Culto A Vega

At first, anger swelled inside of him like a tide, reaching past his exhaustion to grab at his senses. He nearly whirled to slam his fist into a wall when you left, but the little voice in his head stopped him. The one that reminded him of you. 

Don’t. You’re not going to be that person. 

That person who hurts. That person who wrecks something precious just to stave off the grief gnawing at him. That person who loses everything by being the worst thing he could possibly be. 

And then that anger dissipated a little like smoke, and something else took its place. It felt like dread, thick and heavy. It clung to him like spidery hands and it still does.

Jason runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingernails catch on the scab at his temple. It makes it all rush back to him—the fact that he’s been gone, and that you’ve left.

He snatches his keys off the little cabinet in the foyer, and the door slams shut behind him like an omen.

Like something final. 

He didn’t bring his bike with him—he’d simply dropped onto your fire escape. If he’d been anyone else, he knows you would have thrown a frying pan at him, but you’d basically been sitting on the couch and watching that damned window like it might lure him back to you. You knew the second there was a flurry of shadow that he was there, and the window had slid open only a few seconds after he knocked on the frosted glass.

But now he really wishes he had brought his bike, because going on foot makes his search for you all the more difficult. Gotham City is large, and he knows you cover ground quickly when you’re not thinking about your destination.

Jason’s chest tightens, like ropes slowly looping around each of his lungs. He knows how cold panic feels, but this is hot—molten. If the ropes don’t stop him from breathing, then it’s the heat of his frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says beneath his breath, like a quiet prayer of desperation. He feels vile for saying it—how can he say it when you’re not here to answer it?

His feet carry him down the narrow steps that lead up to your apartment complex, before turning onto the street. The holes in the asphalt glint with residue rain water, and the chilling wind nips at his skin.

You must be freezing, your cardigan can only do so much. 

Each street is as familiar as the last, but he doesn't know how familiar they are to you. Have you taken the route you normally take to the bus stop? Did you simply keep walking past that tiny sliver of shelter from the weather on Gotham’s icy mornings? Or have you messed with him and taken a completely different path? Are you winding through the city like a clever and scared hare, and he the fox?

He hears a ruckus somewhere to his left, loud voices caught on the wind like paper notes.

He cuts across the street with long strides, puddles of water disturbed abruptly in his wake. The shadows don't scare him—whatever lingers inside alleyways doesn't know what violence is.

But Jason is still afraid because he knows that you're not as familiar with Gotham's cruelty. This city chews people up and spits them back out. This city is nothing but barbed wire and a pulsing heart made of teeth.

And Jason can be just as sharp as the place he grew up in.

“I don’t need your help,” Jason sneers, and he feels like he's said this twice already. The words chaff against him, like they're not as smooth and true as he thinks they are.

He watches the way your fists unclench by your sides, something close to resignation pinching around your face.

“I think you do,” you say too softly.

Jason feels like he might burst into flames, the kind that lick at him as punishment. 

“You don't know what I need,” he grounds out, and he watches you crumble. 

Why had he said those things? You'd been waiting for him for a whole month—Jason knows he hadn't been fair to you for that, but he couldn't find the right thing to say. What does ‘I'm sorry’ do in a situation like this? Begging you to forgive him seems… pointless. All his life he's asked for forgiveness, and never gotten it, even when a ticking time bomb sat next to him. 

Why would you be any different?

But the silence that rang through the apartment after you left felt like a bell echoing in his ears, a sort of chant meant to torture him. Guilt had streaked red and hot through him while he stood there, unable to move, think, or breathe.

Jason couldn't let you go like that, even if his whole body screamed for him to just leave; the fact that you left your apartment for the sake of getting away from him is sitting heavily on his chest, too.

The roar of a car cuts through the noise in his head, and Jason makes his way to the crossroad ahead of him. Headlights glare through the dark haze of the night, splitting beams across the asphalt. Engines prattle while the city and guilt gnaws at him. He hears the rhythmic chirping of the crosswalk button, and squints up at the little walking man— 

—it’s red. 

That colour is everything inside Jason. A pulsing shade that burns through him like a fever. All you’d ever done was try to soothe that burn, and the one time that you try to soothe your own, he lashes out. His throat tightens painfully. 

You’re everything to Jason, and you’re alone. He let you leave. 

What sort of a man does that? 

What sort of lover does that?

Jason’s eyes flit across every moving object, hoping to see you—maybe you’d step out of one of the corner stores, hair lit up by the sickly-green glow spilling from the windows. Or maybe you’d come to a stop by the curb, and he’d run to you—that’s what he should have done in the first place. 

Instead all he can see are flashes of white as cars zip by him or stand still at the intersections. Red tail-lights gleam like eyes and there’s so much noise. It fills the entire street, fills his head, and all Jason can see when he blinks is your face crumbling with regret and hurt. 

The hurt he buried inside of you when he didn’t send word for a whole month.

The regret he caused when you realised you couldn’t say anything that mattered. 

What is wrong with him?

In the corner of his eye, Jason catches movement—and his heart stops. 

It’s you, and you’ve just slipped out of a phone booth.

Jason inhales and it’s sharp, piercing through him. He watches as you grip your hair, fists shaking. You look so lost and Jason’s moving before he can think. A car horn blasts at him, but the noise is lost in the rapid pulsing of blood in his ears. He can feel the wind clawing at him, but even its cold fingers can’t steal away the heat beneath his skin—hot shame and guilt, it builds while the air in his lungs becomes stuck. 

“Sweetheart!” Jason calls without thinking, and his voice catches on the word. 

You spin, eyes wide—everything is spinning, but Jason stands as still as a statue in your vision. Had he known how desperate you were to go back to him? Was this why he didn’t answer the landline at the apartment?

You watch with your mouth dry as Jason comes to a stop in front of you, several paces away. You hate that distance—when did you get so distant?

“Jason,” you utter quietly, and if Jason hadn’t watched your lips form to say that single word, he wouldn’t have caught it at all. 

“I’m… so sorry,” Jason says heavily, and your heart squeezes as if a hand had been shoved through your chest and grabbed the beating muscle. 

You know how difficult it is for him to say that—mostly because he doesn’t ever believe that you’ll forgive him. All you’ve ever done is forgive him. How can he not see that? 

Tears burn the back of your eyes, and you blink rapidly. Cars leave behind the rush of air and sound, surrounding the two of you like beams of metal and light. Gotham watches the two of you like a cruel mother, and you feel your stomach bunch with nerves. 

“I—” you swallow thickly, “I called the apartment… thought you might still be there.”

Jason blinks, eyes combing across your face while his shoulders sag with the weight of that knowledge. 

“I wasn’t there, I’d left already.” 

“So you came looking for me?” 

Jason feels like hands are grabbing at his ribcage and splitting it open. He’s afraid that when he speaks again, everything he feels might spill out from his mouth—I love you I love you I love you I love you! 

“Yeah,” he settles with. “I should have—I should have gone looking for you sooner.” 

“You should have come home sooner,” you say. 

Jason nods, his jaw tightening while his throat throbs. He hasn’t felt this desperate in a long time.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” he murmurs, “I know you needed me, and I wasn’t…”

He can’t finish the sentence: I wasn’t there. 

You close your eyes while the burn becomes overwhelming, the first few tears falling like thin, silver ribbons. You never want to cry when there’s something hot and angry settled in your chest, but maybe you’re not really angry. Maybe you’re just tired and terribly in love.

“I forgive you, Jason,” you cry softly, and Jason’s body aches—as if the weight of your sorrow were breaking down his muscles, slowly eating away at his nerves.

Maybe you’d both been distant, but that never meant you had abandoned his soul. He is still irrevocably connected to you, so tightly that if you didn’t have physical forms, he’s sure the both of you would have merged into one single thing. 

He doesn’t know what that looks like, but Jason knows that it’s all that he wants.

Jason moves, almost senselessly, and his hands reach for you. They hover, not quite touching, and you open your eyes to find his outstretched hands. You don’t think or wait or pull away. His skin feels warm when you slip your fingers between his, intertwining your hands like a woven tapestry of calluses and scars. 

And forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry for leaving,” you say, voice thick with tears. 

Jason shakes his head instantly. “No, don’t—” 

He brings you closer, pulling you into him. Gunpowder and leather overwhelm your senses and you want to drown in it. You latch onto him like he might slip through your fingers—like he might be gone if you blink once, twice. 

You breathe him in and feel his chest shudder beneath your cheek.

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jason whispers brokenly, and his lips press against your scalp. “I won’t keep you waiting like that—I’m sorry that I did.”

You feel the ache in your chest slowly ease, though it doesn’t leave fully. 

“And,” he chokes around the dryness in his throat, “I’m sorry for all the things I said. I… I do need your help—more than I think I do. And you know me better than anyone else—I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

You can hear the regret inside of him. It pulses like a heartbeat, and you want to soothe it. Blow it away like smoke. 

“It’s okay, Jason. I promise that it’s okay.”

Jason’s warm hands tighten around you, shielding you away from the rest of Gotham. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and there’s no hesitancy lingering behind the words. 

No shame.

No regret. 

No guilt. 

You want to cry even harder, but instead a lightness fills you, breathing air back into your lungs. Pure air, not the kind Gotham offers. Just the kind that Jason brings. 

“I love you too,” you reply softly.

The cars don’t slow, even when you feel like they should.

*** 

Luigi’s Pizza Place simmers with heat and spices, melted cheese and crispy bacon. Jason stands beside you with his hand firmly wrapped around yours. Both of you stare up at the menu, even though you both know the prices by heart. 

“We could get a hawaiian,” you say, and you hear Jason’s long exhale. 

“Sweetheart… we’ve talked about this.” 

“I will not hear any hawaiian pizza slander, Todd.” 

“It’s fruit on pizza—” 

“Invalid argument.”

Jason scoffs as you both shuffle along with the rest of the queue. 

“How is that an invalid argument?” 

You idly watch the staff flitter behind the counter. “Olives are a fruit, but no one complains about that.” 

“That’s… different,” Jason sighs. 

“How so?” 

“Because it’s still savoury.” 

“So? We put BBQ sauce on a bunch of pizzas and that’s sweet too. What’s wrong with pineapple being sweet?” 

“Baby,” there’s a laugh stuck in Jason’s words. “I don’t think that works the same way.” 

“Whatever—also, why is it that there’s more hate for hawaiian pizza than there is for those weird gummy pizzas?” 

Jason tugs you closer to him as a group of teenagers enter the place, loud voices bouncing inside the heated shop. 

“That I will agree with—that stuff's disgusting,” Jason mutters, and you squeeze his hand. 

“That’s probably better than any apology you’ve ever given me.”

A kiss is firmly planted against your temple.

“Minx,” Jason mumbles, and you smile wider than you have in a long time.

thank you for reading, God bless <3

tags: @kitkatlover015 @batslilwhore @freythecrazyfae @soulsforsales @joinmeforadoublesuicide @sweetistic @zephrnyx @twismare

You suddenly feel yourself starting to regret pouring that second glass of chardonnay, because suddenly, you find yourself typing a response after almost four whole days of ignoring him. Well, more like avoiding him. Deeply embarrassing on your part, the lack of maturity was a lapse you wish would never happen again. You hoped the issue would go away, as if you could snap your fingers and Jason would be out of your life, and all guilt would be absolved. But it isn’t that simple, nor would the consequences be, and now you just want to smash your head into a wall.

You Friday, 7:32 PM

Hey

Are you available right now? Mia’s at a sleepover tonight Delivered

You bite your lip, nails tapping at your phone case as the uneasy feeling in your gut coaxes more anxiety out of you. But you should know better. Within thirty seconds of the text, the ‘delivered’ label turns into a ‘read’, and the typing bubble immediately pops up.

Jason Todd Friday, 7:33 PM

yeah

be over in a sec Delivered

A sigh of relief escapes you as the screen lights up with your thumbs-up sticker. Putting your phone down, you shift your attention back to the television, grabbing your wine glass as you watch The Housewives witness a Greek tragedy play based on themselves. But what the hell are you sighing for? You can't be thirty with a situationship. You need to sort this shit out.

--

The dynamic of your relationship with Jason is something out of a rom-com. In the beginning, he was just your super-cute, Gotham-bred, brand-new next-door neighbor.

Jason moved into his apartment in the middle of hot, sweltering July with a pair of crutches and a broken leg. You knew the moment you heard a gaggle of voices and shuffling in the apartment next door that somebody was finally moving into the neighboring unit; it had been empty ever since your old neighbors decided to move out and into a nice house in the suburbs, following their wedding and subsequent pregnancy. Lucky them.

You opened your front door and stuck your head out to catch people moving boxes into the unit. The door accidentally closed behind them, and all that was left was Jason. Both of you froze. He stared. You blinked.

You blinked, and with every one came a snapshot, a new way of seeing him, every time. The curly black locks tangled up with a brush of ivory. A scar on his brow, a scar on his neck, a couple on his jaw, and a lengthy one on his cheek. He felt straight out of a book-- but you weren't sure what the story was.

Thankfully, your daydreaming was interrupted as Mia ran out of the apartment in an ambush and shouted, “Mommy, what’s all that!?”—at the same time, a little girl ran out next door and shouted—“Jay! Which room is your bedroom?”

Your eyes softened in silent appreciation at the sight of Mia, your shoulders dropping. Curls bouncing, Mia stuck her head out the door and saw the other little girl next to her uncle. She pointed to her with an inquisitive look. “Are you my new neighbor?”

The little girl shook her head no. “Uh-uh, Jason is. But he doesn’t have any kids because he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife. Or boyfriend.”

Jason’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment as he leaned over to his niece and whispered in a strained but hushed voice. “Lian, we don’t share personal information with people we don’t know.”

You attempted to stifle your laugh, but your amusement was cut short by your daughter. “That’s okay, my mommy doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend either. And she calls my daddy a shithead.”

“Mia!” Both of the girls began to giggle at your horrified expression. You didn’t mind the fact that Mia called her dad a shithead--he is, which is why he fucked off to nowhere when Mia was two-- but you felt you were being humiliated by children who laughed at your inability to compose yourself. “I’m so sorry, we can get out of your hair, I was just curious—“

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jason interrupted. His fingers combed through his hair. “Nice to meet you, ladies. Jason.” He propped himself up on his crutches and stuck a hand out for you to hold. You cringed as your hand met his a little more enthusiastically than planned.

Strong hands. Rough and strong, you thought to yourself. Wondering about his occupation in the back of your mind, you continued on with introductions, “And this is my daughter, Mia.”

Swaying on her heels in the doorway, Mia waved to Jason with a shy smile on her face, her cheeks slightly warm from laughter. “Hi, Mr. Jason. I hope you really like your apartment and you make it look all nice and cool.”

“I’ll do what I can, but these ain’t gonna help.” He knocked his knuckle against one of his crutches.

Mia's eyes darted to his cast, taking in the plaster that spanned from his thigh to his ankle. She pursed her lips. “What happened to your leg?”

Jason swayed his head for a moment, like he was trying to edit out minor details before settling on an appropriate story for Mia. “I got into a car accident. Doc says I’ll be cleared in a couple of weeks, though. ’S why we always make sure to wear our seatbelts, yeah?” Jason’s eyes crinkled at Mia, eliciting a shy tug of a smile at her lips.

A little hand tugged at the end of your shirt. You leant down to Mia’s height, and she cupped her hands over your ear, whispering quietly so Jason couldn’t hear her question. You smiled in response. “That’s for you to ask him, sweetheart.”

Jason’s brows perked up at the sound of a question. Mia began to hide behind your legs, shy to ask her question of her new neighbor. “Mr. Jason, could I sign your cast?”

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Lian, who jumped and burst out, “YES! You can put it right next to my name! Let her sign it, Jay! Please?” She shook his arm as she begged and buzzed with excitement.

With a chuckle, Jason resigned, against not much opposition, and said, “Of course you can, kid. Got any markers on ya?”

“Yeah! Mommy got me sparkly markers last week!” Mia ran inside your apartment to retrieve said pack of markers— you bought them for her after she had been expressing an interest in art and drawing. Little sketches and pictures hang up on your fridge inside, all signed with her name in uppercase.

She came back quickly, markers in hand, walked up to Jason and held out the pack to him. “Which color is your favorite?”

Jason thought for a second, crossed his arms and smiled. “Definitely red.”

Mia’s eyes widened and lit up in response. “Oh my gosh. We have the same favorite color!”

“That's because only the coolest people in the world love red.” Jason lowered his hand so Mia could high-five him in celebration.

Your heart warmed in your chest. He seemed like a sweet guy and a nice neighbor. You admired the way he connected with Mia so easily despite just meeting her, which meant that he was pretty good with kids. It was an admirable trait. A trait that came in handy when you needed an emergency babysitter.

Jason’s weeks of recovery were interrupted by you, drowning in work and responsibility, unable to hold the load by yourself. It wasn’t like you didn’t have a babysitter for Mia, you knew your schedule as a teacher and you knew you’d have to find someone who could watch her for the time you and your students had after school rehearsal. Unfortunately for you, the college girl who had been Mia’s babysitter for the last year and a half accepted a job offer across the country in Star City, which meant you were stuck finding an emergency babysitter.

When you knocked on Jason’s door, you saw the situation as a favor, something you’d pay him back for and it would be a one and done situation. You had been helping him out the last couple of weeks with groceries he couldn't carry, shelves he couldn’t extend to reach. It was no issue to you, he was hurt and you’d do anything to help out a neighbor-- besides, watching a child is a whole different story, takes a whole different skillset than carrying groceries and reaching for items.

He agreed immediately, expressing his appreciation for the little favors and tasks you had aided him with over the past few weeks, gratitude evident in his face. Mia was buzzing in her place, eager to spend time with Jason, her new neighbor who bought a pack of Blow Pops just to give to her.

After you heard a ‘come in!’ from beyond his door, you entered Jason’s apartment to find Mia and Jason sitting at his dining table, sharing chocolate chip cookies with cardboard princess crowns on their heads. The two of them were drawing together, markers spread out across Jason's dining table. Mia’s eyes shifted your way, and she called out a distracted, “Hi, mommy,” before she returned her attention to her drawing.

You shook your head with a laugh, walked over to her and Jason and took a seat at the table next to her. Brushing her hair from her face, you gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, bug. You had a nice time with Jason?”

Mia nodded as she reached for her cookie and took a big bite out of it before speaking. “We’re drawing now,” she spoke with her mouth full. You’d remember to remind her of her manners later.

“Drawing, huh? I wasn’t aware you were also an artist, Jay?” You joked as you saw a dragon on Jason’s paper that looked like something a child drew blindfolded.

You blushed as he shrugged and flashed a shy smile. “I’ve had a couple lessons here and there from my brother, and now this little Van Gogh right here, right Mia?” He sent a silly wink to her and she giggled in response.

Mia picked up her picture and held it out to you, a big old grin on her face. “Look! I drew me as a princess and Jay is a princess too and we’re riding on a big dragon! Do you like my dragon, mommy?”

“Oh, I love your dragon! It’s so awesome, sweetheart!” The dragon was red, courtesy of Jason and Mia’s favorite color, and was breathing purple fire from its mouth. Inspired choices.

“We were playing princess and the dragon today, which turned into princess teatime, which eventually turned into art lessons. A busy afternoon was had,” Jason said. He watched Mia finish up the last details on her drawing with a smile on his face, and your heart warmed.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Can Jason be my new babysitter?” Mia looked at Jason, her face suddenly serious, eyes wide. “She can pay you with her big girl money. She has a lot of big girl money.”

You scrunched your brows in a panic. “No, she doesn’t. But she does have some for a babysitter, yes,” you looked at Jason and your shoulders tightened. You felt bad asking him knowing he was already facing inconveniences. With a shrug, you asked, “If that’s something you would be interested in? It’s totally fine if you can’t--”

“I’ll do it.” He responded, as if he was as certain as ever. With a smile on his face, he leaned over to ruffle Mia’s hair. “Besides, who’s gonna teach me how to be the next Picasso?”

From there on, Jason would watch Mia during the week while you had rehearsals for your school’s production of Little Shop of Horrors. Directing a high school play was demanding, but unlike other directors you actually had a soul, so Jason would never have to watch Mia past seven o’clock until hell week came. She raved on and on to you about weekday dinner with Jason.

Now, Jason was a fantastic babysitter. There was no doubt about that. He would sometimes bake with Mia when they had enough time together or indulge her in all of her playtime ideas, but once his leg finally healed and his cast came off, he and Mia were going on adventures together.

One day, they went to the aquarium together, which left you with a kid full of marine science facts loaded in her arsenal of a brain for the rest of the week. Another day, they went to go see a movie together and Mia picked up Jason’s habit of adding M&M’s to his popcorn. Some nights, Jason would come over to join you and Mia for dinner once you got home, and on other nights, he roped Mia into making a nice dinner for you.

And these are all wonderful things. Deeply wonderful things. But they started making you second-guess yourself. They started… the issue.

Because the thing about a man doing these things for a single mom, going above and beyond to make her life easier, is an extremely sexy thing.

You want to blame it on the craze that comes from the lack of a significant other, the constant urge to find someone to share the load and your heart with, the celibacy-- the obvious lack of a father figure for Mia. But you can’t excuse the things you’ve already done.

It started with lingering touches and wandering eyes.

It was getting warmer in Gotham, spring was fading into the gentle greeting of summertime. Jason had been babysitting Mia for a few months, and had been your neighbor for almost a year. You invited him to come with you and Mia up to the boardwalk on the shore, about an hour-and-a-half north of Gotham.

He walked into your apartment that morning with a smile and a backpack of items for you, Mia, and himself. Almost like a dad’s typical go-bag. Among the items were sunscreen for everyone, snacks packed for you since he knew you'd worry about Mia, and a first aid kit in case anything happened. Jason himself was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo shorts that showed off those scars you never found yourself asking about. The sun brought out a litter of freckles that dusted his shoulders and nose.

As he walked into the living room, he caught sight of you slinking out of your bedroom. You were wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt that was more low-cut than your usual teacher attire. His eyes were locked in on the curve of your bust peeking from the neckline, as if they were to say, Hi, Jason! We exist! You turned the corner to walk into the bathroom, mindlessly calling out, “Hey, Jay!”

Cursing himself, he turned away quickly, a warm flush creeping up his body. “Hey,” he greeted meekly, lips spread into a thin line, “Morning.”

In the bathroom, you studied your reflection in the mirror. You had caught him looking from the corner of your eye. No one had looked at you like that for a long while, especially when you were out with your daughter, and you failed to consider it becoming any kind of reality. It hadn't been an intentional move to bait him into anything.

You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t mess this up for her. For you. You couldn't take advantage of the relationship you and Jason had to fulfill your own selfish wants and needs. But you couldn’t help but feel curious. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a one-time occurrence: if it was just the nature of Jason being a young man who also had his own desires and turn-ons. But there was also the possibility of Jason genuinely being attracted to you, which only piqued your curiosity.

You hated what-ifs. So you wanted to figure it out.

That day, the three of you spent an exciting, jam-packed day at the boardwalk. You had all spent some time at the beach, swimming along the light blue waves and under the scorching sun. You withheld yourself from stealing glances at Jason for too long, but he was delicious eye candy. On the boardwalk, Mia and Jason attempted most of the games, earning her a couple of stuffed animals to bring home. Mia was cuddling Pikachu in her sleep within the first twelve minutes of the drive back.

The next day, you invited Jason over to Sunday night dinner. The gathering wasn't anything out of the blue; in fact, Jason had been coming over for dinner about half the nights of the month, and vice versa. However, the energy in the air had shifted by now. You were giving in to some of your... curiosities.

“Hi, Jay!” You heard Mia greet the second the door opened. She ran to Jason with her arms out and open for a hug, and he scooped her up onto his hip.

“Well, hello to you too, princess,” he placed a kiss upon her head. “How has your day been, sweetheart?”

“It was good! Mommy and I did puzzles together, and then we went to the grocery store and she let me get all the stuff and put it in the cart, and then we made the fancy fries with potatoes.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, walking the two of them into the kitchen where your back was turned as you stood at the stove. A brow arched— he noticed you were wearing a tank top. “How did those fancy fries turn out?”

You turned around from the stove, and Jason was met with a braless you, standing there in a thin-ass tank top. To anyone normal, you just looked like a mom cooking in a hot kitchen on a hot day, but to Jason, you looked like sex on fire. This was by far one of the more revealing outfits you had worn around him, besides that one time you went out clubbing for your sister's birthday, and he babysat Mia. Smudged eyeliner, ripped tights, messy lipstick--

“--They’re turning out pretty well as far as I can tell,” Your eyes seemed to glimmer at him, but Jason wasn’t sure if he was just making things up. He already felt insane, having to clear his throat in the subtlest way possible. “Wanna try one?” You asked, holding up a fry.

Mia nodded her head quickly. “Yes! They’re sooo yummy! I helped cut them.”

Jason gave a tight smile, warring with the thoughts in his head dismantling the defenses he oh-so-carefully built upon meeting you, his hot MILF neighbor who was sweet on him and whose daughter he babysat. Get it together, Jason.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he agreed. What he didn’t expect was for you to waltz over to him and feed it to him. You tapped his chin, and he opened his mouth, his eyes staring at you as you quickly popped it in his mouth and lifted his jaw shut.

“Good?” you asked once he began to slowly chew.

He awkwardly nodded back in agreement. Once he finished, he turned to Mia in a hurry. With a swift clap, he asked, “How about we get the dinner table set up for your mom, yeah?”

Squeezing out a bright smile, Mia nodded her head. “Okay!”

As the two of them began to grab plates and utensils, you turned back to the stove and cringed at yourself. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren;t going to make a move. You were too far gone for this to be some innocent 'research.'

--

The rest of dinner was spent listening to Mia gab on-and-on about her playtime adventures. Jason, who was usually as talkative as Mia was, had barely anything to say. In fact, he spent most of the dinner refusing to look up at you and establish eye contact, which was strange considering he was sitting right across from you, eating the delicious dinner you made for him. If you had to guess, it was probably because he couldn’t look at you without having to fight the urge to let his pupils fall down, down down...

As soon as everyone was finished eating, Jason immediately hopped up from his seat and offered to do the dishes while actively walking away to do said dishes. That meant that you were free to get Mia ready for bed, which you proceeded to do a bit quicker than usual. As you were putting on her pajamas, she asked you if Jason would read her a bedtime story, which, of course, he would. When Mia was finally done brushing her teeth, she greeted you goodnight and skipped to her bedroom holding Pikachu, shouting, “Jay Jay! Bedtime story, please!”

You went to your room to get ready. Not for bed, but for the rest of the night. You typically liked to chill on the couch with a glass of wine to wind down for the night. While you picked your own set of pajamas, the thought of Jason lingered in the back of your head-- perhaps due to the fact that you could hear him narrating Alice in Wonderland from down the hallway.

As your eyes scanned your dresser, you caught a pair of low-cut black shorts you used to wear to bed back when you had people sleeping in your bed. You grabbed a shoulder-cropped T-shirt and changed clothes with a small smirk on your face.

When Mia was comfortably asleep in her bed, Jason finally came back out to the living room. You were on the couch, legs stretching out as you leaned on your side, a glass of red wine in your hand.

Jason mentally cursed himself. Relax. She’s just settling down for the night.

“How was she?”

“She was great; she settled in pretty quickly. Read around two chapters tonight.

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” he smiled as he put his hands in his jean pockets. He shifted his weight around for a moment until he began to speak again, “Hey, uh, thanks for dinner and everything tonight. I think I’m gonna—“

“—Would you like to stay for a bit?” Your satiny voice cut through the deluge of excuses that ran through Jason’s head. “I can pour you a glass if you’d like. You drink Malbec?”

Trying to find his bearings, Jason took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. I’d like that.”

You gave him a small smile as you stood up to grab his own glass, and he took a seat on the couch across from the side you were just draped against. His heart was beating like a hummingbird in a cage. Was that sweat on his brow? Did it get warmer? He took his clammy hands out of his pockets and quickly rubbed the sweat off on his jeans. You returned promptly with a glass for him and a smile still on your face.

“This is nice,” you commented as you returned to your spot on the couch. “The two of us. Chilling. We’ve never done this, no?”

With a sniff, Jason tried to pass off nonchalance. “Uh, yeah, we haven’t. S’ cool.”

“Cool?” You questioned, your brow arching.

Jason sputtered. “No, I’m sorry, I just mean-”

You cut him off with a sickly sweet laugh, the tone of your voice immediately bringing Jason out of his spiral into embarrassment. “Jason, sweetie, there’s no need to worry about it,” you soothe, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The sloped collar of your shirt that hung off your shoulder slightly fell to tease a view of the curve of your breasts to Jason, leaving him with a deep feeling at the pit of his stomach and an unwelcome feeling that began to creep up onto him: perversion.

In that moment, he wanted you to mount him, strip your shirt off, and let him get his mouth on those gorgeous fucking tits of yours. He wanted to drown in them, let you suffocate him as he hungrily sucked and mouthed at your tits, worshipping you the way you deserved.

His thoughts were interrupted by you slowly moving closer to him on the couch. “Listen, Jason,” you purred, voice trickling into his ear like honey. Your hand on his shoulder readjusted, the tips of your fingers gently caressing his skin. “I just wanted to really thank you for everything you’ve done for Mia and I over the last few months. You’ve just been so amazing to us, especially to Mia. I mean, she absolutely adores you.”

Jason’s lips tugged up in a smile. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I also just really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You’re kind… you’re thoughtful… you’re attentive.” Your lashes fluttered as your eyes met his with a soft glimmer. “You’ve just been… so good to me, Jason.”

In that moment, Jason knows he’s truly fucked. There are two reasons for that: you’ve officially caught on to his crush on you, and he was on your couch, the most bricked up he’d ever been in his life.

The wine glass in his hand was held with a tight fist. His cock was strained through his jeans, the large imprint of a bulge the most obvious sight in the room, almost impossible to miss. Your eyes were still glued to his face. He was entirely red, from his chest to the tips of his ears. His weak attempt at preserving any semblance of coolness was almost adorable.

He tried to talk, but his voice caught in his throat and came out cracked. On his second try, he bit out, “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

You brought the hand on his shoulder to his cheek. His eyes quickly darted away from your own, landing on the rug on your floor. “What are you apologizing for, hon?” Jason cleared his throat, shooting a quick glance at the tent in his pants. Your eyes widened. “You’re apologizing for this?”

Jason nodded in shame, his head bowed. “You’re basically my boss! I know it’s gotta be a sick fucking thing, the way you’re always on my mind, and when I close my eyes, I—” he confessed.

“Jay, honey, look at me.” He lifted his head and peered at you through black and white strands. You gave him a pitiful look and brushed your thumb back and forth against his cheek. “For how long?”

As hard as he tried to keep his composure, he sniffled, a pathetic and pained look on his face. “Always.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Had Jason really been attracted to you the whole time? Were you missing the signs along the way that spelled it out before it became so obvious? Or was he just saying this to sugar you up? You would fuck him, he’d get a bonus, and eventually ditch you.

Jason seemed to notice how you were getting caught in your head, and he reached up to hold your hand that was against his cheek. His thumb gently caressed the inside of your wrist. “You okay?”

You blinked, slowly coming back to your senses. There was no reason for you to ruin this moment. You had Jason practically in your lap, soft as a pile of putty, with a blush on his face and a soft look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you replied. “I’m just happy to know you feel the same way I do.”

Jason’s eyes lit up, and a smile broke out on his features. “Yeah?” He asked, as if he couldn’t believe it until he had direct confirmation.

“Absolutely. I thought I was crazy for trying this!”

The man let out a relieved sigh, his eyes trailing to your lips as you beamed at him. He attempted to adjust his position on the couch in an attempt to face you fully, but an almost-whimper escaped him as his previously forgotten hard-on strained against the fabric of his jeans.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

His desperation elicited a soft hum from you. “Sweet boy,” you whispered gently. You took the wine glass from his hand and placed it down onto the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for his hand, you stood up from the couch. “How about we head to my room, yeah?”

He gave an eager nod and immediately rose to his feet, his hand latching onto yours in a gentle hold. The two of you shuffled into your bedroom, and you closed the door behind you as quietly as possible as Jason stood in the middle of the room. The air in the room shifted as you turned around and walked up to Jason. His breath hitched as you held his hands in yours.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“As much as I’d love to get the full experience, my kid is two doors down the hall, so we need to keep it down low.”

His lips curved into that familiar bashful grin of his. “I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse,” he joked. His eyes trailed to your lips; your mouth had quirked up into a doting smile. “Now, can I please kiss you?”

“Of course, honey.”

With your permission, Jason’s hands came up and gently held your face in his palms before he slowly leaned in. The kiss started off a bit hesitant, as if both of you couldn’t believe the situation you were in. But Jason was there, with you, holding your face in his hands and kissing you like it was something he never deserved. But he did, and you wanted nothing more than to prove it to him.

One of your hands snaked up his back and to the nape of his neck, where your fingers immediately found purchase in his soft black locks. Your other hand came up to Jason’s waist and gave you the leverage you needed to pull him closer into you and deepen your kiss. You swiped your tongue across Jason’s lips, and they parted instantly, giving you access to his warm mouth. He was slowly but surely moving the two of you backwards, the slowly-building passion of your kiss rendering him absolutely weak, and soon enough the two of you found yourselves falling backwards onto your plush bed.

Jason’s hands were stuck on your face, so you took one of them and guided it to your waist, breaking apart from the kiss quickly to say, “You can touch me anywhere you want to, Jay.”

His eyes widened, and he let out a quiet exhale and nodded in response. Soon after, his lips chased after yours to kiss you again. As he kissed you again, this time slower and sweeter, he tried to memorize the way you tasted on his tongue. With the desire to explore you, his hands had begun to caress and paw at your body, squeezing at your curves and searching for your warmth.

As he explored your mouth, his hands maneuvered you on top of him, so you were straddling his waist as your kisses deepened. Refusing to break away from the kiss, you tugged Jason’s bottom lip in between your teeth, pulling a needy little gasp from his lips. He wiggled around beneath you, his cock heavy and pulsing in his jeans, trying to do anything but grind up into you fully. Your lips trailed down to his neck, tongue dragging the veins under his heated skin.

A smile crept up on your face as you began to give playful nips to his neck. Your cool breath tickled his skin as your teeth caught on the junction by his shoulder, your hands slowly creeping under his shirt. His abdomen was warm and soft under your touch, and he shivered slightly at the feeling of fingertips ghosting over his skin.

“Could you take this off for me?” you asked, tugging at his shirt. Jason complied, quickly ridding himself of his top to reveal a scarred but beautiful torso he had. Your eyes quickly trailed to what looked like an autopsy scar that spanned the length of his chest. Jason watched your face for any traces of judgement, but found nothing. Instead, you looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I want to eat you like a fucking popsicle.”

It wasn’t long until Jason’s pants were stripped, and soon his underwear, with your clothing landing on the floor not long afterwards. You sat in his lap, the two of you sharing languid, hungry kisses as Jason’s hips began to rut up into yours, his hard-on finally receiving attention after being ignored for so long. Your heats met with dizzying friction, wetness seeping from your clothed cunt and dampening the fabric beneath it.

With every thrust of his hips, Jason let out a soft moan, the pleasure leaving him buzzing. You whined as the head of his cock brushed against your lace-covered clit and his right thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a lightning strike of arousal into your core, leaving you gasping for more. “Fuck, Jay.”

“Yeah, ma?” Jason breathed out. His right thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a sharp feeling of pleasure down into your core, leaving you gasping for more. “S’okay if I taste you for a sec? Need to see how sweet that pussy tastes.”

His words sent a chill up your spine, and you shivered in anticipation. “Do whatever you want,” you breathed out.

His smile broke into a grin, and he got off the bed to stand at the edge, grabbing your legs and pulling you his way. You watched as he sank to his knees, his hands finding purchase on your thighs as his knees met the floor. Hands slipping under your panties, he began to slowly slide them down your legs, until they were fully off and he threw them across the room. You watched as his pupils dilated at the sight of your pussy. His jaw dropped, mouth watering.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, bringing your heat closer to his mouth. Starry-eyed, he flattened his tongue against your clit, lapping at the bundle of nerves, eager to draw out your slick juices. You began to lose yourself in the pleasure, your hips jerking up to meet his mouth. You find yourself trying to memorize the way he grips your hips: how his fingers dig into the fat of your hips, soft enough to not bruise, but firm enough to handle you.

The sound of Jason beginning to slurp and messily lap at your weeping hole began to fill the room. He wasn’t being quiet enough. You found your fingers tugging at the back of his head, latching onto his curly locks and tugging him into your cunt to muffle his noises. Jason let out a groan in response, his hips bucking into the side of the plush mattress.

You whimpered as you felt his finger begin to tease your hole, slowly but surely pumping in and out of your plush and soaked folds. Once the length of his digit was fully sheathed in you, he added another, then crooked his fingers slightly upwards, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

He pulled his mouth away from your pussy. “Shh, ma. We gotta be quiet, remember?” You whined in response, your hips chasing after his mouth.

Your fingers curled into the sheets as Jason’s lips wrapped around your clit, softly humming in relief as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He added a third finger alongside the previous two, and you fluttered at the stretch of your pussy. Your head lolled to the side as you felt your orgasm begin to approach, eyes rolling into the back of your head, the more Jason’s nose bumped into your clit as his tongue met his fingers at your sopping hole.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby,” you strained out, hips wriggling in the hold of Jason’s arm. The fingers inside you got deeper, quicker, and Jason’s bicep flexed as he curved his fingers within you. You felt the sharp knife of heated pleasure encroaching, until it finally cut at the rope of tension and you fell into your orgasm.

You came with a wrecked whimper, a result of a poorly suppressed moan, and Jason continuously lapped at your wetness, his fingers, mouth, and nose completely drenched in slick. He cleaned you up until your thighs began to spasm from overstimulation, weak little whines pulled from your lips.

Jason got up from the ground and back onto the bed with you. His eyes pinned on you in frozen devotion. You smirked, deciding to straddle his lap again. Jason looked absolutely disheveled-- pre-cum pooling on his stomach, with silky strings of pearls that formed each time his cock twitched in anticipation. Your breath caught at the look within his eyes. How could he ever maintain his composure around you now that you’ve had his fingers in your cunt?

“Jason.”

“Mhm?”

“Feeling okay?”

He blinked slowly. “M’ fine. I just--” he paused completely for a moment. Your fingertips tapped lightly over the freckles adoring his flesh, the raised scars amassed from whatever past he’d left behind. With a clearing of his throat, he regained his bearings and met your gaze, his lips pursing into a shy smile. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this for so long,” he admits.

With a heated hand, you cupped his face and brought it closer to yours. His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “I hope it’s everything you ever wanted,” you whispered in a low tone.

He let out a needy little gasp the second your hand made contact with his weeping cock. You lifted your hips, eyes refusing to leave Jason’s as you lined up his cock with your weeping slit and began to sink down. His cock slowly entered your warmth, his hips stuttering as a whimper was forced from his throat. He watched your lids drop into a hooded expression as you began to realize how much he was struggling with your tightness around him. You let out a chuckle. “You good, honey?”

Jason choked out a moan, his voice straining as pleasure began to consume him whole. You began a slow grind on his cock, deliberately dragging your cunt over his tip for longer before slamming down onto his length, no warning. “You’re just… you’re so fuckin’ tight, ma,” his voice trembled, nails digging crescents into his thighs.

“There’s no reason for you to hold back, baby,” you comment after catching him trying to resist. He looked downright sinful: his curls sticking to dewy skin, misted emerald eyes that seemed to only beg for more, and greedy, possessive marks you left behind, tattered on his skin to become tomorrow’s problem. He looked absolutely divine. You were so fucked.

You began to pick up the pace of your hips, and Jason squirmed in delight as you milked more and more of his length with your cunt, dropping until he was fully buried to the hilt. Jason gasped, head thrown back in ecstasy.

“C’mon, Jay,” you purred against his ear. “Show me how much you’ve been wanting this…”

“Fuck, okay, okay.”

When the high was over, you went down with a slow slump onto Jason’s chest. You were almost heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Jason rolled both of you over, and a groan left you as he slowly pulled out of you.

“Oh, messy girl—” he cooed. There was a pool of cum where you and Jason were connected, slowly seeping from your hole and onto your thighs and ass. “—I’ll get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” He moved away, the warmth of his body disappearing, but you felt his arms lay you down against the pillows, adjusting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before standing up and swiping a washcloth from your dresser drawer.

How he knew where those were, you don’t know. Had he been around you enough that he finally knew where all your things were? Or had he been tracking that from the start, out of consideration? Fuck, was Mia about to wake up and discover Jason still in your apartment? Would you have to sneak him out of the apartment before she woke up? Would he even be staying?

Before you could spiral more, Jason came back into the bedroom with a damp washcloth and a glass of water. Your questions went unanswered as he softly wiped at the mess in between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on your face in between. You kept your thoughts to yourself as he helped you get dressed for the night, tucked you in, and turned off the light. You didn’t bat an eye when you felt him get under the covers next to you, or when he kissed you goodnight.

You weren’t sure what it would turn into, this thing between Jason and you. But what you did know, when it was an hour later, the sheets had been tousled about, and Jason Todd’s body was lax in your arms, warm breath against your chest, was that you were sure you loved this man. He knew you better than anyone else, and you’d officially reached the point of your relationship where you wanted him more than you had ever anticipated. And it scared you.

Perhaps that fear was always a warning. A last call from the universe to scare you off a path labeled ‘danger.’ But you turned a blind eye for the first few weeks.

Following your and Jason’s hushed-sexy night tryst, the two of you began a relationship. There weren’t any proper labels, and it was anything but a situationship, but it was still a relationship. Kisses were snuck around corners and behind couches. Late nights called for secret meetings and a sneaky baby monitor placed outside of a doorway. You unfortunately just hadn’t had the time to go on a date yet, or be in each other’s space without having to worry about Mia. Even worse, it was nearing the end of semester, show week, and overall, tech rehearsals.

For a high schooler, theater productions were zero-sum games. Despite sharing a passion with your students for the stage, you failed to comprehend why life was so serious to them at such a young age. No matter how hard you tried to drill in the fact that theater was supposed to be fun to your students, they always found ways to stress themselves out and exhaust themselves. You just prayed to god this year no one would get mono.

You walked into the auditorium following teaching your eighth-period intro class, and immediately upon arrival, you spotted five different students on their first energy drink of the night, and another handful finishing their coffee from the day. You waltzed down to the apron to leave your things at your director’s chair. From your peripheral vision, you could spot your head of set design already on a mission to discuss something with you, judging from the way he marched over to you with a purpose, a familiar stress in his jaw and practiced maturity in his green eyes.

“Miss, I need to discuss the upcoming--”

“Damian, I just got here; if it can wait five minutes, that would be much appreciated.”

“Of course.”

Damian Wayne was one of your brightest students. You had only arrived at Gotham Academy three years prior, so you were still getting acclimated to the wants and needs of your students and their overbearing parents. The first day Damian was in your Performance Production class, you had asked him why he selected your course for his elective. You remember him replying, It’s the one thing I haven’t done. From there on, you knew you’d enjoy teaching him throughout the semester.

But one semester turned quickly into another, and once you’d come back from winter break, he was already on the spring production sign-up sheet for production, sending you a curt nod as he left his signature. Soon enough, Damian was on set design, then head of set design, and you enjoyed seeing him work with fellow classmates he once had never spoken to, under a shared goal of success.

After taking a lengthy chug from your water bottle, you sat down in your chair. Relief. Letting out a small sigh, you turned back to Damian, who was waiting patiently and quietly for you to get settled.

“Alright, kid. What's up?”

Damian crossed his hands behind his back, a solid tell that he was feeling anxious but unable to show it. “Regarding the upcoming parent-teacher conference, I must let you know that Father will not be in attendance, for he has business in the city that day.”

“Ah, I see,” you responded, an understanding nod sent your student’s way. Your head tilted slightly. “Your mother won’t be joining us next Monday?”

Damian’s lips quivered into a small smirk. “She and Father got into a disagreement over the way she pressed you last year. She isn’t allowed to question any of my teachers again.”

Letting out a laugh in response, you shook your head, the memory a fond one of yours. “I really didn’t think she meant to offend me. She seems like a lovely woman, but she’s very… passionate… about your education.” You remember the way Bruce Wayne sat in your classroom, head in his hands as Talia Al-Ghul drilled you on your knowledge of various performance histories.

You watched as Damian’s hands dropped back to his sides, the tension in his body slightly dissipating. “Well, anyway, I wished to inform you of that. If the circumstances change, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thank you, Damian.”

“No problem, ma’am.”

You hadn’t thought anything of that conversation. Damian wasn’t anything other than a student of yours. But that Monday couldn’t come any faster. In fact, it felt like you closed your eyes Friday night and woke up on Monday afternoon.

The night had been objectively going well-- none of the parents had yelled at you or blatantly disrespected you yet. Most of your students were performing well, especially within your senior capstone class. Those students were in the middle of directing and starring in each other’s limited productions, ones they would perform at the end of the year separate from the drama club production.

Damian had decided that he wanted to direct a production of True West, a slightly absurd play with an ungodly amount of toasters. He seemed to be having fun directing his friends and also putting his best food forward in productions he was acting in. You were slightly upset you wouldn’t be able to share his successes with his father, but you knew he’d receive love and support from him nonetheless. In fact, Bruce and Damian were supposed to be your last pairing of the night, but in anticipation of getting to leave early, you had already begun to pack your things up, when--

“Wait!”

You looked up to see Damian standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kid. I thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

“I wasn’t, but apparently Father decided to send one of my brothers tonight to represent him,” he scoffed quickly. “A stupid decision, nonetheless.”

“Oh, wonderful! Well, where’s this brother of yours?”

Damian sighed, taking a quick peek down the hall. He turned back to you. “One moment,” he announced, his pointer finger in the air, before leaning out the door and shouting, “TODD!”

You snorted, both at Damian yelling at his brother and at the fact that Damian’s brother seemed to be named Todd, which seemed like such a silly name for a Wayne boy.

“Knock it off, I’m here now— the fuck?” Your eyes widened at the man standing in your doorway. The same man who had been inside you just the night before. The same man who not only left early morning to avoid awkward questions with Mia, but took the time to make breakfast before he left.

“Jason?” You sputtered.

From across, Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Todd? How does she recognize you?”

The look on Jason’s face was priceless. He turned to his brother in a panic, his typical reserved nature completely out of the window. “The hell is she doing here?”

“I am his teacher—” The two brothers turned to look at you now, their angry staring contest put on pause. “—and neither of you will refer to me like I’m not in the room. Jason, please, explain?”

Instead, his eyes darted away from yours as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Oh. Perhaps he was finally feeling the embarrassment that came with dating you. You frowned. Damian cleared his throat. “Father adopted him many years prior to my arrival. There are three others,” His eyes narrowed at Jason, before muttering, “Cassandra is the better of all of you.”

You held a darting glare at Jason, standing there, curled in on himself. Yes, you were blindsided and slightly upset, but you had to maintain some kind of composure. A question suddenly hit you. “Your last name isn’t Wayne.”

Jason’s face twisted into a pained grimace, too many emotions quickly washing over him before he found any words. He bit his lip. “It… it technically is. But it’s—” Pausing, his expression faltered as your face fell in embarrassment, disappointment, awkwardness, or whatever negative feeling it was that you were feeling within the moment. “—hard to explain…”

“Jesus…," you muttered to yourself. “I mean, this has to be some kind of ethical violation, or something—”

“May I ask what is the matter?” Damian interjected, his hand raised in the air. “I do not understand what is causing such tension between you tw— oh… no.”

One slow blink was shared with each other, then at Damian, who was slowly going through all seven stages of grief upon realizing that his teacher and his brother had been involved with one another.

“I see.” He took a step back. “I shall leave you to it.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Jason in the room with a mountain of space between you. The two of you remained frozen, unbearable disbelief grounding you to the earth until Jason finally speaks up, a stark difference to when Damian was in the room.

“Please, ma, I need you to listen to me—”

You raised a shaky hand, cutting him off. You looked off to the side, avoiding his eyes, your own glistening with uncomfortable tears. “I need to get home. You should get him home, too.”

And with that, you grabbed your bags and pushed past Jason, walking off to your car to return home for the night.

But now, you’re here. On your couch. Chugging your second glass of wine before Jason arrives. You gulp the alcohol down quickly, almost shamefully, before setting your glass down onto the coffee table. Not even a second later, a resounding knock is heard from the front door, and you find yourself clinging to the couch and shouting, “Come in!” instead of letting him in like a normal person.

Jason enters the apartment, eyes scanning around for you. He slips his shoes off by the door as usual, hanging his jacket on the coat rack before shuffling over to you.

You feel your lips tighten as your eyes meet for the first time since Monday night. All you’ve dreamt about since then has been him. Little things around the apartment like the labels on your spices, the shoes lined up neatly at the door, and a working bathroom door hinge have all reminded you of him. Reminded you of the short distance between you from both sides of your shared wall.

You can’t help but feel absolutely horrible. Some semblance of a guilty apology starts to form in your mouth, but before you can spit it out, Jason’s already on his knees in front of you.

"I don’t know why I never told you; guess it just slipped my mind in the end.”

“Jason.”

“—And I’ll make it up to you, baby, I swear—”

“Jason...”

“—If you want me to fuck off, I can, I just—”

“—Jason!”

Gently, you take Jason’s face in your hands. Your thumb skims over the scar on his cheek, soft freckles at his cheekbones, the plumpness of his lips, and you take in his beauty. The little things that make him Jason. That seems to completely disarm him for a moment, shock covering his features before realizing you aren’t bullshitting him, his shoulders tensing. “Wait, seriously? I didn’t piss you off?”

“I overreacted,” you reassure him, pulling him into a much-needed hug. Melting into you, his body relaxes as your fingers card through his curls. “I should be apologizing to you for making assumptions.”

Jason pulls away from the hug, hands on your shoulders so he can get a good look at you, a puzzled look on his face. “‘About what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Well, you know. You’re young. You should be at the club, or whatever. If you didn’t want to be with me or it embarrassed you, I’d understand why. I’m inconvenient to be with.” Eyebrows scrunching tight, Jason looks at you, his head tilting as if you have three heads. “What?”

“Bullshit.” You scoff in response, but Jason doesn’t seem to want to hear it. “Bull. Shit. Do you know how fucking lucky I am? Nothing is inconvenient when it’s with you.”

You melt, “Jay…”

One of his arms rests atop your thigh, the other on your hip. Head bowed, you take in the pout on his face and tears brimming in his eyes. “Please,” he begs, soft and desperate. Nuzzling his face into your thighs, he lets a couple of tears fall. Jason seems to relax as he nuzzles at your soft skin. He takes a deep inhale of your natural scent, closing his eyes in satisfaction before looking back up at you. “I’m all yours,” he breathes into you. A kiss to the skin below. “All yours, ma.”

Dropping your hand, you take Jason’s face into your palm. “You mean it?” you question.

Jason responds with twinkling eyes and a soft nod. “More than anything,” he places another soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, which turns into another, and then another, until he’s kissing up your thigh.

He wastes no time in ridding you of your shirt. His calloused hands paw at your breasts, fingers finding your nipples and rolling them around, watching as you squirm in pleasure. He pinches and pulls at your nipples, gently teasing them to a peak, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the inner curve of your breast.

“So soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your warm skin. Diving back in, Jason presses a kiss to your other breast, much like the other one, then proceeds to give an experimental flick of his tongue against your nipple.

With a sharp breath, you feel the wetness pool between your thighs, leaving you hungry for more. Jason begins to lap at your breast, spit-slicked and hungry, and your fingers take rein in his curls.

Jason moans in response, his hips digging into the couch as you tug and tug at his hair, only breaking away from your tit to pay mind to the other. Plump lips swell as they latch on and suck, kiss, and suck at your breast, strings of pearlescent string connecting the two of you. Head falling backwards into the arm of the couch, back arching up into Jason, you let out sharp, needy little gasps.

“Baby, please— I need to feel you.” Your eyes are half-lidded and dark. Jason’s twinkle back at you from your chest, keeping your gaze in an unrelenting hold as he flicks at your nipple with his tongue again.

“Mhm,” he moans. “Anything,” Lick. “For you,” Lick.

He finally pulls away from your tits, mouth covered with spit and his lips red and swollen from the attack on your breasts, and he’s never looked more divine. You cup his face with your hand, whispering a simple, “C’mere,” before he leans in compliance and meets your lips for a kiss— this time, languid and warm.

Jason’s unraveled you into a complete, pining mess, leaving you feeling like the lovesick girl you once were and, at the same time, a woman who’s got something entirely new and good in her life, no stipulations. He pulls away with a shy smile on his face. “What was that for?”

You kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m keeping you forever,” you reply.

Jason lets out a hum in response and noses at the column of your throat, heat spreading over his cheeks. “And I’ll stay forever,” he echoes. “Now can I get these off, please?” He tugs at your sleep shorts, fingers jumping beneath the fabric to lightly snap it against your hips.

“So impatient,” you quip as you lift your hips.

The two of you are quick to undress, mere days far too long a time to be separated from one another. Eyes darken with maddening hunger as both of you take in the other’s current state, a certain electricity in the air between you, passing in between short, staggered breaths.

His lips chase after yours as he teases the tips of his fingers against your folds, spreading the slick around your cunt, feeling it warm underneath his touch. You swallow him down, coaxing a broken groan from his chest, the sound reverberating against your chest from his, your hearts beating together under the rumble. Manicured fingers tug at the hair at the back of Jason’s neck, soft tufts of curls grounding you as he slips two fingers inside your sopping cunt, a result of his steady, teasing ministrations. Jason hums in delight as he curves his fingers against your velvety walls, pulling a moan out of you. You twist and turn as he plays with you, spreading your slick around and slowly but surely working his digits further into your cunt.

Sex with Jason feels like the first drink of a crisp, cool Coke after walking in the desert for years. It feels like all the cacti you’ve encountered, the heavy lifting and distances you’ve traveled, the sights you’ve seen and bullshit you’ve dealt with, are worth it when he’s got you with your legs by your head, bullying his cock into your cunt.

The two of you have moved from the living room to your bedroom upon realizing that the couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to have passionate makeup sex. Your bedframe creaks and scratches at your wall with every thrust of Jason’s hips. He swallows you down with his gaze; sweat brews at his brow and nose as he rolls his hips into yours.

Brows pinched together, your head falls back as the blunt head of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot against your spongy walls, your cunt squelching in response. You attempt to arch up into it, trying to target Jason’s thrusts against the sweet spot, but it doesn’t work out.

All of a sudden, you feel Jason’s hands on your hips. With one quick move, you’re belly down on the bed with Jason’s cock buried further inside you. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. “S’ that what you wanted, ma?”

“Mhm,” you whine out, voice straining as Jason lifts your hips so your ass is flush to his hips as he milks your heat with his length, the tip once more meeting your most sensitive spots.

Jason leans into you fully, his bodyweight against you, tucking his face into your neck. “So tight,” he croaks. His thrusts are frantic and deep as you’re held in his embrace. You raise your ass up just a hair, and a groan leaves Jason. “You trying to make me fill you up already? Hm? Want me to make you a mommy again?”

“Yes, yes, please, baby—“ Taking hold of your plush hips once more, Jason ruts deep into you, fervently burying his cock into your cunt over and over again. His thrusts settle into a deep, relentless rhythm, cock dragging across your velvety walls at a dragging pace. “Fuck!” You pant, feeling the breath knocked out of you. You bring your hand down to rub at your clit, feeling yourself involuntarily clenching around Jason’s fat cock, pistoning in and out of your pussy. As you rub tight little circles into the bundle of nerves, you feel your orgasm begin to approach.

Jason turns your face to the side and kisses you messily, strings of spit in between your mouths as his tongue licks and teases at the cavern of your mouth. He only pulls away when he feels you clench and spasm around him again, your pussy squeezing the base of his cock in a vice grip. “Fuck, mommy, you gonna cum?” You nod frantically in response, feeling your abdomen tense as lightning rods of pleasure shot through you.

At this point, Jason is fully panting and trembling with every thrust. You arch further back. “Don’t hold back,” you beg. “M’ gonna cum—“ The second he feels you clench tight around him, the walls immediately burst, and he finds himself bullying his cock into your core as he comes inside you with a hoarse groan, his face buried in the heat of your neck. The sheer force of Jason’s release is enough to trigger your own, and you find yourself coming with a ragged cry, unable to suppress your volume from overwhelming pleasure.

Jason topples over, pulling you into his chest. You tremble as his cock pulses inside of you, his ropes of cum slowly spilling from your cunt. The two of you are blissed out, sharing deep breaths as you catch up with your bodies. You feel little kisses being peppered onto your head. “Feeling good, ma?”

Nodding, your eyes speak for you, drooping lower and lower the longer Jason holds you in his arms. You realize that this is what life is supposed to feel like with a man, that life as a mother can fit someone else to come into the picture-- as long as they're right and they work for you. And you're damn sure that Jason works for you.

"I feel amazing," you answer. "Fantastic. The best, even. I'm not joking when I say I'm keeping you forever."

Jason drops a kiss onto your lips. "Do I get a bed?" he quips playfully.

You’re about to speak when your phone suddenly rings. The caller ID reads the name of Mia's friend's mother.

You pick up on the second ring. “Hello?” Jason watches as your furrowed brows slowly relax as the person on the other end speaks. You end the call quickly after.

“What’s up?”

“I have to get Mia. Someone got sick, so the kids are being sent home to avoid getting sick themselves.”

Jason shakes his head. “No, no,” he places a hand on your naked shoulder. “How about I start you a bath, then I can pick her up while you get yourself cleaned up?”

❝ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ❞ credits to @/chrisssiren and @/cafekitsune for the dividers.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 3:00a.m. when you woke from the dream you'd been having. your hair clung to your forehead with sweat, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. glancing down at yourself, you noticed your nipples stiff beneath the thin silk nightgown. the heat between your thighs was impossible to ignore, as was the dampness soaking your panties.

even so, you slipped a hand beneath the comforter and inside your underwear, your fingertips brushing against your own arousal. a quiet whimper escaped your lips at the sensation.

when you looked beside you, jason was sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to your predicament. one arm rested above his head while the other hugged a pillow. his breathing was slow and steady, his face relaxed — no nightmares haunting him tonight.

it was such a sweet sight that guilt almost stopped you from waking him. almost. your need was simply too overwhelming, and you shoved the guilt to the back of your mind.

scooting closer, you admired your boyfriend from only inches away. he was breathtaking, with his sharp jawline, thick brows, and the slightly crooked nose that had been broken more times than either of you cared to count.

jason slept shirtless, and the sight of his broad chest, crisscrossed with familiar scars, never failed to make your pulse race. carefully, you rested a hand against his chest before leaning in to whisper against his ear "babe... are you awake?" you already knew the answer. you placed a soft kiss against his cheek "babe... i need you..."

you tried again, trailing gentle kisses down his neck while your hand lazily stroked his chest. jason let out a sleepy grunt and shifted beneath the blankets before slowly opening his eyes, searching for yours in the darkness.

within seconds, he was fully awake. he caught the hand resting on his chest and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles "what is it, princess?" he asked, concern immediately filling his voice "did something happen?"

you simply nodded. taking his hand, you guided it beneath the blankets until it rested over your soaked panties. understanding dawned on his face instantly. a crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he slipped your panties aside, his fingers gliding through your wetness, drawing a soft sigh from you.

he moved closer, gently easing you onto your back until he hovered above you. your legs parted on instinct, welcoming him between them, while your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

jason kissed you slowly, savoring every second. his tongue explored your mouth at an unhurried pace while one of his large, calloused hands slid the strap of your nightgown from your shoulder, exposing your left breast.

the coolness of his palm against your heated skin sent a shiver through you. he cupped your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze before teasing your nipple between his fingers.

his lips left yours to find your neck, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses until he reached your breast. his tongue flicked across your nipple before his teeth grazed it, tugging just enough to pull another breathy sigh from your lips without hurting you. "so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his free hand already toying with your other breast.

your fingers buried themselves in his dark hair, stroking through the strands before giving them an affectionate tug. once he'd had his fill, jason continued kissing his way down your body at an unhurried pace until he reached your hips.

he slowly pushed your nightgown upward, his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties and pulled them down. the discarded fabric landed somewhere on the bedroom floor as jason settled between your thighs, gently urging your legs farther apart.

he paused for only a heartbeat before dragging his tongue from your perineum all the way to your clit. his lips wrapped around the sensitive bud as he sucked gently, alternating between slow, steady pressure and teasing circles of his tongue.

one hand remained firmly around your thigh, squeezing reassuringly, while the fingers of his other hand gathered your slick before slowly pushing two fingers inside you.

soft moans spilled from your lips. one of your hands toyed absentmindedly with your breast while the other threaded into jason's hair, urging him impossibly closer.

he glanced up at you, holding your gaze without wavering as he continued lavishing attention on your clit. his fingers curled inside you with practiced precision, moving at the exact rhythm he knew made your body melt, occasionally spreading apart in a gentle scissoring motion.

he never once looked away "look at me, princess..." he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin "i want to see your eyes when you come." he worshipped every inch of you, alternating between licking, sucking, and fingering you until your thoughts dissolved into nothing but him.

at one point, he changed his rhythm entirely. his thumb replaced his mouth over your clit while his tongue slipped lower, making your back arch from the sensation. all you could do was tug at his hair and cry out his name.

minutes later, that familiar knot began tightening deep inside your stomach. your breathing turned ragged, jason could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers. with a drawn-out moan of his name, you finally came, your body trembling as pleasure washed over you.

his hands tightened around your thighs, holding you steady through every wave. jason took his time afterward. he kissed and licked every inch of your swollen, sensitive cunt, refusing to waste a single drop. your body twitched from the overwhelming sensitivity, but you didn't care.

all you could do was stare down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, your breathing still uneven. "holy fuck, baby..." jason breathed as he finally sat back on his knees. his nose, lips, and chin glistened with your slick. a wicked grin spread across his face, every trace of sleep completely gone.

your gaze drifted downward. the outline of his hard cock strained against his sweatpants. his hand slid slowly down his abdomen, following the trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband before slipping inside. a moment later, he freed himself. large, thick, curving ever so slightly upward. the flushed tip already glistened with precum, his heavy balls completing the intoxicating sight.

wrapping his hand around the base, he stroked himself a few slow times. your mouth watered immediately, already imagining him fucking your throat. throughout it all, his eyes never left your swollen, glistening cunt. still lazily pumping himself, he looked up at you and murmured in a low voice, "come here... come on." without hesitation, you spread your legs even wider, silently inviting him closer.

Jason and blood—the two things go hand-in-hand. 

But not you. 

Not your blood. 

He prided himself on keeping you safe. That silent, canine-like loyalty he had for you. But dogs are still animals, and somehow he forgot that. 

Because there you are, on the ground, the crimson of your blood seeping into the cracks of the pavement. There are no sirens—he’s cursed with the same silence he’s always known. Cold. Uninviting. An open mouth that swallows all sound. Your eyes—half closed, lids twitching—stare blankly. A little terrified, but mostly stunned and unable to process both the pain and confusion of having his hands upon you. 

He, too, stares in the same shock. He waits for the memories to come back. But all he remembers is the gas—a wretched, bitter scent that stung his nose. Then blurry darkness and oily memories. The feeling of grease slicking his hands and distant screams. Your screams. 

Jason falls to his knees. 

Trembling, he goes cold. He calls the family. He remembers nothing. He doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse not to. Where’s the agony? The pain that comes and haunts him? He was doing so good. He’d been so obedient, not giving into his violent desires. Neglecting the itch to chase after revenge, sniffing its scent and hunting it down until his salivating mouth got a taste of satisfaction. 

When the family arrives, they’re mortified. Terrified. 

Jason doesn’t touch you as they carry you away. 

But it’s not like they would let him. 

After all, deep down they’ve always known one steady, unchanging truth about Jason—perhaps the only constant reputation he’s ever had: Jason Todd is only a dog, and he will always bite the hand that feeds. 

“You don’t remember what happened?” Tim asks. 

Jason shakes his head. Sniffs a bit, but doesn’t cry. “No,” he mutters. “Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” Tim’s voice hardens a bit, like he doesn’t believe him. And perhaps he doesn’t. Because isn’t this all so believable? That Jason Todd would, of course, relapse? Fall back into killing, into anger, into that endless and blinding rage? 

Because who is Jason Todd without his anger? 

Without it, his time as Robin melts away, too. He’s no longer the angry Robin, the betrayed Robin, the Robin who lost his life. He becomes a smear of green and red and yellow. He fades into memory, and eventually dissolves into nothing. 

Who would ever believe he’s anything more than rage incarnate? If anything, Jason deserves to become rage after what he’s been through. Poor baby Jason. The boy who died and rose again. Real-life Frankenstein. Someone who deserves pity, and if not pity, then unbridled anger. If not pity, then someone who has an insatiable thirst for revenge and nothing more, and for that, he must be muzzled. 

But you. 

You didn’t think any of that. 

You never looked at him with pity—your eyes carried honest empathy. 

And you never cared much for his anger or what it cost him. You saw his intelligence, his knack for small, emotional things. Literature, tiny animals forgotten by the world, the quiet nights when you can hear the distant honking of horns. You saw his kindness—the small ember that was left of it, anyway—and rekindled it. Threw logs on it until it grew and grew and grew. You didn’t try to remake him, didn’t try to change him. You knew he didn’t need to be changed, and you knew he probably wouldn’t have if you tried. Those who have attempted to change him, to make him better, have only failed and pushed him away. 

You gave him acceptance. Love. You were a pair of eyes that saw through his thick, concrete walls. 

To you, he’s not an animal in need of training. Not something to be rewarded with treats or punished with a shock collar. He’s just someone who needs love every now and then. 

His soul’s most raw, barest state is shocking to most, because his soul looks just like everyone else’s. 

“What did Scarecrow hit you with?” 

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t know.” 

“We don’t know if it’s still in your system.” Tim types something into his computer. 

Jason tries to drown out the beeping of all the monitors, tries to ignore the pinch of the needles in his arms. 

“I feel fine,” Jason mutters. 

“We don’t know if it’s worn off yet.” 

Jason makes a move to pull out the needles and hop off the cot when Tim steps in front of him. Tim flinches, moving quickly to readjust Jason on the cot. 

“I feel fine,” Jason says again. 

“You…just stay here. For a bit longer.” 

Jason stares at him, brows pinched, lips pursed. He knows that frantic look on Tim’s face, the flitting of his fingers back and forth across the keyboard. His focus being disrupted and that panicked attempt to get it back. 

And that strange look that insinuated he’s hiding something. 

“You don’t want me to leave,” Jason says bluntly. 

Tim looks up. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” 

Tim shakes his head. “Jason, stop. You’re overthinking it.” 

“You think that I’m going to hurt someone else.” 

“I just think it’s dangerous wandering around without making sure that drug isn’t in your system.” 

Jason rips out the needles, tears himself off the cot, and storms out the door. “I said I feel fine.” 

Foolishly, Tim chases after him. “Jason! You can’t leave yet!” 

“Why not? Scared I’m gonna kill one of you?” 

Tim’s face is stained with anger. “Fine. You want the honest truth? We are worried about you, and we’re worried about…” 

Jason’s mind trails to you. His anger swells suddenly, but it dissipates when he finally sees where Tim is coming from. It doesn’t make him feel any better, though. 

“It’s bad, Jason. If you didn’t call us when you did, they would’ve died.” Tim reaches out—his hands do not brush Jason. Better to not touch the rabid dog—better to comfort it from afar. “What happened out there?” 

“I already told you,” Jason snaps. “I don’t remember.” 

And it hurts him more than he’s willing to admit. He’s beyond agonized knowing he can’t remember, knowing he’ll never know the pain he caused you. Knowing he has no clue what happened, what he did to you. Knowing you’ll drown in those memories, isolated and alone, because Jason simply cannot pry those lost moments out of his mind. 

Weeks later, you’re still healing. Still unconscious. The others work tirelessly to nurse you back to health. You’ve been stable for the past few days. Just resting, the others tell Jason. 

Jason can’t help but think it’s selfish to want you to wake up. He’s shutting down again without you. Still, he won’t allow himself to see you. What if Tim is right? What if he sees you again and it triggers something inside of him—that chaotic force born to rage, born to attack? 

He also just can’t bear to see you all swollen and sick. So he rots in his room, he rots on the streets and is a little more violent than usual, which only serves to prove everyone’s point—Jason is violent in nature. He can’t escape it because it is him. He doesn’t deserve to see you. Shouldn’t see you. 

This is why the world has played him a bad hand. Because the universe knew what would happen if he ever allowed himself the small graces of love and friendship and laughter and all that stupid shit. He wasn’t made for those things. Maybe in another life—the one he had before he died. But this is a new life. Jason can’t believe he’s been forgetting to remind himself of that. 

But you have a strange way of making him forget what he is. Who he is. 

Eventually, he stops chasing the violence. He turns it on himself in silent ways, because he can’t stand to live like this. His entire life, he’s been hell-bent on hunting those who hurt others, ridding the world of ‘evil’ through his twisted utilitarian lens. He’s just as evil, just as grotesque, just as terrible and wicked. Because he hurt you. Because he’s hurt other people, most of all the ones who claim to love him. 

He holds his punishment over his own head, taunting his dwindling spirit with it. 

Jason sleeps next to your bed, listening to the heart monitor beep. His only comfort. The beat becomes a lullaby, a reminder that you’re okay. You’re living and breathing and still lovely as ever, even with all your bruises. 

One night, when the manor is quiet and everyone is out or has gone to sleep, he stands over your bed. Lights are off, no illumination save for the moonlight spilling onto the floor, strikingly bright. 

Staring at your sleeping figure feels like the reverse of a nightmare; he’s the monster. Always has been. And he stares at you, longing for those wounds—wounds he can’t take back. Wounds he wishes he inflicted on himself. Longing for that killable, fleeting humanity everyone seems to possess except for him. 

Jason is beginning to think he cannot die. 

That something out there wants him alive as some cruel joke. 

Why does he kill everything he touches? Is it a disease? A curse? 

Jason has never been one for superstitions, but he doesn’t allow himself to reach out. Doesn’t allow himself the forgiveness of touching you, holding you, even pressing a small kiss to your forehead as you rest. 

There’s nothing he fears more than watching you crumble under his touch. He can’t help the intrusive thought of it—leaning down to press his lips to your face, then watching as his disease spreads from that simple touch. It corrupts your face, cracking your skin like sandstone. You disintegrate, and he holds only your ashes. 

The thought dissolves. 

Jason stands. Hovers. Watches. Some cursed guardian angel—a fallen angel who wants their purity back. 

The moonlight stretching into the room looks how an untuned piano sounds. The room looks mournful. Dark. Quiet. That silent mouth swallows all sound again. 

Jason rests on his knees, chin propped on the edge of your bed like a puppy begging for forgiveness. He whimpers, and begins to cry. 

“I was beginning to think the house was haunted.” 

Jason jolts awake. He’s curled in a ball on the ground. Cold sweat spreads along his body as he sees you—your eyes fluttering. Each of your breaths is slow and measured. 

He sits up eagerly. He cares little for the fact that his eyes are puffy, that his face is sore and scrunched from crying. You’ve seen him like this before. 

“Good morning, Jason.” Your voice reflects your pain—hoarse and scratchy. 

He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.” The tears come before he can stop them. He begs blindly for forgiveness, burying his face in your sheets, just centimeters away from touching you. He still cannot bring himself to do it—to hold you, to press your skin to his. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats. “I never meant to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect you. I’m so sorry.” His body feels wide and large in all the wrong ways. But his soul feels small. Do you need him to be big—to be the force that comforts you in this moment? Or do you want to see him weak and groveling? 

Jason doesn’t know who wants him to be what. His identity becomes muddled. 

He’s forgotten why you fell in love with him in the first place; you’ve never asked him to be anything other than himself. 

“Jason,” you say hoarsely. “I’m not scared of you. I’ve never been scared of you.” 

“But you are,” he whispers. “I see it in your eyes. I see that you’re afraid.” He swallows thickly. “And…I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you for that.” 

You don’t deny it because it’s true. 

“I…I am scared of what you can do, Jason.” Your hand, brittle and breakable, reaches out and rubs his hair. The touch shatters him. “But I know that the man who hurt me wasn’t you.” 

How can you love him? Forgive him? Yes, Jason wasn’t in control of his actions when he hurt you. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did. That you bled and screamed and nearly died because of him. That blood would be on his hands regardless. 

You rub his hair, scratching your nails against the roots. He cries at the side of your bed, a broken record sobbing apologies into the covers. His fingers twitch, then finally reach out to you. 

“You aren’t a monster, Jason.” 

He caresses your hand. Painfully gentle, as if you might crumble any moment. He’s relieved when you don’t—relieved as you welcome his touch. 

“You’re the most gentle soul I’ve ever met.” 

Jason is a product of his environment—a creature raised coldly, wildly. But he wants to be soft, to be something squishy and loveable. More than anything. And with you, his identity doesn’t become clearer, but he feels whole. His anger has not dissipated, his softness hasn’t hardened. Because those things will always be a part of him, no matter the mechanisms he’s used to survive in the wild. 

You erase all the expectations, the necessity to fit into a category or be labelled as something that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You see the animal, and you see his soul. 

If an animal is a savage, know that it was robbed of love. 

squinting down at his stupidly attractive face, you shake your head, “don’t be a smartass.” suddenly able to see the drool he left on your shirt you grimace with no malice. “ugh you got spit all over me you gremlin.”

he laughs aloud and pinches your side to make you jolt. “what this? it’s just drool.”

“same shit as spit.”

then he smiles, “no, spit is when i’m intentionally doing it. drool is mindless. see, i just love your tits even in my sleep.”

he leans over and bites you through your shirt. since you don’t wear a bra to sleep, you feel the press of his teeth completely and it makes you jolt and gasp again. you shove at his head and he just catches your wrists, still smiling at you.

the domesticated annoyance melts into something even more tender as his eyes seem to sparkle up at you. like he’s drinking in the sight of you like this but not consciously doing it. as though he could burn this memory into his soul and not flinch when his flesh form remembers.

you feel yourself fall into him when he raises your shirt over his head and ducks underneath.

“what’re you doing?” giggling as he presses wet kisses onto your abdomen. taking small bites enough to leave a little indent but not to break skin.

“shh it’s sunday baby.” he coos, “this is worship time.”

you’re still laughing and he’s making it up the valley of your breasts, bringing a hand under your shirt too. he gropes one of your breasts while the other takes familiarity in his mouth. suckling and moaning as though this was the best thing to ever happen to him. a laugh turns into a moan before you can stop it.

“shit— jay, i gotta study, come on.” you sigh but you really didn’t want him to move.

luckily he doesn’t because you don’t seem to stop him. he pulls your shirt up higher as higher until it comes off from over your head. unable to help it, your hands go into his hair and hold him there, humming as he groans against your skin. your back arches off the mattress and he decidedly perches you up a little higher with his hand slithering up your spine, stopping between your shoulders blades. bringing your chest closer to his mouth by pressing you right into him. he moans egregiously and sucks in pulses, making the most delicious pressure. he takes the opportunity to bite the flesh again. leaving teeth marks on your breast beside the reddish purple marks that were already forming.

he was purposefully giving you hickeys.

breathing through your teeth as you feel the graze of teeth a little harder, biting down and tonguing at you at the same time. when you tug at his hair, that’s enough for him to moan at the feeling and he looks up at you again, gauging your reaction.

when you finally get a look at your chest, it looked like you’d been punched by a bunch of little fists. shades of the galaxy—purple and blues with hints of red surfacing. you scoff and look at him. jason looks entirely sorry, his bottom lip sideways and his brows pressed low.

“oopsies baby i just meant to put a couple on there—”

you cut him off, “just a couple? i look like i’ve been beat up. oh my god, someone is gonna think i got jumped.”

he blinks and his expression falls, “who else sees your boobs?”

“no one?” you shove him but he just falls back ontop of you as if his bottom half wasn’t already slotted between your legs. regardless of what you’d just said, he’s still nuzzling into your skin like none of it mattered.

“good then. it’s my canvas.” he hums as he settles on the plush part in contentment. “five more minutes.”

you sigh, “three.”

“ten. and i’ll make you pancakes.”

pretending to think as your hands find their way into the hair at the nape of his neck again, he makes a small sound of approval. you use it to coax him more.

“eight and you have to make coffee too.”

he lifts his head so he’s face to face with you and squints before he pecks your lips. “i was gonna do that anyways.”

just as quickly as he got up, he settled back into the position he’s kept you in. though sleep tugged at you as the lazy sunday took full effect on more than just jason. and even though you debated him on how long you’d stay pliant under him, you both knew you could stay there forever.

bored and thinking of jason todd.