talk about what happened last night?

he blinks, contemplating the message before deleting it entirely. what he doesn’t want to do is have this conversation immediately over the phone. he wants to prove that this wasn’t something he’s not serious about. the last couple weeks have been hell for him and he’s been giving you the space you needed and until you took what you wanted right back. he loved it. he loves you. he meant what he said last night even if it was in the heat of the moment.

with the blue curser blinking at him, jason retypes another message.

hey, can we talk?

tapping his fingers on his the sides of the phone, he presses send and shut the phone off. he gets up and dresses himself, pulling on his hoodie restlessly as he awaits your response. shoving his feet into his socks and slipping on a pair of sweats. jason bites the inside of his cheeks, and traces his fingers over the scars on his skin, dragging his fingertips on the long scar on his cheek.

then his phone pings and you respond.

sure.

he beams, literally lights up at the fact that you’ve actually responded to him and given him a response. even if it was kinda dry. he texts back immediately.

i’ll be over in 15, that okay ma?

while he runs down the stairs, ignoring the looks wally and hal give him, jason is smiling giddy and wide. he puts his shoes on and barely tucks the laces in before he’s out the door.

k cool.

on the way over to your place he decides to take a detour to a flower shop nearby and grab something to really drive it home that he wants you—bad. jason walks through the flowers, staring at the peonies, the tulips, and the lilies. he ultimately settles on a dozen roses and asks the woman at the counter if she could wrap it up for him. telling her while he fidgets with his fingers, i’m a little nervous.

the older woman at the counter smiles and wraps it for him, nice and pretty, just how he liked. just like he saw you.

jason thanks the woman, paying with cash and leaving the change behind. dashing out the store to get there on time. taking quick, steady glances at his phone to make sure he wasn’t going to be late to see you. he told you he’d be there in fifteen minutes almost fourteen minutes ago. he pumps his legs faster and runs across campus to your building.

by the time he gets there and knocks on your door, he’s sweating a little and it’s gone down his forehead. beads of sweat slither down his face and he wipes it with his sleeve. nerves and barely concealed excitement etched across his face.

you open the door and your eyes immediately fall on his hands. lips parting in a silent O.

jason grins, and pushes the roses forward, “these, uh, they’re for you.”

you blink at him, “oh, you didn’t have to.” not taking the roses from him yet.

he sighs quietly. he knew it wasn’t gonna be a one and done thing, this was something he wanted to prove to you so he gives you another smile and gulps down his nerves.

“i wanted to talk about last night.”

“why?” you say quickly, still not stepping aside to let him in.

but jason doesn’t mind. he doesn’t expect anything less.

“i just,” his free hand scratches at the nape of his neck, “i wanted to tell you how much it meant to me. how much you mean to me.”

without responding yet, you lean against the door and watch him. jason goes on.

“you’re an important person to me and i just wish i could’ve handled all of this better in the first place,” eyes falling down to the roses then up to you, “i know i don’t get to just show up like this but i wanted you to know, it wasn’t just a bet to me. what happened between us, it wasn’t just physical. it meant more.”

as sweet as the gesture is, you don’t fall for it.

you tilt your head slightly, looking right at him, vision cold and face pale, “why? it’s not like i’m your girlfriend or anything.”

jason nearly doubled backward at that. his heart shrivels up and his fingers tighten around the prickly stems, “i…i know that.”

you nod slowly, expression unreadable to jason, but it was enough to know, nothing was right. you turn around to a table next to your door and grab something off of it. jason stands there awkwardly while you turn back and hand him a folded up sweater.

“here. it’s the hoodie i took from your room.”

something in his face breaks. he doesn’t take the hoodie at first, just looks at it in your hands and slowly lifts his hand. he lets you place the hoodie into his palm and he doesn’t lift his eyes from it.

he knew this wasn’t going to be so easy but you’d just taken his heart and stomped on it, showing him that this hurt that he did to you, it ran deep. showing up with some roses and a stupidly attractive smile wasn’t going to fix it. he was acting like he earned you, like he had access to you. you take a few steps backward and hold the door in your grips.

“i’ll see you around. bye jason.”

he furrows his brows and lets out a breathless sound, “right,” the bouquet turning upside down in his grip and he lets his arms fall to his side, “bye.”

the door shuts behind you with a deafening click.

he lifts his hoodie he didn’t even know you’d taken. the sweet scent of you fills his nose and he closes his eyes to bask in how badly he didn’t know he needed it. the hookup wasn’t because you’d forgiven him, no, it was cause of the frustration boiled inside of you. it was autonomous in a way that he wanted you to reclaim. part of him was proud of you, while the other part was aching, yearning. though he knows you wouldn’t hear him behind that closed door, jason whispers a soft, sorry before he leaves the roses there for you to find or let wilt away.

the words echo in his mind like gunshots; i’m not your girlfriend.

what burns him most is that you’re right.

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my to-”

The shake of your doorknob sobers you completely. No longer immersed in the book, but staring doom in the face. You weren’t expecting anyone. No one was supposed to be here, not at this time anyway. It was a little after one in the morning, which only meant one thing in Gotham.

Trouble.

The handle on your front door kept jangling, and you could hear the lot of them outside messing with the lock. Practically shooting off the sage couch, you dart toward your bedroom. The door shuts behind you as quickly and quietly as possible. Flipping the silver notch to lock you inside, adrenaline starts pumping through your veins. Your eyes are frantically examining all your furniture to fins the most feasible piece to block the door. In a desperate attempt at survival, you muster all the strength you can manage at 1 a.m. to push your dresser.

The dresser was ancient and colored with a faded spruce stain. Your brother had gifted it to you as one of his legendary Facebook marketplace finds.

He loved to play this game to see how much he could lowball the sellers and get away with it. After each buy, he would call you to tell you how much he managed to get discounted off. You could always hear the smirk in his voice, proud of himself and his bargaining skills. As you reminisce on the memory while pathetically shoving the dresser, you think of him.

This is exactly why he didn’t want you to get your masters at GothamU.

There was a whispering voice in your head that wanted to put off telling him about this as long as you could. You knew exactly what the phone call would sound like. The first thing he would do would be to tell you “I told you so” and the next would be him packing your bags to move you back to Central City.

The ricochet of your front door off the wall halts you in your tracks. The vibrations of the insane  force are felt through the foundations of your shitty apartment. You say a silent prayer to any deity listening when you finally manage to get your dresser to block some of the door. Your lamp next to the couch was still on and you hope their stupid enough to think that you didn’t really acre about your electric bill.

It’s only a matter of time until they realize that someone was in fact home.

Your phone lights up from your nightstand with a notification from your brother highlighting the lockscreen. That development springs you into action, finally making an attempt to ask for help. From what you could hear, there were about three of them out there. The drawers in your kitchen were being pulled off the rails, cabinets were being thrown open, books were being fanned out for extra cash.

It was a lost cause really, you were a broke master’s student who worked at the campus bookstore. They weren’t going to find much except frozen meals and too many annotations in between pages.

Tip-toeing to your phone, you hear them outside talking to themselves. What saves you is that you have a million little containers and trinkets that they’ll busy themselves with. It’ll take them at least ten minutes to rifle through and guess how valuable each of them are.

“Of course” you can’t help but mumble with shaking hands when you see the notification from him. Only Wally West would be up at 12:14 a.m. (Central City time) sending you an Instagram reel of Zuko in the leaked Avatar movie with a message that says “I can take him.”

I’ll take him in between the legs, you think to yourself as the edit plays.

Your guardian angel must have been tired of working overtime because something shatters in your kitchen, which catalyzes your self-preservation to kick in again. In spite of the fact you’re about to drop the phone with how much you’re shaking, your fingers manage to type out a message.

As much as I’d love to discuss how you cannot in fact “take him” I need your help

I totally can thank you very much But what’s up?

Someone broke into my apartment and I’m hiding out in my room

WHAT!?!?!?!

He instantly starts calling you. In any other circumstance an Instagram call would make you laugh, but right now you hit the decline button as fast as you can. The second it ends, another call comes through and you decline that one too.

Pick up the phone right now.

I can’t They’ll hear me talking Can you call 911 for me?

I mean I would love too but they’re not going to do anything You’re in GOTHAM. They’re probably dealing with a psychotic lion or something.

Your head falls back after reading the text. He’s not exactly wrong, but a very small part of you is trying to overpower the stressed one and stay calm. Tears are threatening your water line from terror, you’re positive that your heart is about to beat out of your chest. One of them keeps walking past the door as they tear apart your bookshelf and entertainment center, each footstep feels like a countdown.

You stare at your door with your heart in your throat when another text form Wally comes through.

I just texted Dick, someone’s going to be there soon For now go to your bathroom and barricade yourself inside This time when I call, you ARE going to PICK UP and sit with me in silence until someone gets there okay?

You barely finish reading the text when the green and red buttons appear on the screen again.

Instantly, your fingers go to the side of the phone to lower the volume. The only sound coming from either of you are heavy anxious breaths.

If it wasn’t for the no meta rule, you know he would already be halfway here. He’d threatened to break it multiple times on the grounds of you just having a bad day. You knew him not being here right now with this absolute disaster happening was killing him.

The quiet padding of your feet on the way to your bathroom sounded like bombs dropping to your ears.

Realistically, you knew they couldn’t hear it, but all your senses were at 110%. Every noise that came from outside of your bedroom felt like a crescendo to the climax of your worst nightmare. In a really strange and fucked up way, you were lucky. You’d been living in Gotham for a year and a half without having any real problems. It was about time to pay the piper.

Entering the bathroom, you delicately place your phone on the counter and shut the door behind you. The lights remain off while you slide down the wall. The timer of your call with Wally was the only source of light in the claustrophobic wash room. When it hits 2:07, they start trying your bedroom door. Wally hears it, the hitch in his breath obvious even on the lowest volume setting.

It’s going to be okay, I promise. They’ll be there soon.

His text only causes the tears to fall faster on your face. You just wanted tonight to be over.

Then you hear it.

The shatter of your living room window. It’s followed by a heavy set of footsteps that land on the floor. A few punches are thrown, some gunshots, and then you count three bodies falling to the floor.

The ringing in your ear is louder than you’re comfortable with and Wally speaks for the first time.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a miracle that you heard or even understood him. The broken speaker of your phone paired with his small whisper was almost impossible to make out.

“I think.” Is all you can say back.

Then there are three knock on your bedroom door that sends you flying to your feet. Phone in one hand and white-knuckling the counter with the other, every limb is shaking and your breathing hadn’t been coming out evenly for minutes. The room is spinning, and the aftershock is starting to sink in.

“Hey it’s me,” the voice comes out slightly awkward and you freeze. Recognition travels with a chill down your spine. “I took care of the them, you uh- you can come out now.”

There was like a million of the bats and bat-adjacent vigilantes in Gotham, and they sent him. Deep down when you heard the gunshots, you knew who it was. There was only one vigilante in that family that dared to go against the Batman’s gun ban. You were hoping that fate was going to give you a break, but that didn’t seem like it was in the cards tonight.

Once upon a time, this would’ve had relief washing over your body.

Wally used to bring you to some of the get togethers that the Titans held when you were younger. Then, thinking like a true older brother, Dick used to drag Jason along with him.

Safe to say, you both became fast friends.

You would talk about everything that came to your mind. Books, games, shoes, stuff going on in your lives, anything you could think of. Sometimes when you both got bored, you would sneak away to play video games in Wally’s room at the tower. Jason would always help you beat the levels you were stuck on in your latest save.

But, nothing perfect lasts forever.

Everything dampened when he died. It was awful to put it plainly. When he came back, it was almost worse. He changed so drastically, you almost didn’t believe that this was the same boy who gave you a forty five minute rant on why Jo was never meant for Laurie.

You couldn’t blame him for what he became, the experience was horrifyingly unique. Yet, you don’t think you’ll ever forget the last time you spoke.

It was a stupid argument in hindsight.

Dick had come to you one night, begging for you to try to get through to him. Apparently they all had given their best efforts into attempting to talk to him, and you were the last line of offense.

That was a year and a half ago.

A hesitant call of your name through the door takes you out of the memory flashing behind your eyes.

“Yeah,” your voice squeaks out with a cringe following. You didn’t realize how small it was going to sound. “I-I’ll be out, just give me a sec.”

Turning back to your phone, your throat bobs with a heavy swallow. “I’m all good Wall,” there’s a sound of relief coming through the speakers. It was almost as if he had been holding his breath for the entire three minutes of the phone call.

“Who’s with you?” The question was immediate. He heard the gunshots, he knew as well as you did who was here.

“Um,” your eyes dart up from his horrific contact photo to the door and then back down to the picture again, “Jason’s here.”

The silence from the other end of the phone was palpable. Wally knew how bad the last argument you and Jason had stung. He was the one who sat on the phone with you after. Blinking back the emotions, you steel yourself for what’s awaiting in your apartment.

You’re a big girl, you can handle this. You’ve handled worse than a shitty ex-best friend.

“I’m going to hang up now, okay?” Your hands are starting to shake again. “I gotta figure out how bad the damage is, I’ll text you with the updates.”

He could hear the words rushing to leave your mouth, a pathetic attempt at convincing yourself this was fine.

“Do you want me to come? I will, give me like ten minutes- fifteen tops, and I’ll be there. All you have to do is ask.”

You knew he would do it too, the reassurance was unnecessary. The gravity in his tone almost made you fall into the temptation. There was nothing you wanted more right now than for your brother to be here. He would know how to handle this. He would know how to wrangle Gotham vigilante’s and tell them to go to Hell.

Your strive for independence was going to be the death of you one day.

“I think I’m okay for now, but I’ll call if I need backup.”

“Okay,” a hint of defeat is mixed in with the sigh. “Well I doubt I’ll be sleeping much after this, so please just text me with what ends up happening.”

“I promise,” and because you know he’ll lose his mind all night you ask him for a different type of help. “If you want to make yourself useful, go back to scrolling on reels and send me some that I can watch later.”

“Aye Aye boss,” You can almost hear his smug grin when he gets a snort out of you. “I love you, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you too Wally.” When the line goes dead you hold the phone to your chest for a moment. Even with the levels of annoying you’re sure only Wally could reach, you truly could not have asked for a better brother. He always dropped whatever he was doing if you needed him.

Savoring the last moment of peace you had from the rest of the world, you lean against the counter and try to catch your breath. You were going to have to confront the disaster that was your apartment. The devil on your shoulder was contemplating to just leave it for tomorrow, but the angel reminded you that your book was out there.

Mustering up the final ounces of courage left in your stomach, you unlock the door to the bathroom. Thankfully the sanctuary that was your bedroom remained untouched, except for the dresser propped against your door.

The dresser was heavier than you remember it being a few minutes ago. Adrenaline strength truly unlocks a version of potential you didn’t know you had. The effort it takes to give you a clearing, leaves red imprints of the design on your palms. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation plain on your fingers. You were going to have to see him, you were going to have to confront him after seventeen months of no contact.

Left hand at your side, you crack each knuckle with your thumb before opening the door. Not letting yourself think too hard, it swings wide open. And there he is.

He was on one knee flipping the coffee table back over. His hands were filled with a bunch of the trinkets that made their home on it. When he hears the door open, his head whips in your direction. The air in the room depletes when the white slits of the mask meet your eyes. Both of you frozen, staring at each other with a decade of history lingering in a glance.

Uncomfortable with the silence, you start cracking the knuckles of your right hand.

You might as well have activated a sleeper agent with the movement. He suddenly remembers where he is, and shoots to his feet. Carefully cupping his hands, he moves to drop your belongings back on the table.

Peeling your eyes off his devastatingly gorgeous frame, you find the three robbers tied together hanging off your fire escape.

“I’m waiting on Dick.” His voice is gravelly and a bit panicked. In the back of your mind, you note that he turned off the modulator. “He’s on his way to pick them up and take them to the station.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you hum in reply.

Examining your apartment, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. Despite the few broken pieces of decor, the glass littered all over your living room from where Jason made his dramatically grand entrance, and your stuff being thrown everywhere, you were pretty lucky.

Noticing the way your eyes caught on the glimmering pieces of glass off the floor, he starts anxiously adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.

“I’m sorry about the window.” He’s rolled and unrolled the cuff of his left sleeve three times by the time he manages to speal. “I was in a rush and it seemed the fastest way in, I’ll pay for someone to fix it tomorrow.”

“I would hope so.” The answer came out like a reflex. You bite back the grimace fighting your features. You hadn’t even thanked him for the help before pouring gasoline on the fire.

He doesn’t say anything, yet his shoulders tense. Somewhere deep in places his pride won’t let him admit, he knew he deserved it, and that was enough of a punishment for you. He had to live with himself at the end of the day, what more could you ask for?

A clang on your fire escape steals your attention. Next thing you know, you’re being tackled in a bone crushing hug. If the blur of blue and black spandex didn’t’ give it away, the hints of Tom Ford cologne certainly did.

The hug is merely a second long before he pulls back and holds you at your shoulders.

“Good to see that you’re doing alright kid.” A grin is pulling at his face, but you can see the tension in his build. Wally had trusted Dick with this- with his family. That wasn’t an easy thing for anyone to do. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if something happened.

“Yeah I’m fine,” You try to laugh but it comes out weak. “I was overdue on my Gotham initiation anyway.”

 The dominos mask hides it, but by the subtle shake of his head you can tell there was an eyeroll that went along with it.

He lets go of your shoulders and you look back at the dump that was now your apartment. Jason and Dick hold each other’s gazes silently. They were speaking in the silence with movements you pretended to ignore.

You’re scratching your eyebrow when Dick starts, “Hey um, where are you staying tonight?”

Hand falling from your face, you turn to him. “What do you mean?”

Confused, he looks from you to Jason, then back to you.

“You know you can’t stay here for a few days right?” His head cocks to the side. “The cops have to come, investigate, tape it off, and we need to get someone to fix your window.”

Your eyelids blink slowly. You weren’t tired by any means, but tonight just got a hell of a lot longer. None of your friends were going to be awake and you would rather sleep under the bridge than try a hotel in Gotham you could afford.

“Fuck.” The curse barely audible when it leaves falls off your tongue.

“I mean,” Dick starts with a shrug of the shoulders. “You’re more than welcome to stay at the manor. Bruce won’t mind”

Jason’s neck snaps to Dick, the white slits of the hood widen a bit before narrowing again.

“I mean this with the upmost respect.” Your hand lays flat against your heart. “I would rather chew rocks.”

You weren’t sure how long you would need to try and find somewhere to stay, but you wanted to avoid the manor at all costs. You’d had the luxury of visiting a few times, but it always felt awkward. It was too big for you, and you really didn’t want to feel like an imposition.

Dick and Jason both snort at your reply. Both of them knew how you felt about the manor. It was breath taking, but it wasn’t somewhere you wanted to sleep in, especially for multiple nights.

“I’ll figure something out,” you sound unsure even to yourself. “I’ll just find some couches to surf for a while.”

“Yeah no, try again West.” Jason finally decides to speak for the first time since his brother’s arrival.

Your neck snaps in his direction and a fire lights behind your eyes, daring him to repeat himself. He had no right to tell you what you could, and couldn’t do. His opinions meant jack shit to you.

“Sorry kiddo,” Dick’s domino mask expands a miniscule amount, but still enough to notice. He looks like he’s been tasked to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty before World War 3 breaks out. “Wally entrusted us with your safety, which means we have to know that where you’re staying is at least somewhat protected.”

Understanding dawns on you in a cruel shiver up your spine. The second option about to be presented to you was dangling like a rotten carrot on a stick.

“It’s the manor or Jason’s place.”

Your jaw drops and you meet the latter’s gaze. The damn mask betraying no emotion, you however, don’t miss the little fidget of his foot. Your eyes narrow in between the boys.

“So what? My choices are the fourth or fifth circle of Hell?”

“C’mon the manor’s not that bad.” Dick tries to reason with you.

“Jason’s place is.”

He doesn’t deny it. No one does.

You should’ve chosen the manor, every nerve in your body was telling you that was the reasonable choice. Dick would be there for a few days, there was other life there. Yet, It was just too much and it was too far. Your commute to class would double and you liked your alone time too much to give it up.

Swallowing your pride, you turn to the boy you longer knew with a deadpan. “When do we leave?”

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

Jason’s apartment was surprisingly clean.

His apartment was embracing the minimalist aesthetic. He had never been one for many material goods because of how he was raised. That never changed, even after all the years he lived with Bruce.

The living room, where you were currently sitting, had barely anything inhabiting the space. The couch was dark and worn with some cracks in the leather, the entertainment center was a simple stand made of oak with a glass cabinet on the bottom, the TV was rested on top of it, a floor lamp next to the couch, and the last piece was by far the liveliest- his bookshelf.

It took up about half the wall. Every shelf littered with different genres. It was almost too personal to examine. Some books you recognized and some you didn’t. An odd wave of sadness washes over you when you see some books you’d never heard him talk about. It was still strange to you on some days that you were no longer in each other’s lives.

You knew he was out and about in Gotham, but your paths never crossed. Whether that was by design or some level of mercy, you never knew.

He was on the news at least once a week. It felt like cheating no contact, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was the one indulgence you allowed yourself, to know that he was still alive and working with the bats. This way you didn’t feel guilty about holding the grudge for as long as you did.

You’d been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes. The first line of the chapter was permanently engraved in your mind because of how many times you’d read it.

“Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed?”

For your Women in Literature class, you chose Frankenstein as the novel you were going to be analyzing in your paper. The assignment was to find a topic from a book and write fifteen pages about it in MLA format. It was an interesting class, but fifteen pages felt like overkill, it was double-spaced at the very least.

This was your third reread of the book this semester.

The first read was to familiarize yourself with the novel, the second was to piece together the paper, and this one was to find the evidence after you’d started the rough draft. It felt fitting that you were using a green highlighter for the evidence.

Sleep never came easy to you, and you had tried essentially everything. All the medicines, the teas, a warm glass of milk, counting sheep, all of it. At one point your doctors and family members suggested reading, which was probably the worst thing they could’ve said.

The last suggestion ended up with you staying awake all night with a book in hand.

Which is exactly what you were doing now. It was around four in the morning, Jason had brought you back to his apartment and then went back on patrol. He still hadn’t returned, but you weren’t complaining.

The less you had to interact with him the better.

In a pathetic attempt to finally turn the page, you start to read again. Making it to the third sentence on the page, you start to finally get immersed in the story again when-

The window slides open.

Your hands drop the book in shock and it clatters on the floor. Alarmed, Jason turns to you already prepared for a fight, forgetting that you were staying with him.

“What’re you doing awake?” He sounds truly baffled that you hadn’t managed to fall asleep. His hands move to the back of his mask and there’s a quiet hissing sound before it unlatches. He examines it for a second, checking for damage. Then his fingers slowly uncurl from the edge and it falls to the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You answer with a bite that didn’t fit your current state. You had stolen one of his mugs and warmed up some milk, bundled in a blanket on the couch, and had been reading under the lamp. “What the hell is it with you and the damn window?”

“It’s my place, I can use whatever entrance I want.” He turns to you with an annoyed look now. Your attitude seemed to finally start pricking at him. “I also didn’t think you’d be waiting up on me.”

“I wasn’t waiting up on you.” The answer comes out way too defensive for your liking.

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself sweetheart,” he mumbles and you scoff at him. You were starting to miss the quiet Jason that found you in your apartment.

He bends down to pick up your copy of Frankenstein and flips it around in his hands a few times. Looking back up at you, he raises a brow and you cross your arms.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs and tosses the book back in your lap.

“You obviously got something you wanna say Todd.” Rolling your eyes, you flick your left hand at him. “Go on, spit it out.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you and you want to pluck them out of their eye sockets. “It’s nothing, I’m just surprised you’re reading Frankenstein.”

“Why? Because I’m ordinary, because I’m not one of you?”

The words land right where you wanted them too, right in the center of his chest. His lips thin and you can see the flex of his jaw as it tightens. It was a terrible echo of the fight you’d had all those months ago. It was petty, but you’d been waiting to throw it back in his face one day.

“No,” his voice comes out softer than you were expecting, and his throat bobs while he tries to swallow his guilt. “I was just surprised because you didn’t read classics before. You used to ask me about them because you didn’t like the writing style.”

“Yeah, well things change Jason.” Your gaze doesn’t waver from his, even when he momentarily breaks away to look at his boots in shame. “People change.”

He knew that better than anyone.

With that, he glances back up to you. All the tension, all the anger, it was bleeding into the few feet between you.

“I’m going to go shower.” The sentence sounds distant from his body, as if he was just speaking into a void instead of ending the conversation.

You nod and purse your lips before picking up your phone. He stays there for a moment watching you as you attempt to look busy with swiping through the weather and notes app.

When he finally steps away into his room to head to the bathroom, you throw your head back on the armrest of the couch.

This was going to be a long week.

Dread takes over you, when the shower shuts off. You’d been trying to watch the five million Instagram reels that Wally sent you, but there was no hope in being able to focus enough to really watch them. Your brain was hyper focused on where Jason was in the apartment. He left the door to his bedroom open, so you see him pass from the bathroom to his dresser in nothing but a towel.

Your eyes may have been on your phone, but your concentration was on him.

There’s some shuffling in his room, movement of blankets you think, before he appears in the doorframe. You refused to look up until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

By some miracle you were able to hide the way your breath caught in your throat. It was unfair how he could be such an asshole and still look like that. His hair was damp, curling at the ends in a beautiful frame of his face. He had thin rimmed glasses that hung on the bridge of his nose, highlighting the piercing green of his eyes. He was in plaid pajama pants that were a smidge too tight around his thighs and ass. There was a cotton white t-shirt on that left little room for imagination as it clung to his arms and torso from where he hadn’t dried himself off completely.

The crush you had on him at fourteen was slowly becoming more valid in this light, but you would rather die than admit that out loud.

The most damning part about the whole scene was what he was holding. Tucked under his left arm was a pillow and a blanket under the right one.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before finally admitting. “The bed’s been made.”

Your eyebrows furrow together. What the hell was he on about? Did he think you were going to sleep in the bed with him.

“Um- okay? Do you want me to congratulate you for making your bed at the ripe age of- what 22? 23?” Your phone drops face down onto the blanket you were covering yourself with. “I mean I know Alfred used to make it for you. I’m not sure how big of a feat this is.”

“I’m 23.” His expression falls to an unimpressed expression. He licks his lips slowly for a moment as if he’s using it to ground himself, and you hate that you catch it. You were learning things you didn’t want to know about yourself tonight. When his eyes shut in that annoyed manner and his tongue swept across his lower lip, the way your stomach coiled terrified you.

“I’ve made my bed before West,” The heat in your stomach only intensified at him calling you by your last name, leading your heart to sink a second later. “I was telling you, so you could get in it.”

“And why would I do that?”

His eyebrow is mirroring yours now, raised with confusion at a lack of communication. “Because I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You blink once, twice, then, “this is your place, you remember that right?”

Frustrated with the fact you would do anything just to fight him, he tosses the blanket and pillow to the unoccupied side of the couch.

“Oh my god-” He runs a hand through his hair and your eyes linger on every line of every muscle in his bicep. Thankfully, you manage to break away from the distraction before he realizes. “I’m trying to be nice and give you the bed. Did you think I was going to offer you a place to stay and make you sleep on this shitty couch?”

“The couch isn’t shitty.”

His hand drops from his hair, and while he doesn’t say it, you can hear the deadpanned “really?” that he was defiantly thinking.

The couch was old and thoroughly used. You could feel every spring in it on the bone of your ass, the cushion was flat, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the type of sofa that would be at your grandparent house because they refused to throw it out. You’d been subjected to worse sleeping arrangements than Jason’s thrift find.

“It’s not that bad Jason.”

“I wouldn’t even subject Tim to sleeping on this couch.”

That earns him a snort. He seems to celebrate the small win as something like a bridge between you two. Noticing the crease disappearing in his eyebrows and his shoulder relaxing, you catch yourself. It was always too easy for Jason to undo you, he knew the exact weak points to hit in order to break down your walls.

It flipped a switch in you, immediately tensing up again, and he noticed. He always did. He gives up trying to fight you on getting to the bed and takes his place on the other end of the couch.

“What’re you doing…?” The sentence is dragged out of you, exhaustion from the day slowly overtaking the anxiety that was keeping you up.

“Putting on the TV.” He said it so simply while picking up the remote from the coffee table, it was as if this was normal for the both of you.

“Why?” The question escapes you before you can swallow it. A flush creeps over your face, suddenly self-aware of all the questions you’d been asking.

He doesn’t seem to notice the pink now dusting the tips of your ears- well, if he does he doesn’t comment on it. He only shrugs and logs into Dick’s streaming services that he has a profile on. “It helps me unwind after the night. Having something on in the background distracts me enough that it makes it easier to fall asleep.”

He starts scrolling through his account while you nod at his response.

“Jason?”

“Mhm.”

“Why is Sex and the City in your recently watched?”

His cheeks deepen to a color dangerously similar to the hood he dons every night, his freckles disappearing under the blush. He coughs to hide the fluster and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“It was part of a deal I made with Steph,” he mumbles, skipping right over it. “When I started talking to them all again, she made me start watching it with her. Every Friday night I would come over after patrol and watch two episodes together. It was nicknamed as my “anger management” work for me to try and survive two episodes without getting frustrated with one of them.”

“Uh huh,” every thing you learned about his new life was more shocking than the last. “And how’d that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

Who was this and what did they do with Jason Todd.

“That doesn’t explain why it’s still in your recently watched, though. You said you watched this with Steph, why are you on season three on your profile?”

He grumbles something unintelligible while looking through the other show options he has.

“Objectively… it’s an okay show.”

It takes all your strength not to break out in a laugh. “Just okay?”

He hears you smothering the giggle and meets your gaze. Despite his face drowning in pink, he still puts on a brave face. “I put it on after patrol sometimes. Is that what you wanted to hear? It doesn’t matter what fucked shit is happening to me, Carrie somehow always manages to take the cake in the shit show competition.”

“Well then, don’t let me stop you from your routine.”

His lips press together when the words leave your mouth. “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Why?” Your response came out more lighthearted than you’d planned on. This situation felt like an old normal you were no longer familiar with.

“You’re laughing at me that’s why.”

“I’m going to laugh either way.” You tease. “Might as well commit to the bit now.”

He stares at you for a few seconds. You don’t think anything of it, but he’s drinking in this version of you. A version that he thought no longer existed anymore. The version of you that trusted him.

He knows it’s not completely there, but this brought him hope. He didn’t think you were going to be doing much speaking through the week. Just this interaction was more than he could’ve dreamed for. He knew now that there was something he could work toward, that maybe there could be a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe the sun would shine on you both again.

So, not taking advantage of the smile pulling at your lips, he turns on the show. He’d turn himself into the biggest idiot if it meant you would look at him like that again. He would embarrass himself in every lifetime, every universe, every dimension if it meant he got to witness your smile one more time.

And with Carrie talking about how Big is leaving his wife, your eye lids begin to flutter. Jason, acting as a protective presence opposite of you, allows you the comfort you’d been looking for. Finally, you’re able to drift into a world that wasn’t so haunted.

Once your breathing evened out, Jason acted quickly. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed you seemed determined to not sleep in. He tucks you in with the blankets cascading around you. Standing up to his full height, he takes one last look at you and makes a promise.

A promise that he’ll work every day to become someone worth trusting again.

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

Most nights were like the first one.

You would come home from class or work and then make a home on the squeaky couch. Jason would be out and about running on errands or at the auto shop he picked shifts up at. Neither of you spoke much through the day, he left you to have your much needed alone time.

Then at night, after patrol he’d crawl in through the window and you would sit on the couch together. Some nights it was awkward with not much talking, other nights it was a weird in-between of what normal used to mean for you two.

You hadn’t forgotten the fight, it still stung most days.

You knew it wasn’t easy for him to come back. You weren’t so naïve. He had crawled out of his grave, was dunked in the Lazarus pit, fought in the league of assassins, and was still trying to find a place in the world.

It didn’t erase all the hurt however.

On the fourth night he looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

“How’d you like it?”

Glancing up from your laptop, your eyebrows threaded together.

“How’d I like what?”

“Frankenstein,” he closes the book he was reading, Six of Crows- a recommendation from you. “You finished it the other day right?”

“Oh,” It sounded dumb but you hadn’t realized he was paying that much attention. “Yeah, I did. That’s not the first time I’ve read it though.”

“Oh,” he repeats. The vowel comes out in a breath from his mouth. “What’d ya think of it?”

“I liked it, I always liked the story. I’m reading it for a paper I’m writing for my Women in Literature class.”

He nods, accepting the answer. Still wanting specifics on your opinion, he continues to press. “What’s the paper on?”

“Basically,” you start out ready to summarize the topic in the same way you did for everyone. “It’s about how Frankenstein can be interpreted as autobiographical for Mary Shelley, and an expression of her experience as a child bleeding into the challenges she faced with motherhood.”

Your voice was robotic as you explained it to him. Countless of your classmates had asked you about your paper trying to get an idea for their own, and they all dismissed it. Despite it being a Women in Literature’s class it was a required elective, and unfortunately, you got stuck with one too many men who pitied the unreliable narrator.

Jason, however, surprised you.

He cocked his head to the side, barely shifting it to a thirty degree angle. “I… I hadn’t thought about it that way.” His face contorted together, the small dimple on his chin making an appearance as he actually thought about your analysis. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about Mary Shelley, despite that her husband seemed to be somewhat decent since he let her publish the novel, which is more than you can say for most men those days.”

“Somewhat decent is pushing it,” your tone was laced with disgust. “He was a cheater. He cheated on his first wife with Mary, and then cheated on her with her cousin.”

Jason’s eyes were wide and he shut his mouth as fast as he could. Biting his cheeks, he’s making his best effort to avoid saying something that would inadvertently piss you off. he had just managed to get civil with you and he didn’t want to waste it.

“What parts of the book are you using for the paper?” He was giving it his best effort to redirect the conversation so you would be in a good mood again.

“It’s a lot of the inner monologue for both the Creature and Victor.” You shrugged, going back to typing the outline. “In spite of there not being a lot of notable female characters, with the exception of Elizabeth, it had a lot of underlying feminine issues. Victor essentially goes through postpartum depression and rejects the creature. A lot of people also believe that the Creature remains nameless because she had a miscarriage at the time and didn’t name the baby. So the creature can be seen kind of like the child she lost, but also as herself. Since Victor went through life with a rejected creator, essentially on his own, it can be loosely interpreted as a mirror of her childhood. Her mother died when she was young and she was generally depressed like the Creature.”  

You hadn’t realized how long you had been rambling for until you finished. Your lips pressed together, almost biting them in the wake of your words running from you. Jason’s face remained a carefully crafted neutral expression, but he wasn’t as successful as he wanted to be. You didn’t miss the subtle twitches in his jaw, the way the last part cut deeper into him than anyone you knew.

Jason Todd who had an addict as a mother.

Jason Todd who gave his everything into being Robin.

Jason Todd who was failed by the world.

And in spite of it all, came back.

He could relate to this monster of a being more than anyone knew. So, when he listens to you talk about it as an innocent thing, as something who was a victim of the world that created him, something broke in him. Because now, there was hope you would look past all his wrongs, to see him as a man trying his best, instead of the monster fate was determined to make him to be.

He nods and by some miracle, makes more conversation with you about the paper and then you shift into a comfortable silence. A couple hours later when he’s transitioning to the nighttime routine, he takes you in.

He knew the week would be over soon. You would go back to your apartment and probably never look in his direction again. He wouldn’t take advantage of this- of you looking at him like the past few years hadn’t happened. That he hadn’t destroyed the only good thing in his life.

Eventually, Sex and the City comes on. It’s as if the universe finally took pity on him and gave him another miracle, letting you got comfortable in his presence. You started talking through the show, shitting on something- he wasn’t sure what.

His heart stopped when he heard the same scoff you used to do when you both watched Mission Impossible. He could practically hear the mumble, ingrained in his memory.

“There’s no way they would get away with this in real life.”

He didn’t move a muscle as you spoke, save for the few encouraging grunts or hums of agreement.

Jason Todd hated when people spoke through movies. He liked to sit, digest it, then talk about after, but he never minded it when it was you.

That’s actually how Dick discovered his crush on you when you were teenagers. He walked by his room and peaked in through the door frame. You were watching some romcom and you had spoken more dialogue through the scene then the film had in general. He was expecting Jason to blow a fuse, but it never came.

Dick teased him relentlessly for days.

He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed, or care though. He would listen to you talk about anything and everything. Jason Todd would spend every night bleeding dry on the Gotham streets if it meant he got to come home and listen to the harmony of your voice. In those dying seconds he had left in that warehouse, his last thought was of every voicemail he’d never receive.

So now, here on this couch, he absorbs every word, carving it into stone. Every syllable from your mouth was like a recitation of the Bible to him, you were holy.

He didn’t think he’d ever be granted this luxury again. For now, he’ll take what he can get and maybe one day this could be his normal again.

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

As if the past three nights were on replay, you fell asleep before him. He sighs in relief when he notices your eyes close and breath even out. Like every other night, he takes you back to the bed even if you’re determined to take the couch.

The next few nights are also the same. Small domestic moments highlighted by his flickering light bulb and uncharacteristic pleasure of 90s chick flicks.

It had become habit to wait for him to come through the window. You usually were up until this time anyway. Whether it was nightmares, small anxieties that kept you up, or just your general inability to fall asleep, you were up at all hours of the night.

It was weird. You weren’t expecting to feel any comfort in this apartment, you were prepared for the exact opposite actually. Yet, in his stupidly charming Jason way, he managed to make you smile. He got you to laugh. He cooked enough for two even when you said you weren’t hungry.

It was surprisingly peaceful.

Until the last night.

All the butterflies dropped to the pit of your stomach in seconds when he barreled in through the window.

Covered in blood.

His breath was coming out heavy and jagged. He was flat on his ass, arms and legs spread out as if he was cosplaying a starfish who had just gone to war.

“Jason-”

You’re not exactly sure how the words leave your mouth. Laptop forgotten, shoved off your lap onto the couch. Your legs carry you just far enough until you can drop to your knees next to him.

“I-” he coughs. “I’m alright.” His arm wraps around his midsection trying to press on the giant wound that went straight down from his left pectoral to waistline.

“Alright?” He winces at your incredulous tone. “Jason please, you can barely hold your head up.”

The clock had barely struck two, which was never a good sign. If he ever came home early, it was due to some catastrophic injury.

“You shouldn’t be up at this time anyway.” He somehow manages to get out in one breath, wincing again when his hand presses on his torso.

Pointedly ignoring the comment, you help him to his feet. Silence overtakes you two when you help him to the bathroom. He sits on the lid of the toilet. His head leaning against the wall behind it.

Deep, slow breaths are coming from his nose and mouth. A part of you hopes that it’s to calm himself and that he’s not fighting for his consciousness.

That is not a phone call you want to be making tonight.

He sheds the jacket, then the shirt. You’re left with a bloody bruised Jason whose red in the face. He’s staring at you with no hope, ready for you to walk away, to decide that it’s too much.

It’s quiet when you step out the bathroom to the little half closet. It’s quiet when you grab a hand towel and walk back in. The only sound now echoing through the apartment being the water pouring from the faucet onto the grey towel when you wet it.

You finally break the silence, when you sit on the edge of the bathtub. The wound getting uglier by the second, your hand hovers it, right before contact.

“This is going to hurt.” It’s barely a whisper, yet in this room, it could’ve been a scream.

He chuckles and it’s half concerning, half reassuring. “Do your worst darlin’”

The nickname does something to you, and your face flushes.

The towel makes contact with his skin and he hisses. Your hand doesn’t move, letting him adjust to the sting. Then with a small nod, you continue the first cleaning. Once all the grime is scrubbed away, you find the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink. The antiseptic is next, then the gauze, then the tape.

It took a little longer than thirty minutes to get him patched up. He’d have to see someone to get it properly looked at tomorrow, but this would be okay for now.

You couldn’t ignore the way he was looking at you the whole time. His eyes were swimming with guilt, pain, and something else you weren’t sure you wanted to name.

When you’re finally done, you stand to your full height. He’s looking up at you now from where he’s sitting. Both of you don’t pay mind to the biohazard on the floor next to you, just simply getting lost in each other again.

So much more was said in the quiet of the bathroom than in the past week you’ve been here. It feels like you’re seeing each other again for the first time in the fluorescent bathroom light. It was as if something clicked for you two.

“You’re not fourteen anymore you know that right?” You’re still looking in between his emerald green irises when you start to mumble. “You can’t jump straight into a fight and crash through my window expecting me to patch you up.”

His eyes are half lidded, squinting in disbelief, like he isn’t sure if this is real. That you’re here and teasing him.

“But you patch me up so well.” His voice is a low rumble, words meshing together out of delirium and exhaustion. “It’s also technically my window.”

A snort comes out of your nose along with a roll of your eyes.

“Let’s get you to bed big guy.” You start to hook his arm over your shoulder and he breaks into a sly smile.

“You think I’m big?”

“Yes.”

A small pout appears on his face when you won’t play this game with him. As much as you loved a good round of teasing, you were far too stressed to try and keep up with it right now. Your goal for the evening was to get him to the bed alive and make sure he doesn’t die.

Again.

After he lies down, you sit next to him on the bed with your legs crossed. He’s bound to fall asleep any moment now, but you want to keep his eyes open a little longer. It was part in worry and part selfishness. This way you could make sure he was actually okay by the time he drifted off while also getting to stare into the eyes that you used to feel like home.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology snaps you out of your daze. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s managed since busting through the window.

“It’s alright.” Your hands shake while you try to wave it off. “This is hardly the first time you’ve shown up beaten and bruised needing a cleanup.”

He came to you as much as he could to patch him up when you were younger. You’d had enough practice patching Wally up that he trusted you.

“No, I’m sorry about what I said to you that night.” Your veins turn to ice. “I was an asshole. You were trying to be nice and I pushed you away. That wasn’t fair to you.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I was a mess when I crawled out of my grave, the pit wasn’t a big help either. I was so angry with the world, upset that it brought me back.” His eyes lay on the popcorned roof now. “I was even more pissed that the world hadn’t changed while I was gone, it was still the same shit. I was horrible to everything and everyone. I… I lost my way.”

“You were the only good thing left here.” His eyes are back on you now. “When you came to see me, it scared me. It was like you saw right through me and everything I didn’t want to deal with was rising in my chest. I couldn’t handle it. So, I said some nasty shit to get you to go away. It was disgusting of me and it’s my biggest regret in this and every life I’ll ever live. I’ll never forgive myself for it. In a way, it felt easier to stay in that angry hole than to grow.”

You weren’t sure how you kept your breath even, it was like every time you managed some oxygen, it was robbed from you.

“Eventually though, I finally started getting help and wanted to get better. I’ve been trying every day to be better than who I was. To be someone who could be something. I don’t want you to think that these are excuses, they’re not.” His eyes are so conflicted, he can’t read your reaction and it’s terrifying him. “I just wanted you to know, I guess. If you never want to talk to me again, I completely understand. I’ll never bother you and I’ll leave you to your life.”

There’s a pause and your heart sinks.

“But if there’s a chance you’d be willing to try again, I had to give it a shot. I’ll spend every day making sure you know I’m serious about this. I’ll do it all this time. I’ll take you to dinner, I’ll give you your space, I’ll bake you cookies every Sunday night just like you always wanted.” His breathing pattern is broken and it shudders when he tries to breathe in.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your hands begun tracing the web of scars on his chest. A fingernail along the constellation he had over his heart. He shuddered, the intimacy of seeing him like this was almost as difficult as the vulnerability in the apology.

Eventually your hand lays flat on his chest, feeling the warmth. Your palm was right over his heart, it was beating a little quicker than normal but it was your favorite rhythm. His thumb and pointer finger wrap around your wrist. It was a loose grip, you could break out whenever and he kept it that way, but it was still strong enough that you could feel the hope behind it when he says,

“Stay.”

Your head whips back to him and desperation is written across his forehead.

There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you needed to get through. But right now, when he’s looking at you like you’re the most important person on the planet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging.

He watches you walk to the other side of the bed. His breath catches in his throat when you pull back the covers. He starts to believe in love again when you scoot closer to him.  

His eyes are on yours when you make eye contact again, mere centimeters apart.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats again. And this time, you know it.

You know he’ll spend the rest of his life making up for seventeen months.

Your hand rests on his cheek and he leans into it. His eyes close and he breathes in the feeling. You’re not entirely shocked when his arms are pulling you into him. The rest of the night passes with him whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

And for the first time all week, you both fall asleep together.

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

Bonus:

Once he’s finished his own patrol, Dick Grayson appears at his little brother’s window.

Jason had disappeared after the fight in the middle of patrol. They knew he had gotten hurt but he said he would patch himself up at home. Bruce was fighting an aneurysm, trying to keep him safe but not push him out of his comfort zone. When Jason cut his comms, Bruce almost tore the apartment door from its hinges, but Dick convinced him that he would drop by and check on him.

What he finds however, renders him speechless.

Jason was in bed with the one person he thought was going to buy him a one way ticket to his grave again. His arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, almost in fear of letting you go. Even in a state of crippling pain, you were always his priority.

At the heartwarming scene, Dick has one thought that turns his body to ice.

Wally is going to kill him.

•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•

A/N: Sorry guys I got kind of lazy with the ending but I hope you like it anyway! I’m really tired and wanted to finally get this out lol

He told you to keep a gun, and you told him you’d be fine, when really you just didn’t trust yourself with it. You keep your pills in a lockbox and all your sweatpants haven’t have drawstrings since you were a teenager. A gun feels like you’re asking for trouble, and you weren’t brave enough to think about what trouble could look like. 

When you had—in the dark, while Jason was off doing night shifts—it always came in different forms. Gas suddenly filling the halls, the door breaking down, someone pulling you off into a dark alley and not caring for your pleas. You’ve lived in Gotham long enough to know what trouble could be, even if you tried not to dwell on it. 

But this was more than trouble. 

This was danger.

And you aren’t brave. 

“Lock the door,” Jason had said, right before he left for work. “Don’t answer it for anyone but me, and make sure you ask-“

“For the password.” You’d finished for him, giving him a soft smile. “I know, Jay, we do this every night.”

“I know, babe, but-“

“It’s so I’m safe?”

He’d sighed. “I know it’s a lot but-“

“It’s not a lot.” You’d shrugged. “I’m just telling you I know.”

Jason had scanned over you, nodded—mostly to himself—then folded over you in a long hug.

“I’ll be back in the morning.” He’d muttered, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Call me if there’s even just fuckin’ wind you don’t trust, and-“

“You’ll come home.” You’d hummed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I know. Be safe.”

Jason had grunted, and you’d swallowed it again. The I love you. Don’t be brave and jump in front of a bullet on patrol, because I love you. 

But he doesn’t know. That you know what his night shifts are, and why he’s so paranoid about your safety. 

You’d always hoped that one day, he’d tell you.

You’d never been brave enough to ask.

And he’d been holding you off the ground, before he left. He always held you like that. Like you were going to try and run away from him, or some invisible force would rip you out of his arms. 

He’d left, and you’d listened to him. Blinds closed, lights off, door locked. Watching TV on a laptop, so people didn’t see the glow of the TV. 

But it hadn’t been enough. You don’t think it ever would’ve been, but it had been a nice illusion. Something had smashed, out in the living room. You hadn’t had that gun, and you’d tried to call Jason, but you hadn’t been fast enough. And now you’re in danger, and you’re not fucking brave enough to get yourself out. 

Because Jason taught you how to break out of handcuffs—he’d seemed to think you wouldn’t, for one second, question why he knew that when he allegedly ran an underground chop shop—but if you do, there’s no way you’ll be able to run without being caught. You’re stuck under a dramatic spotlight, with Harley Quinn singing to herself and watching you. 

She keeps trying to make conversation. She even took off your gag, after an hour. 

You’re staying silent. It’s your best bet to make it out of here alive. 

“Did I tell ya you’re pretty?” She leans forward, and you just stare at her. “I don’t know how the bats get all you cuties to work for them. Mr. J offers dental, y’know. And I know you ain’t getting’ paid a you fair fuckin’ salary, cause corporations are a buncha fuck-face ding-dongs. We’d pay you better, if you’d wanna flip.” She traces a hand over your cheek, and you force yourself to stay still. “I bet Batman ain’t even payin’ you at all. You look like a smart gal, though, so you gotta be in it for somethin’.”

Silent. Your best bet is silent-

“Mr. J don’t pay me.” Harley muses, mostly to herself, smushing your cheeks as if you’re a child. “That why you’re with ‘em? For love?”

You don’t move. Or breathe. And Harley sees it. 

“Oh, it is for love! Aw, you’re so cute.” She shakes your face, smile almost manic as she gasps. “Oh, you gotta know his identity, right? You’ve seen under that spooky, sexy cowl-“

You can’t stop the bitter curl of you lip, a little sickness forming at the idea of fucking Bruce, and Harley sees that too. 

“Not the bats, huh? Hm.” She angles your face around, like the answer will be written on your skin. “Then who are you goin’ all puppy on, sugar? You into bendy, brainy, or shooty-“

“Harley.” A mocking voice cuts through the warehouse, and Harley’s smile grows. “Stop playing with our food, we need her alive so Batman can see her die, that’s the whole fuckin’ point-“

“She’s not with the bats, puddin’!” Harley spins away, and a ragged breath escapes your throat. “She’s sweet on one of his associates-“

“Do I look like I care?” Joker snaps, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. Pale and scarred and ugly, something twisted right under his face that makes him so ugly. “Hey there, little girl. They’re gonna come for you, aren’t they. And then,” he laughs, and the sound crawls over your skin. “Well, I got a big show planned, and an even bigger finale! You’re gonna be a star.”

You just stare at him, and he frowns. 

“Harley?”

“Yeah, Mr. J?”

“Has she been this grumpy the whole time?”

“She has.” Harley whines, appearing over the Joker’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t even play with me! It’s the right gal, but maybe she’s sorta dull in the head-“

The Joker laughs. “No, she ain’t. Look at her.” He grabs your face—a little tighter than Harley did—and pulls your lips into a grin. “You’re just afraid, aren’t you doll. You know why you’re here, and it’s so scary.” 

He’s mocking you. You still don’t react.

Something flashes over the Joker’s face, and his words morph to a sneer. 

“You been spending too much time around those bores of vigilantes, don’t know how to have fun? Don’t worry.” He slaps your cheek, and you bite your tongue to fight the sting. “We’re gonna have a good time together. All you gotta do is wait here, and when I’m back, we’ll play.”

You swallow the bile, and remain still. You’re not brave, but you won’t break either. The Joker scoffs, and vanishes back into the shadows, grumbling something about how annoying it is that you won’t just fucking cry. Harley plants a kiss on your cheek, then runs after him, and you’re alone.

Not dead yet. 

Still alone. 

And there’s a lot of time to think in the dark. A lot of time for your life to flash before your eyes, before the gun is even pointed at your temple. 

But you don’t even really think about your life. Not the shadows and hospital and nights behind a locked bathroom door. 

Jason.

All you can think about is Jason. 

———

You don’t know how it happened. 

You keep to yourself. Don’t go out after nightfall, stay away from dark corners and highly populated areas. And lowly populated areas. Mostly you just go to work, then go back to your apartment. It’s safer like that. Lots of people means mass attack. No people means isolation, an easy target. 

But it happened anyway.

And it started with him.

He didn’t even save you. He just appeared in the basement, when you’d been doing laundry. 

“Hey, dollface.” Someone had groaned from the shadows, and you’d frozen. “Can you close the door behind you?”

You’d listened. Kicked it back with your foot, gripping your laundry like it would possibly be able to do anything, if you were attacked. Then he’d emerged from the shadows, and you hadn’t even been able to scream. 

The Red Hood. In your basement. Suit tattered, mask still very much in place, staring at you. Maybe staring at you. 

It was sort of hard to tell.

“You’re not on of Black Mask’s goons.” He’d said slowly, and you’d shaken your head. “You live here?”

“Yes, sir-“

“Don’t call me sir,” he’d muttered. “I’m not- Do you think I’m gonna kill you?”

You’d stared at him for another second, then shaken your head. If he wanted to, he would have. And he was still sticking to the shadow, face tilting up to the door every few seconds, body braced like he was worried you’d attack. But he was huge. You wouldn’t stand a chance, even if he was unarmed.

But he was still tensed. 

And you really didn’t think he’d attack you. 

You’d been right. Red Hood had stepped off to the side, and let you do your laundry. 

“You have a lotta clothing.” He’d said, and you’d shot him a frown. 

“So?”

“Nothin’.” He’d shrugged. “Just, uh- I can’t leave yet. Conversation. Do you wear those skirts?”

“No, they’re decoration.”

He’d stared at you, you’d stared back, and when he’d spoke again you could’ve sworn you heard a smile.

“You use them as hats, sweetheart?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He’d fallen silents, and you’d sighed. 

“Can you please stop looking at me?”

“Why? You’re nice to look at.”

You’d shot him a small frown. “Do you break into people’s basements and hit on them a lot?”

He’d shrugged, still hovering in the shadows. “Nah. But I didn’t break into your basement with the goal of hitting on you.”

“So you are hitting on me?”

“I guess. Is it working?”

You’d snorted, and looked back to your clothing. “No.”

“Damn.”

There had been another silence, Red Hood still looking up the stairs every few seconds, and you’d cleared your throat. 

“Do I have to be worried about Black Mask breaking into my basement?” You’d tried—and failed—to hide the quiet fear in your voice, and he’d chuckled. 

“Nah. And if they did, I’d protect you.”

“Oh, would you.”

“Yep.” He’d paused, definitely grinning now. “Is this working?”

You’d ignored him. “Your clothing is ripped.”

“It- Huh. Didn’t notice.” 

“How did you not-“

“Lot was happening, dollface.” He’d waved you off, suddenly no longer in the shadows, but leaning on the washer. “Why’d you notice?”

There was heat radiating from his body. And his arms were big, and his voice—even through a modifier—sounded deep. Rich. 

It wasn’t some misplaced confidence, that let you look up at the blood red, blank mask. 

It was mostly just his voice, and some animalistic part of your brain that wanted to touch him. 

“It’s kind of obvious.” You’d whispered. “I can fix it, if you want.”

There has been a pause, then, “Really?”

You’d nodded, ripping your gaze back to the washer—yep, all the clothing was still in there—and the Red Hood had cleared his throat.

“Do you fix the clothing of random assholes who break into your basement a lot?”

You’d swallowed, and shaken your head. “No.”

“Huh.” He hadn’t moved away. He might have gotten closer. “You got an angle?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Something I gotta do for you. Nobody just does favors in Gotham, princess-“

“Sorry.”

“Don’t-“ He’d sighed, and you’d kept your gaze fixed on your clothing. “You got nothing you want in return? For real?”

You’d sighed, tapping your fingers on the washer. “I’d like for the Black Mask not to kill me. Please.”

The Red Hood had laughed. A real, deep laugh that—even through the mask—sounded sort of heavenly. And you’d heard all the stories about him and his alternative crime solving. 

But in the basement, he’d mostly just seemed like a man. He had broken gloves you could fix. A way of talking and standing that made you trust him more than the men at work. He was close, but never once touched you. His voice had something to it that made you want him to keep talking. 

“You got a deal,” he’d said, and you’d still been able to hear that smile. “Can I have your name?”

You’d sighed, and told him. He already knew where you lived, and your sense of self-preservation had never been high. And he’d repeated it back, but it hadn’t sounded like your name. He’d said it slowly at the start, and with a slight sort of infliction at the end. As if he was trying to memorize it. Like it could mean something more than just a name. 

“You can call me Red,” he’d offered, and you’d given him a small smile.

“Okay, Red. Are you going to let Black Mask kill me?”

He’d laughed again. It was sort of an addicting sound. “No, sweetheart. I don’t think I will.”

———

So it had started with Hood. After the first suit, you expected to never see him again, but he came back. Appeared in the same corner of the basement, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Could you do me another favor?”

You’d screamed that time. And somehow, even under the mask, you’d seen him pale. 

In the moment, he’d spent about two minutes apologizing for scaring you. Now, he teases you about it. Calls you Frog Princess.

“Cause you’re leapy.” He’d said, and you’d rolled your eyes. 

“It’s Princess and the Frog, Red-“

“Nah, that’s the movie. The fairy tale is frog princess.”

He’d been right. And pretty fucking smug about it, too. Then you’d told him you’d start locking your windows, and he’d scoffed, but stopped gloating. 

Because he came in through your windows, now. All of them did. 

It had started with another favor. Then another. Then he’d started leaving things in the corner of the basement when he didn’t have time to wait for you. And there had been more and more things, and then you’d come down the stairs and Red hadn’t been there, but Nightwing. 

“Hi!” He’d beamed at you, and you’d needed to start carrying a baseball bat or something. “You’re the lady that fixed my pants, right?”

“Your-“ You’d sighed, because you knew those had been too thin for Red. Not his style, either. “Yeah. Why?”

He’d held up a suit with a sheepish expression. “I’ll pay you a hundred American Dollars.”

You’d cross your arms. “Can I make that Ethiopian Birr?”

“Uh, sure?” He’d titled his head. “Are you being serious?”

“No.” You’d extended your hand for the suit. “I don’t need you to pay me, I’ll do it.”

Nightwing had beamed at you, and passed over the clothing. 

After him was Robin. Then Batgirl, then Signal, then Red Robin. They started taking your design inputs. Bringing you things that didn’t need fixing, just so you could look at them. And Black Mask hadn’t killed you yet, but you’d started to dread the moment Batman himself appeared in your basement, so you’d told Red which window led to your apartment.

And you’d become the Bat’s unofficial costume manager. You don’t know why. Maybe it was that you were free, and did good work. None of them ever asked you why you had bullet proof fabric—Gotham flea markets were fascinating places—and you never asked why they didn’t have anyone else to go to for this. 

Most of them would flit in and out. Drop things off, maybe make light conversation, then vanish. 

But Red always stuck around, for maybe longer than he should. 

And you always let him. You liked him too much to kick him out. 

“I like the thing you did with my jacket, sweetheart.” He’d said, sprawled out on your couch like it was nothing. At this point, it kind of was. “Fucking pockets. You’re sorta a genius.”

You’d laughed softy. “Only sorta?”

“Sorry. Total genius.”

You’d flushed. “Thanks.”

“No problem, dollface.”

“Am I dollface, or sweetheart?”

He’d hummed, the sound static through his mask. “Which one do you like?”

You’d shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Lie. 

You like when he said your name. 

And he had to know that—the asshole—because he’d drawled it, watching you move around your kitchen with that audible grin. “I know you care, you’re a shit liar.”

“I don’t-“

“I’ll keep calling you Frog Princess- Fuck-“

You’d thrown a pillow at him. And he’d just laughed it off. 

“You feel strong, princess? Attacking an unarmed man?”

“Yeah,” you’d stuck your tongue out at him. “I do. And you’re not unarmed, Red-“

“Can’t prove that.”

You’d leaned over the back of the couch, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a gun. 

But you’d barely gotten to give him a smug look before you’d frozen. 

You were leaning over him. He was holding you by your arm, to stop you from falling further. And your breath had hitched because he was warm. And strong. And close-

“Careful,” he’d muttered your name. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Your voice had been breathy. “I am careful.”

He’d sighed. “I know, princess. Still would rather this,” he’d pulled back the gun. “Stays with me.”

“What if I need to shoot someone?”

It had been meant to be a joke. You and Red both knew you couldn’t if you wanted to. 

But his voice had been so serious when he’d said. “Then call me, and I’ll take care of it for you.”

And, more than almost anything else in the world, you’d believed him. 

————

It takes five seconds when you meet Jason. For you to know. 

He stumbles into the connivence store you pull night shifts at, soaking wet from a storm, wearing a red hoodie, and taking up your whole vision. 

It’s not just that he’s built exactly like Red. Same shoulders that you spent far too much time thinking about, same broad chest that—after that first moment on the couch—you’ve kept touching with small shoves and whacks, that Red has crowded all your space with while both of you giggle about something stupid. It’s not just that he walks like Red, with long, loose steps but a tension in his legs. 

It’s his voice. 

“It’s pouring.” He mutters, staring out the windows, and you shrug.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Guess I have too.”

You know there. 

The smile in his voice, more casual and prominent without the mask. 

But you don’t react. You can’t. You might be wrong, and then you’ll just be accusing some guy of being the Red Hood-

Then he looks at you, and you’re even more certain. 

He’s—somehow—exactly what you pictured. 

Handsome. 

Dark hair with one white streak. Sharp jawline, almost glowing green eyes, and deep scarring near his neck and on his cheeks. 

But still handsome. Suited to his voice, his everything.

Then he scans over you, extends his hand, and says, “I’m Jason.”

Jason. 

His name is Jason. 

And when you tell him your name, you’re certain. He repeats it back—the exact was Red did—and nobody else has ever said your name like that. Nobody else ever would. 

“If I buy you one of those coffees,” he jerks his head to the shitty machines in the corner. “Are you allowed to drink it?”

“Yeah, but I won’t. They taste like shit.”

He laughs. It’s Red’s laugh. 

And you’d had small conversations, with the other Bats. Where they say that Red doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile, either. 

You believe them. Jason sort of smiles at you like he’s forgotten how. 

But he’s smiling at you. 

It feels like it means something. You’d like it to mean something. 

“Can I drink shit coffee and talk to you?” He asks, and you tilt your head.

“Sure.” You pause. “Nothing better to do?”

“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

———

It means something. 

So fast, it means something. 

Jason gets your phone number, then he calls you. Then, like it’s nothing at all, you’re friends.

“What do you do?” You ask, turning a coffee cup in your hands, and Jason leans over the table. 

“You think you can keep a secret?”

You nod, and his lips twitch. 

“I sorta run a chop shop. Lotta late nights, and I know it’s not an honest living, but who gives a fuck about that.”

You let out a slow breath, and shrug. “You could try stripping.”

“I did.” He smirks at you. “My pole dancing was fuckin’ horrible. Got sacked in a day.”

You laugh, he grins at you, and you don’t know what the other Bats were talking about.

Jason smiles all the time. 

Maybe not with his mouth, but to himself. Invisible and dry, but so obvious when you know where to look. And you do.

You know him when the hanging out becomes half of your free time. 

“I like your apartment.” He tells you the first time he comes over—just to watch a movie, because you’re not brave enough to ask if this is more—and you have to force down a laugh. “It’s very you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, princess,” he bumps his shoulder with yours. “But I sorta don’t hate you.”

You hum, and you’re leaning a little too close to him. But without the suit and mask, he smells like salt and old books, and it’s sort of intoxicating. “Is that good?”

“Yeah.” A shadow flashes over his features. “You’re one of five, if that helps.”

“Oh.” You flush, offering him a soft smile. “Then I sorta don’t hate you either.”

Jason grunts and looks away, but his face is flushed at well.

It matters. 

He wraps his arm around you on the couch—legs spread and head tipped back—and brought you your favorite candy without you asking, so it matters. 

You know him when you say goodnight, and then he’s back at your window—now in the mask—only a few hours later.

“I like my belt.” Red tells you, and you don’t know how he thinks he’s fooling you. Jason does the exact thing, of just telling you that he likes something, as if he’s trying to prove he’s paying attention and cares. “It’s thick.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” He drops on your couch, spreading himself the same way as always. The same way he did, only hours ago. “Any big life developments?”

You sigh, and focus on your hands as you choose your words carefully. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I met a guy.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “You like him?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lower lip. “A lot.”

Red grunts. “But?”

“There’s no but.”

“I know a but when I hear one, dollface-“

“There’s not a but.” You snap, and Red falls silent as you take a steadying breath. 

He’s trying to bait you into saying something bad about him. He hasn’t done it as Jason yet, but he’s done it as the Red Hood. You tell him something good about him, and he tosses it off. He says that whatever hero vigilante thing he did last night wasn’t that good, then look at you like you’re supposed to agree. And doing it here is fucking mean—to both of you—but you can’t tell him you know. He has to tell you first. But you won’t fall for it anyway. 

You don’t have anything bad to say. 

“I like him a lot.” You mutter, still unable to face him. “I just don’t know if he likes me.”

“What?” You can hear Red’s frown. “Why?”

“Cause he hasn’t asked me out.”

“Ah.” Red lets out a sharp breath, his voice dropping slightly. “Don’t worry. He will.”

You shrug. “I’ll be fine if he doesn’t-“

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. He’d be a lucky asshole if you said yes, and I bet he knows it.”

 He knows it. 

You know him. 

And the very next day, Jason’s knocking on your door with his hands in his pocket, and clears his throat.

He mutters your name, watching you carefully. “What’s a guy gotta say to have you?”

“That.” You beam at him. “That’ll work.”

———

It gets serious quick, as wll. 

Maybe it’s because you’ve known him a while, and even before that you felt like you knew him forever. But soon Jason has a toothbrush in your bathroom, you wear his shirt to bed, and you have favorite places to go for dinner. If the other bats notice that you clearly have someone half-living with you, they don’t mention it. 

You’d bet that Jason told them. It can’t be a coincidence that the only nights no one shows up are the nights Jason is staying over. 

There will be a time when you have to talk about it. When you have to take his face between your hands and scream that you know. That you’ve always known. That some insane part of you loved him when he appeared in the basement, so there was no way you couldn’t know.

But for now, you let him carry you to bed after you curl up in his arms. Let him do his little patrol of your apartment, then hold you tight to his chest as you both drift off to sleep.

And tonight isn’t the first night you wake up like this.

It won’t be the last. 

At least you know what to do.

Jason’s shoved you away from him, and he’s rolled himself off the bed. Fallen to the floor then shot up, the toy gun you put under the bed in his hands. 

You keep a real gun on your side of the bed. Just in case. Jason says. But he also tried to convince you not to sleep with him because of this, so you compromised for a toy gun. 

In this state, he doesn’t notice the difference. Feral eyed and aiming it around in the dark, breathing ragged and weak noises leaving his throat.

He doesn’t shoot you, as you crawl to the edge of the mattress. He never shoots you. Something flashes over his features, and he mutters you name the same way as always. 

Like you’re holy. 

“It’s me, Jay,” you offer him a soft, sad smile. “Just me, baby. You’re okay.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t fight it as you slide of the bed and pull him into your arms.

It only takes a second for him to hold you back. To cling to you like you’re going to vanish. Sobs are muffled in your neck, and he’s massive but folded so gently over your body. You trace your fingers through his hair and hum until he comes down, and mutters your name against your skin. 

“You should leave, princess.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I’m good.”

“One day I’m gonna hurt you.”

“So I’ll leave when you hurt me.”

“You shouldn’t let it come to that-“

“Jason.” You mutter. “Do you really think you’re going to hurt me?”

There’s a long silence, then he mumbles.

“No. But I’m not always- Shit, I’m not good for you-“

“Why?”

He sighs, and even though you both know how this ends, he keeps up with the dance. 

“I got issues,” he says your name, and it’s still a prayer. “I’ve done things, that- You deserve better than fuckin’ this-“

“Yeah, but I want you.”

“You shouldn’t. You’d leave me, if you didn’t-“

He doesn’t say it. Neither of you have said it yet, and you don’t know how to be the first. 

But you can hold him a little tighter. And let it hang in the air, before you break the silence.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Jay. I’m here. And I’m not leaving until you tell me and mean it.”

He always holds you back. And you both know.

You might know a little more. 

But it doesn’t matter.

You breathe, when he’s here. Feel more important than you are. 

So you’re not letting him go. 

———

Time flies by. 

Jason doesn’t tell you.

And you should be furious about that, but it’s too fucking easy to love him. 

He makes the bed, when he stays over. He kisses your forehead, whenever he sees you. He keeps saying your name like you’re the only thing in the world and smiling at you. Everyone always tells you he never smiles, but he smiles at you.

Even his father—Bruce Wayne, which Jason decided not to mention until the very last second because he likes surprising you—says he’s never seen Jason this happy. Never had Jason introduce someone to the whole family—now you’ve worked out Batman’s identity too, which is great for you—and never heard him laugh this often, like it’s nothing at all.

You love him more with every single second. 

He’s got scars, but he’s not stuck in them. And when you kiss them, his hand tangles gently in your hair and he lets out a soft, happy sigh. He pays such close attention to you, there’s never again a question of if this is something.

It’s everything. 

You and Jason eating dinners and his hand in yours as you walk down the street. You still scream, when he comes around a corner, but he just laughs and pulls you into his arms. 

Domestic. Peaceful. 

Still haunted by the Red Hood. 

“Look at my goddamn boots.” Jason grumbles—voice static through the mask—and holds them up for you to see the soles and sides torn, almost like-

“Did you step in a bear trap?”

“Yeah. Can you fix it?”

“Red, I- Where even were you-“

“Docks.” He says like it’s obvious. “I’m fine, sweetheart-“

“You’re an idiot.” You snap, grabbing the boots, and he’s still for a second. 

Silent for longer, as you patch up his boots. But he couldn’t gotten hurt. It’s sour in your gut and sore over your ribs, he could’ve gotten seriously fucking hurt-

“Do you worry about me?” He asks suddenly, and you sigh. 

“Yes.”

He grunts. “You don’t have to-“

“But I do. I will.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and Red coughs. 

“I can take care of myself, y’know-“

“I know. I don’t care.” You shoot him a glare, marching over to drop at his side. “I’m allowed to worry about you, Red. You do worrying things.”

He snorts. “You got no idea-“

“Yeah.” The memory of Jason, shirtless beneath you and littered with scars, flashes through your head. “I do. And I care about you. So I worry.”

“Aw.” He drawls. “You care about me, dollface-“

“Yeah.” You snap, glaring at his mask. “I do.”

Red stares at you, but you don’t waver. Not for this. 

Jason’s there whenever you have a panic attack. He walks you home every night, stress over your safety every moment, and then lets you hold him when he waking up thrashing, on the rare nights he passes out in your bed. He always mutters an apology after, and protests when you turn on the light and tell him to read to you. 

You love him. He’s in pain, and you can see it whenever he stumbles back covered in blood, and it fucking eats at you that he won’t let you love him back, but you love him. He’s not your Jason—hood, whatever—if he’s not a little bit fucked up, but still fighting through it. 

You’re just waiting for him to let you fight with him. And until then—and a long while after—you’re going to just care, and hope he understands.

That you’re here. 

And not going anywhere. 

“How’s your boyfriend?” He mutters, and you want to smack him. 

He sounds so bitter, as if he’s not your fucking boyfriend. 

“He’s perfect.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” You shrug. “Perfect.”

———

And he is perfect.

Jason’s fucking perfect. 

His mouth, brushing softly over yours, always asking a silent permission before he takes more. His kisses, deep and delicate, like he’s worried he’s going to bite you. His teeth when he does bite you, because you lean your neck back and give him a soft, pleading expression that he knows far too well.

“Now?” He mutters your name, holding you naked on his lap. “You were up all night-“

“So were you.” You mumble, trailing your hands down his bare chest. “If you’re too tired, baby-“

Jason cuts you off with another, deep kiss, and you sigh into his mouth.

It took a while for him to get this comfortable with you. Only two months for him to believe you when you told him you’d like him to touch you—taste you, have you, fuck you—and four months together before he took off his shirt during sex. Another two for you to have sex with the lights on. 

But you never mentioned it. Never asked, because you know where that conversation goes, and he’s not ready for it yet. It’s another example of how it’s amazing he doesn’t know you’ve figured it out, though. He’s got an autopsy scar, and Red’s told you about how he died. Jason’s told you his full name, let you meet his family, and somehow thinks that their story of faking his death because stalkers was something you bought. You would’ve been insulted if you didn’t know he was trying to protect you. If he didn’t spend every moment in your presence calling you his smart and pretty girl.

You’d worry he didn’t love and trust you, if you weren’t smart. If he didn’t moan your name like a hymn, when you palmed him over his sweatpants. If he didn’t attach his lips to your neck and suck small, dark spots as you rolled your hips on his thigh, the ache between your legs slowly building with every second. 

When you slowly start to kiss down his chest, Jason grabs your chin and gently tips it up, frowning at your lust blown expression. 

“Princess, you don’t have to-“

“Want to.” You whisper, kissing just under his pec and watching, mesmerized, as his head tips back. “May I?”

He nods, watching you under hooded eyes, and you resume your path. 

Over his abs, along the sharp V of his hips, then slowly pulling his pants down and taking his cock in your hand.

Jason groans as you slowly start to stroke him, and you don’t need to look up to know he’s staring at you. A soft moan leaves him as you press a gentle kiss to the reddened tip, his finger tangling in your hair as to you spit on him and play with your balls. 

His hips jerk, when you take him in your mouth, and you moan as he bumps the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” Jason groans your name, and you set a slow, lazy pace. Jerking off what you can’t get in your mouth, swirling your tongue and sucking him like he’s a lollipop. “Jesus, pretty girl, you’re so fuckin’- God-“

He’s slurring his words already, grip on your hair tightening, and you want him to lose control. It always takes a minute, to get him to snap, but fuck, you love it when he does. When Jason fucks your face until you can feel it, and you know he trusts you because he doesn’t do this with anyone else. Doesn’t want anyone to see that side of him.

But you worship it. 

Just thinking about it makes you press your legs together and take him deeper in your mouth. Move your fingers back down to his balls as you flick your tongue over the slit on the tip of his cock. Whine with pleasure as his hips slam up, and roll your hips against the mattress. 

“Shit, sweetheart, you gotta slow down-“

You obey without thought, turning your pace torturously slow, and he groans. 

“Fuck- I- I gotta-“ Another jerk of his hips. This time he tries to take away his hand, but you reach up. Hold it against you, then go a little faster. 

Look up at him with that same pleading expression, and almost cum just from the sight. 

Jason’s always beautiful. But watching you with a starved, desperate expression and blushing at the sight of you sucking his cock, he’s a work of art. 

And he understands in a second. Groans your name and shakes his head, but understands.

“Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, dollface.” He yanks you off his cock, and a little droll falls out of your mouth as he runs his thumb over your lower lip. “You need me to take care of you?”

You nod, and moan as Jason pushes his thumb into your mouth. Suck him the same way you did his dick, grinding your ass against the sheets for a little bit of friction.

“Shit,” he lets out a ragged breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You want my cock?”

You hum, and his jaw clenches.

“Then take it how I want,” he all but growls your name, and you beam at him. “Think you can do that for me?”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, you take a deep breath, nodding like a bobble head. 

“Yes- Please, Jay, touch me-“

You moan as he drags you up his chest, pulling you into another long kiss, and he rolls you over without a single grunt.

“Whatever you want, my love.” He mutters against your lips, and your mouth falls open as a thick finger slide between the folds of your cunt, then pumping slowly in and out of your fluttering pussy. 

“Jason,” you gasp, hips rolling as his palm presses to your clit. “So good, feels so good-“

“Always fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart.” His lips return to your neck, and you whimper. “Never enough for my needy girl, is it. Always ready for my cock, always beggin’ for it-“

“Yes.” Your back arches off the bed as Jason crooks his fingers, then rubs that spot deep inside of you. “Need to feel you, baby, please-“

He cuts you off with another deep kiss, and you melt into the mattress. 

And Jason’s got you. He’s always got you. 

His fingers vanish for a second, then he’s slapping your clit with his dick. Swallowing your whine of protest as he repeats the movement, then pressing his brow to yours and looking down between your bodies. 

He’s lined himself up at your entrance, and he always watched himself slide into you with a moan rumbling in his chest and look of awe on his face. 

And Jason doesn’t talk, when he’s inside you. You’re not sure he can. There always a mumbled so good, takin’ me so good, then his face presses against your neck, and it’s all about feeling. Jason’s cock buried inside you for minutes at time before he starts moving, his arms caging you to his chest, and his lips teasing over the soft crook of your neck. 

It’s only when you start to squirm and whine, that Jason starts to fuck you. 

Sometimes is rough. Hard and fast, with bruising kisses and force. You think he’s always trying to mark you in a way that will last, like you’re not already his. 

Other times, it’s like this. 

Slow. Soft. A little fucking sacred, because Jason’s moaning your name against your skin and touching you like you’re holy, but still dragging so painfully good inside of you, bringing you right up to the edge without ever letting you fall over. The are parts inside of you that you didn’t know existed, until Jason found them and used them to unravel you. Parts that love the slow, lazy attention of his cock, even as the rest of you starts to buzz with electricity. You wiggle in his arms, but he only holds you tighter and kisses you harder. 

A silent message of wait. I’ve got you, pretty girl, but you gotta wait. 

It’s so hard to wait. Jason’s warm around you and in you, the feeling of him splitting you open better than any drug, and the heat in your gut ready to burst the moment he gives you permission. 

But tonight, he wants to touch you slowly. 

So you wait. 

But you still play dirty. 

You squeeze around his cock when he’s pressed against your cervix, then again just the tip is still in you. Then you moan his name as his hips rut forward. 

Jason pushes up on his elbows, giving you a flat expression, and you smile back stupidly. 

He rolls his eyes, and doesn’t pick his pace. 

But he stays hovered over you. 

And that’s how you know you won. 

Jason’s thumb finds your clit as he fucks you. Still pulling out like he as all the time in the world, then slamming home so hard the bed creaks. And you’re right there. So fucking close, unable to get that last push to cum-

“Jay.” You whisper, reaching up to grab his face. “Please.”

His throat bobs, and he nods, his thumb pressing down and rubbing in furious circles, and your orgasm washes over you in an instant. Stars dance behind your eyes and your toes curl, the pleasure dragged out as Jason finally speeds up, chasing his own release as you spasm around him and moan his name. 

He cums inside of you, kissing you like he’s going to war as he paints your cunt white. 

It takes him a moment to pull out, after you both come down. He clings to you, cock twitching as he slowly fucks his cum into you.

You’re not sure he knows he does that. But you don’t mind. 

It makes you feel like his. 

And this is how you know Jason loves you. 

He mutters your name against your lips, the tone alone one of soft praise, then pulls out with a grunt. He cleans you up after, brings you water and guides you into the shower, before wrapping you in a towel and carrying you back to bed.

He holds you to his chest, as you both start to drift off into sleep. 

And for some reason, you have to tell him now. When there’s still water clinging to his eyelashes, and his arms around relaxed around your waist.  

“I love you, Jason.” 

His eyes shoot open, and he looks terrified. Mouth opening and closing, pale faced and holding you tighter. 

But he doesn’t run. 

“It’s okay if you can’t say it back,” you whisper, and Jason’s throat bobs.

He mutters your name, voice hoarse, and you shake your head. 

“I’ll wait.” You kiss his jaw, and he lets out a soft breath. “But I love you.”

He sighs, and nods, kissing the top of your head. 

“You’re amazing.” He mumbles, and when you smile at him, he smiles back.

He won’t say it now.

But you know anyway.

———

He’s going to blame himself, if he doesn’t get here in time. You’ve pieced together bits of his past from news clips and timelines, and you know he’s going to rip himself apart.

You haven’t slept since Harley grabbed you, and you’re starting to feel it in your skull. 

Soon, it’ll be over. You’d rather be asleep when that comes. 

But, as you hold it in the dark, one last time—you love Jason, and it’s more holy than anything else—you know he’s going to blame himself. 

He’s going to take that promise from the basement, and rip himself apart with it. 

He’s strong. Braver than you are. And he’s been through worse. And maybe he’ll look at ruined gloves and tattered jacket and cry. Or maybe he’ll preserve you somewhere.

But he’ll keep loving you. 

That’s never really been a question. 

Mostly, you wish you’d been braver enough to tell him that you knew. That you knew, and you loved him all the same, because he’s not Jason if he’s not a cryptic, dramatic asshole.

But you weren’t.

At least he knows you love him. And you know he loved you. He wouldn’t have risked so much if he didn’t, wouldn’t have stayed when it was easier to cut and run. So all you can pray for, as the exhaustion pulls you under, is that he’ll forgive himself. 

Maybe smile again, sometime after you’re gone.

———

He knew. 

From the goddamn start, Jason knew it would end like this. It always ended like this. Good things didn’t just fucking happen, not to him, not in a way that lasted.

If he was a better man, he would’ve stayed away from Her. She would smiled at him in the basement, he would’ve turned down Her offer to fix his clothing, and She’d be safe. He might have thought about Her for the rest of his life, but he was used to not getting what he wanted. Jason was good at not getting what he wanted. Life was shit, but he did it anyway. 

That didn’t mean he got to live with others. To have something as soft and delicate as love, because he’d always known it would break. It always broke. 

But She was so goddamn stubborn. Beautiful and unwavering, more resilient than he could ever hope to be, telling Jason She loved him when he was made of cracked and sharp, pointed edged. 

She always soothed them. Always spoke in that pretty voice, and made Jason feel like maybe there could be something for him. Something in the future, in the dark, filling up all the cracks of his head he didn’t know how to mend. 

He never thought of Her as a lighthouse, though. He wasn’t a ship lost in the dark, and Gotham was a storm because Storms passed. 

She was a moonbeam. Shimmering in the dark, illumination and gentle and always there, even when he thought She shouldn’t be. It wasn’t up to Jason if the moon glowed. It just did.

She did.

And She loved him. 

Jason. 

She loved Jason. 

But She didn’t love Red Hood. 

And it had killed him at first, to only visit Her in the mask. He couldn’t press Her lips to the soft parts of Her throat through the mask. Couldn’t smile at Her, when she’d become the only thing that made him really, fully smile. There was nothing bitter or mocking or fake about Jason’s smile when it was for Her. It wasn’t a tactic for intimidation or a forced expression to make his family think he didn’t still have a lot of anger, boiling in his gut. Anger at the people in charge, letting everyone hurt and never lifting a finger. Anger at all the people, who made him worry that one day, he’d lose Her.

Anger at the Joker. For everything.

He’d pushed past the anger at Bruce, for not killing the Joker after Jason died. He was just Jason. He could die over and over, and maybe the world would be better for it if he just stayed dead.

But if She didn’t wake, Jason was going to kill Bruce himself.

This was the exact fucking reason the Joker needed to die. The reason Jason should’ve just been content with loving Her silently as Red Hood, instead of pretending to just happen upon Her at work and have her for real. 

Now he was going to lose Her.

And he could die and come back again, kill the Joker a thousand more times, somehow turn Gotham into a paradise, and he’d never be able to repent for losing Her. 

He couldn’t lose Her. 

He’d never even said he loved Her. As Jason, or Red Hood. 

She looked so small, curled on a cot in the Batcave. Alfred said She’d be fine. If Alfred said She’d be fine, She’d have to be fine. There wasn’t another option. 

But She’d wake up here. And She was smart. 

She’d realize why She was here. See Jason—even in his normal clothing, because Dick had made him change out of the Red Hood suit while Alfred looked at Her—and realize that his chop shop job was a lie. Then She’d leave him, and the only truly good thing in his life slip through his fingers. 

It was for the best. 

He’d been a lucky fucking asshole to have Her at all. 

And it was always going to end like this. 

He’d explain, She’d leave, and Jason would be stranded in the dark once more. But he knew the dark. He knew the spaces of it that could be warm enough to keep him alive, and how to navigate the colder parts. He knew that good things didn’t last. 

So when She made a soft sound and Her eyes fluttered open, Jason braced himself for the bullet. He’d take it easy, stitch up after, then keep going. Keep loving Her after she left. Make sure She stayed safe, just like he’d promised. 

Let Her go on.”

“Jason?” She mumbled, blinking up at him with a pretty frown. “Jay, my- my head hurts-“

“I know, princess, it’s okay.” His voice sounded more strained than he’d wanted. He couldn’t stop it. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

She made a muffled, weak noise, and reached for his hand. 

He wasn’t strong enough not to take it. 

“Jay?” She whispered, eyes still clouded with exhaustion. “I- What happened?”

He swallowed, forcing out the words he’d spent the past few hours rehearsing. “We got to you in time. Got you out. Took Harley and Joker in. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh. Okay.” She sighed, tugging slightly on his arm. “Can you lie down with me?”

Fuck, he wanted to. There was nothing that sounded better than folding his body over Her’s, feeling the warmth that meant She was still alive. That he hadn’t completely failed. 

But he couldn’t. 

He had to tell Her first, before Steph or Tim wandered in and accidentally snitched about what She seemed to be too tired to put together. 

Jason muttered Her name, staring at the floor, and She hummed. 

“Yeah?”

“I- I gotta tell you something, sweetheart.” He should let go of Her hand. He couldn’t. “’S my fault they took you.”

“Jason-“

“No, I- Just let me say it.” His voice broke slightly, but he couldn’t pussy out now. He’d never say it otherwise. “I’m Red Hood. Harley must’ve seen me leaving your place, in the suit, then gone after you.” He swallowed, unable to look up and see Her expression. It would be over the moment he did. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She was silent for a moment, and it was suffocating. Wired and heavy on his shoulder, their hands still connect, the last time he’d be allowed to feel Her- 

“Harley didn’t know we were together, Jay.” She said, voice far too soft for how angry She must be. “She didn’t know who was going to come save me. She just knew I did work for Batman.”

Jason frowned. She didn’t seem to be dwelling on the point. 

“And it wouldn’t be your fault anyway-“

He grunted Her name, shaking his head. “That’s not the fuckin’- I’m trying to tell you that I’m Red-“

“Hood?” She finished for him, and She should be pissed. 

Why the hell didn’t She sound pissed-

“I know, Jay.”

He froze, and looked up. She was looking at him so gently. No hatred etched under Her features, no fear in Her shining eyes, just- 

The same.

Exactly how She’d always looked at him. 

She must not understand. 

“No- You- I’m Red Hood.” He raised his voice slightly, because She had to get it. Jason needed this to be over, now. “I was in the basement with you, I hit on your while you did laundry-“

“You tried to hit on me while I did laundry.” She corrected with a small smile. “I told you it wasn’t working.”

He gaped at Her, then shook his head.

“There’s- Dollface, there’s no way-“

She scowled at that. “Jason, I knew from the first moment I saw you-“

“How-“

“Because I love you.” She said it so simply, but that wasn’t supposed to be the truth anymore. “I just- I knew.”

Jason stared at Her, still frowning slightly, but relaxed. 

Telling the truth. 

She’d known. The whole goddamn time, She’d known. Every time he’d left for “work” She’d known, whenever he crawled into bed with strange bruises She’d known, when he woke up screaming or kissed her or fucked her, She’d known-

“And you stayed?” He rasped, and She looked at him like it was an insane question. 

“Of course I stayed.”

“No- Sweetheart, you should’ve fuckin’ left-“

“Why? Jason, I love you-“

“No.” He repeated it, because it had to be true. Everything Jason knew about the world said that She shouldn’t know and love him. “You’re too good for that-“

She scoffed. “Oh, fuck off-“

“You’re too good for me!” He roared. “Fuck, I- I’ve tried to tell you, but you never fucking got it, you’re too good for me, princess. I kill people-“

“I know-“

“Then you should’ve left-“

“Jason Todd.” She hissed, sitting up on the mattress, still holding his hand. Why wouldn’t She let go of his hand. “I love you because of who you are, not in fucking spite of it. I love you as Red, and I love you as Jason, and I am not too good for you-“

“Yeah, you-“

“Are you going to love me less?” She snapped, Her grip almost strangling. “Just because I know and still love you?”

Jason scowled. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does-“

He muttered Her name, and She shook her head, yanking him forward. He could’ve fought it. He was stronger.

But he never did. Not when it was Her. 

“It matters.” She hissed. “If you love me less, it matters. Because if you do, I’m leaving you. I’ve told you, I only go when you make me.”

Goddamnit, She was stubborn. “You should leave.” He muttered, and She shook her head. 

“I won’t.”

“You-“

“I won’t.” She repeated, holding his gaze. “Not until you say it.”

“Say-“

“Say you don’t love me anymore.”

Fuck. “I never said I love you-“

“Yeah, but I know you do.” Something flashed over Her beautiful features. “Did. Tell me you did love me, and I’ll go. But you have to say it.”

He should.

Jason always should have stayed away.

This wouldn’t last.

But fuck, he wanted it to. And looking at Her, glowing in the dark of the Batcave, still here, still loving him, it wasn’t possible to hate himself enough to make Her leave. 

“I won’t.” He muttered. “I won’t say that, princess. I can’t.”

“Then I’m not leaving. Okay?”

Jason sighed, and—despite all of it—She smiled at him. Rested Her brow against his, and squeezed his hand. 

And Jason still had Her. 

And She was still good.

“I love you, Jay.” She mumbled, holding his gaze. “All of you.”

There was a heavy lump in his throat, and a sting behind his eyes that meant tears were coming. 

But She still loved him. 

So despite all of it, Jason smiled back.

“I love you too.”

End Note: I was born in the right century. I love da internet and Jason Todd.

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     “Jason…” You sobbed under him, your nails raking down his back as he pounded into you, his face buried in your neck. “Too much…”

     “It’s not too much, it's not too much.” Jason tried to reassure you, but his voice was just as whiny as yours. “You’re okay baby, you’re okay, you can take it… just one more. Just let me come in you one more time, I swear, ‘s all I need.”

     That’s what he said the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. He’s come in you so many times that you swear that there’s a puddle of white under you from how his cum was leaking around his cock and out of your hole. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it, the bottom of your ass and and the inside of your thighs sticky with it. And if, somehow, you weren’t able to feel it, logically it’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no way that you were able to keep four of his loads in you, there’s just not enough space.

     You can’t help but think about how it’s your cum there too. Jason’s pulled at least one orgasm out of you for every time he’s came. You’ve lost count and you don’t know if it’s been one for one exact, or if he’s given you more than he’s taken himself. It doesn’t matter, because the evidence of your arousal is still mixing with his under you, and he’s still pumping his cock into you like there’s no tomorrow, somehow still needing more.

     How long has it been since Jason came home like this? An hour? A few hours? He was flushed red when he stumbled through your shared door, tugging his helmet off and then roughly discarding his jacket, almost ripping it in the process. He leaned against the back of the couch, dropping his jacket next to him, panting. You padded into the living room, just wanting to say hello to your friend and roommate. For a moment you thought he was just out of breath from a last minute fight on patrol. Then, Jason looked at you, and his eyes almost immediately filled with hunger.

     For a few moments, he looked like he was resisting however he was feeling. Then he looked away from you, like he was buying himself time before he did and said things on impulse. He explained through gritted teeth that he got hit by something Ivy made. A newer kind of pollen, most likely. It made him feel things, like he was burning up, like there was a knot in his abdomen that just didn’t want to go away, no matter what he did to quell it. He told you he was going to go to his room to deal with this himself and wait it out.

     “Does it hurt?” You hesitantly asked, awkwardly taking a step towards him. Jason tensed up when you moved closer.

     “A little. But it’s not that bad.” Jason lied, giving you a side eye for a second. “You might not want to stand too close to me right now.”

     You took a small step back from him, shuffling just a little to the side.

     “Is there…” You thickly swallowed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

     Jason groaned when you asked him that, burying his face into his arms on the back of the couch, his composure faltering.

     “Don’t ask me that.” He said hoarsely. “Not when I’m like this. Not when you’re like that.”

     “When I’m like what?” 

     “Right here, next to me, looking so fucking hot in pajamas.” Jason spat, frustrated at the way he was feeling. “It’s just those dorky pjs, but you are genuinely the hottest person I’ve ever seen right now. You can’t offer to help me when even looking at you makes me want to bend you over and fuck you until your legs give out and your throat is sore from screaming and moaning. And I can’t just do that to you, so I’m going to go to my room and just deal with it.”

     Jason started moving away, stumbling towards his room. You watched in silence for a moment, before making an offer you weren’t sure would be appreciated.

     “I could always help you with it.”

     Jason snapped back around immediately, staring at you with wide eyes. He looked you up and down, practically eating you alive with just his gaze.

     “You can’t offer something like that and-“

     “I mean it. I’m fine helping you with it. I don’t want you to suffer through something like that by yourself.” You cut him off before he could finish.

     “…you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Are you really sure you want to do this?”

     “Yes. I’m sure Jason. Whatever you do, I’ll be fine.”

     Jason just stared at you for a moment, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Then he just licked his lips before he spoke.

     “C’mere.”

     And that’s what led you to be here. You’re laid back on your roommate’s bed, him in between your legs as he fucked you, each thrust pressing against that sweet spot inside of you. He was big, which was to be expected given how huge the rest of him was, and every time your walls squeezed down on him, he just felt bigger. He prepped you, and he did it well, even when every part of him was just screaming at him that he needed to be in you now. 

     He lapped at your hole, pushing his tongue in and out of you, before he pulled back, spitting on it before he pushed his fingers into you. You ended up coming the first time while he fingered you, his mouth kissing and licking at your chest. Once he was sure you were worked open well enough, he finally pushed into you with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.

     That’s how he stayed for the next four of his orgasms and the next four of yours. He swapped his head from one side of your neck to the other every so often, needing new space to bite and kiss and suck on. His constant moving made it impossible to do the same to him, despite your begging to let you mark him up too. He just pathetically whimpered into your neck about how he wanted to just leave a few more love bites on your neck.

     It seemed like Jason was full of lies about “just one more” of something tonight. Your legs twitched around his hips, and you wrapped your arms a little tighter around his torso.

     “Jason…” You whined again, your core feeling too hot, too stimulated. 

     Part of your mind wondered if, somehow, some of the pollen he’d gotten hit by had worn off on you too. You’d orgasmed enough that you’d this way anyways, but something about it seemed a bit different tonight. By now you’d usually had enough, but right now, you wanted more even when you didn’t think you could handle it.

     That part of your mind wasn’t able to think about it long, because Jason started slowing down, even though it looked like it pained him. You tightened your thighs against him, pushing your heels into his back, right above his hips, trying to bring him back into you. Jason lifted his head up from your neck, his white and black hair tickling your skin, pulling up so he could look into your eyes.

     “Is it really too much?” Jason asked, his eyebrows scrunching up in concern and from the restraint to not just keep fucking you. “I can stop if it’s too much. I can… I can pull out, and I can clean you up, a-and we can stop. Just say the word. Tell me…”

     “Please don’t stop.” You replied, moving your hands from his shoulders, up to the back of his neck and head, trying to tug him back into you. “Please… keep going, please Jason?”

     The concern in his expression faded, his mouth spreading into a smile as he brought his face down to your neck again, kissing and sucking a hickey right down by where your shoulder met your throat. You let out a broken moan as he started thrusting at his original speed again, bringing one of his hands down to your thigh, holding it in place because of how you started writhing against him.

     “Yeah, yeah you don’t want me to stop.” Jason sighed over the wet sound of his thighs slapping against the back of yours. “You don’t. It’s not too much. Knew it wasn’t too much when you started trying to pull me back in when I slowed down.”

      He pulled back for a second, shifting his position a little. You whined, trying to hold him back down, but he just chuckled between his groans, bringing his head down to your chest. He listened as your gasps and moans increased as he started sucking and licking on your nipples, his teeth lightly grazing him.

     “It’s okay, baby.” He cooed, pulling off of your chest for a second with a wet pop. “Not- I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here, I’m with you… I’ve got you.”

     He was your roommate, you thought for a singular second, he shouldn’t be calling you baby. But you found you didn’t care; in fact, you liked it. You liked being his baby, even if he was only saying this because of the pollen clouding his mind. 

     Your hips chased his, not wanting him out of you for a second. You met all of his thrusts with one of your own, watching as his eyes rolled back in his skull with a deep groan. You were pulsing around him, you could feel it, and you knew he could feel it too. He left a few more marks on your chest, your collarbones decorated in blues and purples and reds.

     “Shit, are you close?” His voice broke as his hips started stuttering. “You’re close again. I’m close too. I’m really, really fucking close.”

     His pace picked up, the hand that was holding your thigh dropping it. He reached that same hand up, grabbing one of yours. He peeled it off of his neck, bringing it down to the sheets, interlocking his fingers with yours. It was like he didn’t know if he needed to be grounded for this, or if he needed to ground you, or both.

     “Come with me baby. C’mon. Come with, come with-“ His voice caught in his throat with a sob. He pumped a few more thrusts into you, his hips slamming into your thighs, before he finally stopped. “Fuck, fuck, coming- oh shit-“

     You felt another load of cum spurting out into your hole. You tightened around him, milking him for all he was worth. Those last few pumps, plus the feeling of his cum filling you up, was enough to push you over the edge as well. With a high pitched moan, you came, the evidence of your arousal just adding to the mess that had been accumulating over the past few hours. Your thighs tightened around him, before they slowly fell limp next to him.

     He almost collapsed on top of you, barely managing to keep himself up on his forearms. He just rested there, both of you trying to catch your breath. It was cozy, like having a nice weighted blanket on top of you. Jason seemed to have finally calmed down. Now he was just laying there all tired and content, the pollen finally having run its course through him.

     “You okay?” He asked, tilting his head back to look at you. “I wasn’t too rough? Didn’t hurt you?”

     You nodded at first, before something felt off. It wasn’t something from the sex you just had. It wasn’t soreness - although that was starting to set in too. It wasn’t discomfort from the mess between your thighs and under your ass - that was starting to dry now, but that wasn’t where this was coming from.

     You squirmed under him, gasping when your hips ground into his. He let out a choked cry as well, jerking his oversensitive hips back. He sat back up, his hands free to reach down and try and steady you.

     “Hey? Hey, what’s wrong, what’s…“ Jason trailed off, looking down at your flushed face and watching as you tried to follow his retreating hips. His eyes widened as he realized what was going on here. “Oh. Oh shit. Uh, so… remember how when you told me you wanted to do this, I was in the middle of getting all of my gear off?”

     “Don’t tell me…”

     “I think, maybe, uh…” He hissed awkwardly. “Some of the pollen was still on my pants. Or my shirt. And it may have rubbed off on you.”

     “Jason…” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “You’re telling me this now? We should’ve waited to do this, because I don’t- I don’t know if I can go another round with you in me, but now I’m sore and I’m achey, and I need something!”

     “Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Jason hurriedly said, kissing his way down your body softly. “So you can't handle me in you, that’s fine. That’s okay.”

     He planted a long kiss on your hip bone, holding his lips there for a moment. His hands reached down to them, holding them gently and rubbing them with his thumbs. He let his face hover above your sex, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

     “Do you think you can handle my mouth on you instead? Do you think that wouldn’t be too much?”

     “Yeah…” You nodded, sniffling a little and trying to lift your hips up, trying to get them closed to his face. “Yeah, that would be okay…”

"Sorry. I'm sorry," you rushed, your voice as shaky as your hands. "I should have been faster. I'm so sorry, Azriel."

He was pale and sweating when you returned to his side. You felt the blood leave your own face as you dabbed at his faebane-wrought wound, attempting to soothe the ache as Madja had taught you. Magic could not do anything against faebane, so it was a waiting game.

He gritted his teeth and attempted a shake of his head. "Don't—don't apologize. Thank you. It's helping."

"Right, okay," you mumbled to yourself. You hovered your palms over the now-covered wound. "You're okay. It's okay."

Your skin felt like it was vibrating, your breathing becoming harsh and out of time. There wasn't much of a wound left on Azriel's side after all of your attempts at healing, but the lingering scent of blood and his stained leathers remained. You stared at the mishapened crimson until the image became distorted in your mind. The ringing began then, sounding at a distance until it was practically thrumming at your ear.

This was panic. You were familiar with it. But there was no time to panic, no place when Azriel needed you.

You spun on your heel and pressed a hand to your chest, trying and failing to gulp in any air you could. Tears sprang to your eyes when the attempts began to hurt, when you started to feel lightheaded, and the world was crumbling down on you.

He was hurt. Azriel was hurt, and all you could do was wait. He was going to die one day, and you would never see him again and—

A face in front of yours, beaded in sweat, pallid in the low faelight you'd cast, but a face so familiar you would know it blind. Azriel's hazel eyes bore into yours, and his lips were moving to form slow, measured words that you could not hear. You felt him first, the careful rhythm of his thumbs drawing circles on your shoulders, both grounding and shocking your senses. When you began to blink harder, he ran a hand over your hair and pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his.

"You're okay," he murmured into the sliver of space between you. "I'm okay, and you're okay. You'll always be okay with me. Deep breaths, angel. One at a time."

You tracked his exaggerated inhales and matched the steady exhales. He offered you an encouraging nod when you finally caught your breath, and then pulled back enough to press his lips to your forehead. He held you there for a long moment. Your fingers found purchase in the material at his chest.

"Back with me?" Azriel lowly asked.

"Yes," you stuttered out, feeling strange and airy, but more present than you had before.

"Good," Azriel breathed. "Good—can you... Don't panic, angel, but I need your help lying down again. Can you do that for me?"

You jolted, tore back from him, and slammed back to the moment in totality. You opened your mouth to apologize, to yell at him, to panic, when Azriel gently shook his head. He faltered where he stood, and you gripped his arms to steady him.

You snorted and then turned back to your fries.

You had always been a constant in Bucky's life—first in middle school, then high school, and now entering your last year in college. Inseparable was a common term used to describe your relationship, but there was something that separated you, and it had been a more... recent development.

Bucky had joined a frat. A very popular frat. You had not liked the frat, but you put up with it. But then Bucky started sleeping with women, and you put up with that far less, because Bucky started sleeping with... a lot of women. So, it was fair. You kept your distance, made your own friends, and you made time to see each other when you could.

Bucky coveted those times, even if he wouldn't admit to it. Even if each quick dinner, each passing coffee in the dining hall, began to feel like he was falling off a cliff. A very sudden, very steep cliff.

The women were not a distraction at first. He was supposed to have sex with women. That's what guys like him did in college. But, recently, for the past few weeks, they were a distraction. A distraction from you. He couldn't stop thinking about you, and that wasn't the plan.

"Why are you staring off into space like a freak?" you laughed, tossing a fry at his face. It smacked between his eyes.

"I'm not," he argued. "What, a guy can't think anymore? That illegal?"

You puffed out a laugh. "What could you possibly be thinking about?" You shoved the plate away and rested your face in your hands. "The next girl you'll waste the time of? Maybe you're worried that you left one in your bed and now she's going through your underwear drawer."

"Ha. Ha," Bucky mocked. "No, smart ass. I was thinking about what to get you for your birthday, but now, since I'm not allowed to think, I think I'll just forget."

"Not my birthday!" you gasped, hands coming down on the table. "You said you were going to take me to Disneyland."

"I was kidding about that. You actually want to go to Disneyland?"

"Not anymore. Not after you've dangled it in front of my nose like this."

Bucky let out another sarcastic laugh, sliding out of the booth after tossing a few bills on the table. He shrugged his jacket on and held out an expectant hand that you stared at dubiously before taking with a roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky droned. "Let's get out of here before your hysterics get us kicked out."

He helped you into your own jacket, lingered with his nose by your temple and greedily took time he wasn't allowed, and then pushed a rough kiss to the side of your head because that was a normal thing to do. He was being normal. His feelings were normal.

You tugged him into the parking lot and blabbed on about Disneyland and terrible fries and looked at him like you always did, and he looked at you like you were holding his entire life in your hands. You didn't seem to notice the difference.

Bucky kept it to himself and pretended he wasn't crossing a line.

The glow had flared brighter than expected. A shimmer of silver-blue light had rippled out from your hands and straight toward him before you could stop it.

Jason had gone very still on the couch, eyes glazing over for a split second. Then he’d blinked, tilted his head like a confused dog, and… smiled. A soft, lazy, almost dopey smile that did not belong on the face of the Red Hood.

“Oh… shit,” you whispered, panic slamming into your chest like a truck. The grimoire slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a thud. “Jason? Hey, Jay, look at me - can you hear me?”

He turned his head slowly, that serene little smile still plastered on his face. His voice came out low and relaxed, the usual gravelly edge smoothed into something warm and hazy. “Yeah… I hear you. Feels… nice. Kinda floaty. Like the world’s on mute for once.”

Your heart hammered so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs. Hypnosis. You’d accidentally hypnotised Jason Todd. The man who trusted almost no one, who had more trust issues than Gotham had rats, who once threatened to shoot Tim for breathing too loud near his books. And now he was sitting there looking at you like you’d hung the moon and stars, pupils a little blown, body loose in a way you’d never seen outside of post-orgasm cuddles (not that you’d ever admit you’d thought about that).

“Oh my god, oh my god, okay- stay calm,” you muttered to yourself, pacing in front of the couch while your hands flapped uselessly. “This is fine. This is fixable. I just need the reversal incantation. Where did I put that damn grimoire-“

Jason’s hand reached out lazily and caught your wrist, tugging you gently toward him. His grip was loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted, but the touch sent warmth racing up your arm anyway. “Hey… don’t freak out. It’s nice. Really nice. Like someone turned the volume down on all the noise in my head. Batman who? Joker what? Just… you.”

He tugged a little harder until you stumbled closer, ending up half-standing between his spread knees. Up close, the hypnosis made his usual intensity soft around the edges - his eyes half-lidded, a faint flush on his cheeks from the magic, lips curved in that rare, unguarded smile. He looked… peaceful. And unfairly attractive.

Your brain short-circuited. “Jason, this is bad- I didn’t mean to- the spell was supposed to be a tiny calming thing, not full-on hypnosis! What if it messes with your head? What if it lasts forever? What if you wake up and hate me for this? Oh god, what if you start clucking like a chicken or telling me your deepest secrets or-“

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. One big hand settled on your hip, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles through your sleep shorts. The touch was casual, almost absent-minded, but it made heat pool low in your belly anyway. Suggestive without trying.

“Deepest secrets, huh?” His voice was still that dreamy, relaxed drawl. “Like how I think about you when I’m on patrol? How your laugh makes my head quieter? How I got hard in the shower last week imagining you wearing my jacket and nothing else?”

Your face went nuclear. You made a strangled squeaking sound and tried to step back, but his hand stayed gentle on your hip, holding you in place without any real force.

“See?” he continued, tilting his head with that soft smile. “This is weird. Really weird. But… nice. Kinda like I finally get to say the shit I usually keep locked up. Am I learning something about myself right now? Maybe I like being told what to do when it’s you doing the telling.”

You were going to die. Right here on your living room floor. Spontaneous combustion from embarrassment and the way his thumb kept stroking your hip bone, slow and warm and way too suggestive for someone who was magically chillaxed.

“Jason, focus - I need to reverse this,” you pleaded, even as your free hand came up to brush a strand of white-streaked hair from his forehead. He leaned into the touch like a cat, eyes fluttering half-closed in pure contentment. “The reversal spell is… somewhere. Just… don’t move. Or say anything else embarrassing. Please.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through you where your legs brushed his. “Can’t promise that. Feels good to let go. You smell nice. Like vanilla and that fancy lotion you use after showers. Makes me want to bury my face in your neck and stay there.”

Your knees actually wobbled. This was dangerous. Jason Todd - sarcastic, guarded, “I’ll shoot you if you look at me wrong” Jason Todd - was looking up at you with hazy, affectionate eyes and saying things that belonged in late-night texts you’d never have the courage to send.

You finally spotted the grimoire on the floor and lunged for it, nearly tripping over his boot. Jason made a soft disappointed noise when your hip left his hand, but he didn’t stop you. He just watched with that lazy smile, chin resting on his fist like he was enjoying the show.

“Okay, okay- reversal incantation. Page 47. ‘To release the gentle hold…’” You muttered the words under your breath, tracing the glowing runes with a shaky finger. A silver-blue shimmer around Jason flickered, then started to fade.

As the magic lifted, his eyes cleared gradually. The dopey smile faltered, replaced by a slow blink and a faint flush creeping up his neck. He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair as awareness flooded back in.

“…Well. That was new,” he said after a long beat, voice back to its usual rough gravel but still softer around the edges. He looked at you, really looked, and the flush deepened. “Did I… say all that shit out loud?”

You clutched the grimoire to your chest like a shield, face burning. “Every word. Including the part about the jacket and nothing else. And the neck-burying thing.”

Jason groaned, dropping his head back against the couch and covering his face with both hands. But there was a laugh bubbling underneath it - embarrassed, but not angry. “Fuck. Of course I did. Magic roofies my brain and the first thing it does is spill my horny little secrets.”

You bit your lip, the panic finally easing into something warmer, fluttery. “You seemed… happy. Like it was nice to let go for once.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, his eyes softer than usual. “It was. Weird as hell, but nice. No noise. No Pit whispering. Just you.” He lowered his hands and reached out again, this time more deliberately, tugging you down onto the couch beside him. “C’mere. Before I overthink this and go back to being a brooding asshole.”

You let him pull you close, ending up half-draped across his lap with his arm around your waist. His hand settled on your lower back, fingers tracing idle patterns that felt suspiciously suggestive - light pressure, slow strokes, the occasional dip just under the hem of your shirt.

“So,” he murmured, voice low against your ear, “on a scale of ‘never speak to me again’ to ‘we should test how that hypnosis felt in other ways,’ where are we?”

You laughed, hiding your burning face in his shoulder. The scent of leather and gun oil and him wrapped around you. “Somewhere in the middle. Mostly mortified. A little… intrigued.”

Jason’s chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Intrigued is good. Means I didn’t completely ruin my chances by admitting I jerk off thinking about you.”

“Jason!”

“What? It’s honest.” His hand slid higher under your shirt, palm warm against bare skin, not pushing but definitely teasing. “For the record - if you ever want to try that calming spell again on purpose… I wouldn’t say no. Felt like I could finally breathe. And if it leads to more of this…” His fingers pressed lightly into your back, pulling you closer until your thighs straddled one of his. “…I’m very okay with that.”

The air between you thickened, suggestive tension humming like a live wire. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he looked at you with that half-lidded intensity that made your stomach flip.

“You’re dangerous when you’re hypnotized,” you whispered, leaning in until your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. “Wait till you see me when I’m fully in control and still this soft for you.”

He closed the distance, kissing you slow and deep - nothing frantic, just warm pressure and the faint taste of the mint gum he chewed after patrols. One hand stayed on your back, the other threading gently into your hair as he tilted his head and kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

When you finally pulled back for air, both of you breathing heavier, Jason rested his forehead against yours with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Next time you test magic on me,” he said, voice husky, “maybe warn a guy first. Or at least let me take the helmet off so I don’t look like a dumbass when I start confessing my kinks.”

You grinned, heart still racing but lighter now. “Noted. But for the record… the jacket thing? We can workshop that.”

Jason’s eyes darkened with interest, that lazy suggestive smile returning full force. “Oh, we’re definitely workshopping that. But first - you owe me for the emotional whiplash. Cuddle tax. Minimum one hour. No escaping.”

You let him pull you fully into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as he leaned back against the couch. His hands settled on your hips, holding you close but gentle, the earlier hypnosis haze replaced by something warmer, more intentional.

As the city hummed quietly outside your window, Jason pressed another slow kiss to your temple and murmured against your skin, “Thanks for not freaking out too hard. And for the nice floaty feeling. Even if it did make me spill my guts.”

You smiled, nuzzling closer. “Anytime, Jason. Just… maybe next time I’ll aim for a back rub instead of hypnosis.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and content. “Deal. But if the back rub turns into something else… I’m not complaining.”

The night settled around you both - soft touches, quiet laughter, and the kind of comfortable tension that promised a lot more “workshopping” in the very near future.

And if Jason’s hand occasionally wandered a little lower than strictly necessary while you cuddled?

Well. That was just part of the magic.

a/n : embraced my inner bg3 crazy girl shit for this brah. REQUESTS OPEN <3 sorry if this is booty I’m so sleepy