warnings: blood, injury, the reader has no self-preservation whatsoever
You sit with your back against a brick wall in some Gotham Alleyway. The men who tried to hunt you down when you were just trying to get home to your grumpy ass (sickly sweet) boyfriend now lie on the ground with definitely more than just broken ribs.
Apparently, one of them was too sly and too fast. The knife was lodged in your side before you knew it. You knocked him out cold but now you are stabbed. And you can’t move. And yes, it really fucking hurts.
You’re bleeding, have been for a few minutes now. But that’s okay. You were bleeding last week. And the week before that. And maybe just yesterday?
You already sent the stress signal to your boyfriend who just happens to be the big, bad, brooding Red Hood. So, your knight in shining red armour must be here any minute.
You have a smirk on your face as you examine the bodies around you. You’re the only one left sitting up. The knife is still lodged in your side, both your palms cupping the area around it, and, despite everything, the thud of boots nearby, makes your heart lurch.
Soon enough, he steps out of the shadows. Jason is in full Red Hood gear, arms crossed, disappointment coming off of him in waves and of course, that sweet concern you love so much. He looks at the bodies, sighs, then looks at you, and he’s by your side before you can register it with your clouded brain. He crouches, looks at the wound and takes off his mask.
“My hero,” you mutter, smirking lazily, your hair sticking to your forehead from sweat.
Jason’s jaw clenches, “I swear to fucking God— what is wrong with you?” But he’s already cradling his body to yours in a way that makes it hurt surprisingly less.
You pout, “what? I thought you’d be proud. I took them all down.”
Jason shakes his head and picks you up bridal style. He curses when you wince. “You’re not getting out of the house for two months. That’s it. You’re done. This is — what — the third time this month.”
Even if you are and have been trying to act tough, your side is beginning to feel numb, the blood has seeped in through your spandex and your head lolls against Jason’s chest, “You can’t ground me.”
Jason walks out of the alleyway, holding you firmly but so gently all at once. “I can chain you to the fucking bed.”
You crack an eye open, not even realising they had dropped close until now, “Kinky.”
Jason shakes his head, exasperated and so damn scared, but you’re too gone to see it, already passing out. “I’m done with your shit.” He mutters, with absolutely no heat in it.
You whimper out of pain against him, fingers curling in the leather of his sleeve, “mhmm… no you’re not, you love me.”
And damn you, because he does. He really fucking does.
