Matters of Fact
CW: Mentions of death, mentions of mind-altering drug use, manipulation.
The Arkham Knight knows what he is, until he doesn't ~1.2k words
The Arkham Knight is a bad person. He knows this. Knows it even as he slips under the covers of your bed. Knows it when he leaves grime and dirt tracked across your windowsill and the floor of your room.
The Arkham Knight is cruel. He knows this when he leaves after you ask him to stay. Knows this when he disappears for days on end to plan his revenge, to train his men.
Knows it when he makes you cry and beg for someone he isn't.
The Arkham Knight is twisted. He knows this when he kills the man who gave you his number. He knows it when he holds you close and consoles you, tells you that guy wasn't worth dating anyway.
Knows it when he tells you that you don't need anyone but him.
The Arkham Knight is obsessed. He knows this because he dreams of the way your lips feel against his skin, the way your fingers thread through his hair, the way your pulse flutters against his hand.
He knows this because he can't seem to leave you alone, even if it would be better for you, and for him.
The Arkham Knight is a liar. He knows this when he tells you Bruce is going to keep him from seeing you. That his enemies will hunt you down, hurt you to get to him. That it's safer, to be tucked away in his base with him.
The Arkham Knight is mean. He knows this when you yell at him over his men stopping you from leaving his base. He knows it when he yells right back, when he grins wickedly as you snap at him in return.
Knows it when you don't shy away as he stalks towards you, tugging off his helmet and grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a bruising kiss.
Knows it when you slam your fist against the plates of his armor before kissing him right back.
The Arkham Knight is sick, knows it when he slips a fine powder into your drink the night he takes over Gotham. It's nothing that'll hurt you, at least, that's what he tells himself.
The drug only makes you happy, relaxed, more compliant when he drags you from safe house to safe house without explanation.
The Arkham Knight is a mess. He knows this because he's not exactly the Arkham Knight anymore. His symbol torn from his chest, his helmet no longer blue but a bloody red. He knows this because he's crying.
He knows this because he's on his knees in front of you, and you look like you don't if you're going to hit him or hug him.
He knows he deserves to be hit. But he so desperately wants you to hug him. You don't do either. You kiss him. His heart is in his throat. He thinks maybe there's a chance for him.
He's not sure what that chance is. Maybe it's to be good. To be better. To really be with you.
But then you say goodbye. Then you break his heart. Then you leave.
He knows he deserves it for what he's done.
Red Hood knows he isn't good. He's not completely bad, but he's definitely not good. He knows this because people flinch when he saves them. He knows this because there's a trail of bodies in his wake.
But he also knows every single one of them deserved it. He thinks maybe that does make him evil.
Red Hood aches for you. He knows this because he finds himself following the familiar path to your apartment before catching himself.
He knows this because he still dreams of you curled at his side, your mouth pressing kisses to his jaw, your fingers tracing the lines of his back.
Red Hood is a shell of a man. He knows this because he goes back to his dirty, disrepaired apartment, and all he sees is gray.
He knows this because his days and nights are robotic, driven only by the mission. The hole that the death of Batman left in Gotham.
Red Hood is weak. He knows this because he opened the door when you came to his apartment. He knows this because he let you sleep on his bed while he stayed on the couch, unable to rest knowing you're so close but so far from him.
Red Hood is in love with you. He knows this because he'd do anything you asked, and everything you won't.
He knows this because when you break down in the morning over breakfast, when you finally tell him why you came to him, he tugs you to his chest and lets you cry.
Red Hood has no mercy. He knows this because he takes his time killing the man who frightened you. He knows this because he doesn't react to the begging, the screams, the terror in his eyes.
He only feels a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing you won't have to be scared of that disgusting creep ever again.
Jason Todd is dumbfounded by you. You keep showing up at his apartment door. He keeps letting you in, as if he could ever turn you away. You keep making him meals, filling his fridge, adding your things to his apartment.
There's throw pillows and blankets on his couch with your favorite colors. Your favorite movie is paused on the TV. You sleep in his bed more often than not, even if he never joins you.
Jason Todd has no idea how to treat you. He's only even made mistakes with you, only ever done things that should terrify you and drive you away.
But you keep coming back, even after the body of the man who hurt you was found by the police.
Jason Todd wants to be good, at least for you. So he tries. He knows he isn't great at words, but he tries to soften his voice. He knows his touch is rough, so he tries to be still and gentle when you lean into his side.
He knows he's scary looking, so he tries to be smaller when you're around. He knows what he does is dangerous, so he sets up even better security in his apartment, and with permission, yours.
He knows there's something wrong with him, so he reminds you not to hang around him so much.
He doesn't know why you don't listen. Doesn't know why you kiss his cheek, why you start to lead him from the couch to sleep next to you in his bed.
He doesn't know why you sleep curled at his side, on his chest, a leg thrown over his thigh. He knows a lot of things, knows a lot about you.
But does he understand why you kiss his scars and nuzzle his shoulder?
No. Absolutely not. But he doesn't think he needs to. Not when you tell him you'd like to sell your apartment. Not when he gets to help you move the last of your things to his your shared bedroom.
Not when he knows he loves you. Not when you say you love him. Not when he knows it's true.
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