the whispers of supernatural inhabitants were hard to ignore, even if you had never seen one. many gothamites were convinced that there were more than most people had thought. recent whispers had began to state that the only vampire in the city was the batman himself — a figure that had risen in the past couple of years and that was the reason for his nocturnal lifestyle. 

the lingering fear of the supernatural that was inherently spread through the city had kept your circle small, allowing you to keep only a few friends that you had since you were a child. that was all you had needed for a long time.when you had started taking classes at gotham university, your circle widened slightly. halfway through your first semester in university, you found a job in a small bookstore not far from campus. being so close to the university, it was in a relatively safer neighbourhood for you to commute to on your own when the sun was down. 

residents of gotham knew: do not go out alone past 10 pm. 

that unspoken rule was not just due to the supernatural beings that lurked in the shadows. gotham was notorious for crime. the human residents were just as dangerous as the unknown vampire. 

the job at the bookshop became your sanctuary, a place where you knew you were safe no matter what. you were constantly surrounded by books and people who shared a passion for literature. you circle expanded more — only this time, you had met someone who infiltrated your life in ways you had not anticipated. 

jason todd. the son of bruce wayne. 

jason was a ghost in the bookshop, at first. he barely made a sound, sat in the back corner of the shop for hours with his eyes glued to the book. he never bought them, only read for as long as he could then quietly slipped out of the shop. 

one evening, when the shop was slow, you had quietly approached from under the guise of simply restocking books. when you neared his spot against the back wall — where you had set up a chair for him when you had realized what he had been doing — you quietly held a book out for him. Pride and Prejudice. 

he blinked at you silently, analytically, as if you were holding a book concealed as a weapon that was intended to hurt him. 

"you read this last week," you blurted out gently, the first words you had spoken to him. "and you picked it up the first day you came here. this is my own copy. take it, keep it. it's yours now." 

he continued to blink up at you blankly, though you could tell from his body language that he was guarded — a sight you had grown accustomed to recognizing in residents of this city. your arm didn't waver despite how much you wanted to pull back and hide behind the front desk. he reached up and quietly took the book from you, pulling it into his lap. his fingers pulled back from the smooth cover instantly, as if touching the cover was burning through his flesh. quickly. so quick that you barely processed the actions before he was turning back to what he was reading. his mouth tightened, the muscles around his lips tensed around unspoken words that were fighting to break through. 

you introduced yourself to him just as quietly, a soft whisper of your name, as you chose to ignore his reaction. you didn't push any further than that — didn't ask him to introduce himself, you already knew who he was. everyone did. instead, you forced yourself to move on with your maintenance tasks to keep yourself busy under the crushing weight of that interaction. you weren't sure when he had slipped out of the bookshop either. he suddenly disappeared from view like his presence had never existed in the shop to begin with, yet the silence that followed was suffocating. despite jason's intentional silence, his presence was tangible. comforting. a steady weight in the room that quelled your heart, your mind.

you liked to think that you had the same effect on him, that you could provide him the same amount of solace that he had managed to do for you, that the whispers of gotham's violence could be forgotten in the safety of the bookshop. 

your answer came a week later. 

a book. jason's own book. he strayed from his usual routine, he came in through the front door. loud, almost intentionally so, drawing attention. he made sure you heard him coming this time. thudding footsteps from the door towards the front desk, steady and consistent. thump, thump, thump, in rhythm with your pounding heart. your eyes followed him, focused on his form as he made his way closer to you. 

theatrics weren't his style. grand gestures were unnecessary. he brought you an exchange. it was simple. you gifted him a book. he gifted you one of his. he needed to give you reciprocity. this barter was quiet. swift. almost transactional. as if he was unaccustomed to these slow interactions. 

"jason," he mumbled simply after the surface of the book thudded on the desk. his voice was smooth in a way that you hadn't expected. rough around the edges, around certain syllables that molded in his mouth that he spat out harsher than needed — but smooth in the middle. it was a soothing melody that you were embarrassed to admit had affected you to the depths of your bones. 

"hi," you greeted softly in the return. the corners of your lips quirked up in a shy attempt of a smile. 

"for you," there was roughness, low. a grumble full of annoyance that masked the tenderness threatening to rise to the surface. his head nodded towards the novel before he turned and disappeared silently between the shelves to his corner in the back. quietly. natural. his footsteps light and practiced.

your eyes flickered down to the book he left on the desk, worn and tattered. loved. Pride and Prejudice. only, this wasn't your copy that he was returning. the cover was different, pocket sized, molded to fit the curve of the human body. his body. his copy. 

you flipped the cover to the first page, his name scribbled in a skinny scrawl. jason's copy. written in the top right corner messily. underneath, was your name, written in the same skinny letters that made up jason's. your copy. you swallowed that down and flipped a few pages ahead. annotations. pencil markings filling the margins of his thoughts, observations, doodles. 

you smiled at the sight.

you gazed into the dimly lit walkway between the shelves in front of you, letting the weight of his actions gloss over your mind for a moment. his intentionally loud entrance so you would know he was coming. the book that sat in front of you to the right in your peripheral vision, daunting. the stone look you had been met with previously had slowly turned into something softer, still grey and clouded, but with light threatening to peek through. suddenly, the quiet boy that was a silent entity in the shop became something more. something closer. tender. 

                   ‿‿‿‿

the shift was subtle. 

Jason started coming in through the front door. always when you were distracted behind the counter. he watched, timed, perfected his entrances. he knew. he had observed you, your quirks, reactions, your routine. he had it catalogued in his mind, imprinted in the groves like a permanent stain. he would walk in when your brows would begin to scrunch, eyes focused on the screen, or the papers, so far away from reality that you needed him to pull you back in. he relished in the distracted greeting you would give, a small 'welcome in!' paired with a flash of your teeth. his satisfaction lay in the way you would double take when you noticed it was him, a slower greeting, one that lacked the plastic rigidity of your customer service voice. he would barely nod in return, pushing down the lurch in his stomach at the sight of your smile, as he disappeared between the shelves and to his spot at the back. he couldn't let you see how it affected him. how you made him feel alive, more human than he had in years, how you made his heart feel like it could beat again. 

he didn't need this library, he didn't need this bookshop. but he needed you. you, who was safe, steady, oblivious to him and his nightly endeavours. the shop was quiet, always dimly lit, the perfect place for him to to waste time before he began his nightly patrols. 

this time, however, this time was different. 

he disappeared to the back, you watched the way the shadows invited him in, breathed in tandem with his movements like they were familiar with him. they were familiar, inseparable. except, he came back — book in one hand, the armchair in the other. he pretended not to notice your lingering gaze, the questions swirling in your irises that he refused to acknowledge. he set the chair down in the corner beside your front desk, a soft thud rattling the floor. the cushion exhaled under his weight, deflating and settling around him. 

there were a million thoughts, questions, scenarios on the tip of your tongue that you fought to swallow down. they burned your tongue, sizzling onto the backs of your teeth instead. he sat next to you. next to your space. reading. you turned back to the monitor, the spreadsheet of inventory pulled up. the numbers no longer make sense, blurring and mixing together. 

you could see him from the corner of your eye, hands cradling the paperback spine, head tipped down in comfortable focus. you didn't miss the way his shoulders remained tense, his chest deliberately moving up and down in steady intervals. perfect, almost too perfect. his legs were spread, thighs pressed to the cushions, and feet planted firmly on the floor, ready to flee — or fight. 

you weren't surprised. everyone had to be prepared in gotham. the attacks were steady, consistent, unmistakable. targeted attacks. bodies drained of colour and blood left in the streets for people to find. a message. the signs continued to point towards the batman — gotham's protector, the nighttime vigilante. it made sense, it did. the victims were dangerous men, men who stuck to gotham's shadows and preyed on the innocent. batman's targets. 

a comfortable silence settled between the two of you, charged with an undercurrent of electricity that both of you refused to acknowledge in fear that it would dissipate beneath you. he kept coming back, however. through the front door, disappearing to find his book before settling in the chair planted next to the front desk. 

he pretended not to notice your glances, lingering looks that stopped on his hands, his face, and you pretended not to notice the glares he would give to customers who stood too close to you, too close to the desk, loitering in your space and striking up conversation. conversation that was quickly silenced when the weight of his gaze would cut into the customers chest, slicing uncomfortably and driving them out of the shop. 

lingering looks turned into moments spent in close proximity during the long stretches when no one was in the store. you would plant on top of the desk, legs dangling beside him, dangerously close to brushing against his but not quite. never enough to calm the itch that ignited flames under your skin. 

having him in close proximity was tantalizing. he was an enigma that you were unable to decipher. he had seemed normal, despite how private he was. he was the son of gotham's richest man, a man that had thrust into the spotlight and scrutinized by every voice imaginable. his image was curated, and he never seemed to stray from it, from what you could tell. but you noticed the inconsistencies, the minor details — something jason hadn't accounted for. 

it wasn't that he underestimated you, no. he recognized your intelligence upon the first moments of meeting you. he just didn't expect you to be so analytical in your gaze. it unnerved him, kept him feeling scrutinized. he loved it. 

he loved seeing the gears turn in your head, the tightening of your eyes when your thoughts consumed you. it was for that reason that he had to keep you distracted. he had to keep you off his trail. he knew your body reacted to his presence, it was meant to. it was instinctual for your atoms to crave him, to want to be pulled in by the very scent of him. he avoided touching you through calculated movements. he wasn't warm, hadn't been in years. the chill of his skin would cut into yours without permission. the kind of cold that covered his body didn't have the undercurrent of blood ready to heat him back up. no, this cold was ghastly. uncomfortable. a sickening chill that caused bile to rise up people's throats. because despite how alluring he was to a human, it never stopped the weariness from prickling through their clouded senses.

but not yours. he heard the way your heart skipped a beat, faltering in your chest as if he was someone kind. someone with a soul. someone who wasn't a monster.

"there's… jason, are you bleeding?" you had asked, so concerned for his well being. you pinched the sleeve of his shirt between your fingers, attempting to pull it up to inspect the source of the blood. 

he knew exactly what you had been looking at. it was dried. not human, but animal blood. he needed to eat something before he saw you, otherwise the monster in him would claw up his throat, rip his flesh from the inside out to get to you. he never wanted you to know that side of him, to meet the side of him that could smell the agonizingly sweet scent of your blood thrumming through your veins. 

"it's nothing," he pulled his sleeve back down and over his hands, away from you, away from your touch. he desperately wanted to feel your skin. taste it. know it, but he couldn't. 

"you're gonna bleed all over the fucking books," you grumbled, attempting to keep the tone light. despite the pout on your lips, the concern was still evident through the shine of your teeth, something you were unable to hide.

"then, it's a good thing i'm not bleeding then, isn't it, angel?" he grumbled back, his hands finding his hips. the nickname never failed to hit you square in the chest, like a force that left you gasping for air each time. angel. he raised his brow as he tilted his head down to look at you. one thing that you had learned about jason todd was that he was a diva. those who met him described him as brooding, rude, volatile. the accusations of his character were taken as truth, stated as fact before his heart could be uncovered. no. he was a diva. no one had sassed you more than he did. 

you grabbed the book beside you and swung it at the arm that didn't have blood on it. there wasn't enough force behind your swing to hurt him, you knew that. the book smacked his arm with a solid thud ricocheting off and back towards you. you didn't want to think about how solid his arm felt under the book; how the muscle was cement, an impenetrable wall that provided the book no cushioning. he didn't flinch, the amusement in his eyes only seemed to burn brighter in the flickering of the overhead light. he would have been able to move if he wanted to. his reflexes were unparalleled — supernatural speed that the human eye would never be able to comprehend. he wanted you to hit him, wanted to feel something from you. have you close, even if it hurt him inside. 

"what the fuck was that for?" he grumbled, the dip in his cheek threatening to crack through with the curve of his lip. your eyes softened slightly at the sight of him unguarded. happy. softer. there was fire on your tongue, retorts that could burn him and keep the banter going, but they all fizzled out when you saw the hidden glee in his eyes. 

"let me grab the first aid kit," you whispered softly. you made no move to stand up yet, continuing to gaze down at him from your spot on the desk. his gaze was just as intense, dark eyes boring into yours, softening, lacking intensity. you lifted the book again and swung it at the same arm. he let the hit land, letting scent of your happiness fill his lungs and ease his hunger, yet simultaneously made him ravenous. you were a conundrum for his instincts. he yearned to be good for you, to cradle you delicately in the soft silence of the bookshop. but the primal part of him, the monster within longed for a taste. a taste he would never allow himself to have. 

you slipped off the top of the desk, stepping around and kneeling down onto the floor to grab the handle of the first aid kit. your head ducked from view to pull it free, the hefty weight of the kit pulling you down with it. 

"you owe me one for-" you stood up, heaving the kit onto the desk where you had been previously sitting, only to be met with emptiness. no sign of jason. words had failed you momentarily, trailing up your throat and dying on your tongue. how did you not hear him leave? you had been ducked out of view for less than five seconds. his swift disappearance cause an ache in your heart that you chose to ignore.

you didn't know the extent of your relationship with jason. you were friends, yes, but there was a pull towards him that rooted so deeply in your heart. except, he refused to go close to you. he had just proved that once again by leaving when you offered to tend to his wound. that clearly showed you that your relationship was strictly superficial, so it shouldn't mean anything to you. the two of you were friends. something that was hard to find in gotham. you should have been grateful that you had a friend. just friends.

but then, your relationship changed again. 

it was nearing the end of your shift, quiet in the shop, had been for hours. normal for a weeknight. jason was in his seat. a new book was pressed to his fingertips, his pointer finger gently slipped behind the page and slid down to curl around the thin sheet of paper to flip to the next one. you suppressed a shudder at the sight of his veiny hand working the pages of the book. a fucking book. god, you needed to get a grip on yourself. 

the gotham gazette sat in front of you, covering the keyboard and your mug as you read the front page article. 

LATEST VICTIM IDENTIFIED WITH TIES TO THE PENGUIN, COULD HE BE NEXT?                    by Vicki Vale

The body of a John Doe was found last Saturday at Port Adams at 5:53 am, according to police records. He has now been identified with ties to The Penguin. Coroner's report shows cause of death to be several lacerations to the…

you flipped cover over, folding the paper and shoving it to the side. fear was a uncontainable wildfire that blazed through the city. every crevice had messaging of the vampire that spilled — or drank — blood from gotham's residents, every mouth whispered accusations, rumours, so-called factual information about the assailant terrorizing the city. news outlets refused to connect the string of murders to a supernatural force, omitting anything that could send the public into a spiral.

but that couldn't stop the panic, the precautions that people believed would keep them safe: don't wear strong scents, he'll be able to smell you. don't invite anyone you don't know into your house, he can't come in without permission. wear silver, it'll burn his skin. don't-

it was beginning to get out of hand. you didn't necessarily believe you were safe, but you recognized the pattern. never the public, never the innocent residents of gotham. 

"what did it say?" he murmured out, a question that broke you out of your bubble. his tone wasn't inquisitive and he barely spared you a glance as he spoke. you almost missed it, would have missed it if your body wasn't painfully aware of his every move. the two of you had shared small conversations before, of course. though, they were always short, restrained like he was forcing himself to keep his head down, like being in your presence was already too much for him to handle. 

"they're classifying it as a homicide," your voice was breathy, distracted as your eyes read the rest of the article. targeted. drained. a crime committed by another human being — allegedly. 

his jaw ticked, a subtle clench in the muscle that worked near his ear. he could sense the subtleties in your tone, the implications of the rumours that spread through the city. 

"then it's a homicide,"

"the body was drained," you argued back, raising a brow at him. the newspaper crinkled as you swivled in your chair to face him.

"bled out," his gaze didn't lift from the pages of the book. his tone would have sounded rude, bored to anyone who didn't know him. you knew him now, had picked up on enough cues to tell. he would not have entertained this conversation with you if he did not want to.

"where did all the blood go? wasn't on the ground," 

"were you there, sherlock? should we get you on the case?"

you let out a soft huff, shooting him a playful glare, and — there it was. the lift of his lip, a hint of white peeking through the crack. he was smiling, if you could call it that, but nonetheless a jason todd smile. 

"there are no vampires in gotham," he muttered, his eyes rolling. they were clear lately, his eyes. less guarded, softer, calmer.

"i'm just saying, if the batman did come out as a vampire, people wouldn't be upset. or if it was robin? maybe red hood," you mused softly, a soft breath of concession before your lips pressed together. a soft choking sound exited out of jason before he quickly cleared his throat.

"batman doesn't kill people, neither does robin," jason's tone was simple, his throat working up and down as he cleared it for the second time. your eyes trailed the bob of his throat, listening to the vibrations as he cleared his airways. he shifted in his seat, almost uncomfortably, as if something was eating him from the inside. 

"so, red hood? could be him? i wonder what he looks like under that-" 

"what if it's you?" he turned the question back on you, his brows raising in accusation. 

"what if it is?" you added back, your tone low with conspiracy. the two of you were well aware that you were painfully human, lacking any qualities that would raise you as a suspect of supernatural tendencies. 

you, however, got lost in observing him. there was so much about him that you longed to understand deeply, to feel personally, intimately. the skin on his face was pale, and you wondered if it would be warm or cold to the touch. you wondered how the smooth expanse of skin would feel under the gentle trace of your fingertip. his hair was jet black, except for the streak of white in the front that was as pale as his skin. the tendrils looked soft, effortlessly so, always falling over his eyes and covering the feature you desired to see the most. 

"you're wearing a new perfume today," he broke you out of your reverie once again. embarrassingly so. it paralyzed you, left you frozen in your spot as you tried to process his words, let them into your mind and form a coherent response in return. he knew it too — that piece of shit. the amusement was evident in the way his finger came up to rest on his chin, and in the way his tongue poked into his cheek.

"yeah," you cringed, turning your face away in embarrassment at the crack in your voice. stupid. you cleared your throat with a sharp exhale as you faced him again. you handed him a book from the pile beside you, his fingers brushed against yours, innocently, of course. though, this was the first time the two of you had been in contact, the first time your skin had touched his. from a simple exchange of books, your fingers to his. his hands were freezing, like frigid waters crashing over your hands and paralyzing you. he heard the way your lungs caught in your chest, restricting momentarily at the shock of his marble limbs. this was what he had been trying to avoid. he didn't have warmth inside of him.

he couldn't help but pause as well, refusing to pull away for a moment, then pulled the book from your grip and back down to his lap, reminiscent of the way he had done the first time you had handed him a paperback. it was embarrassing how a simple brush of his fingers could cause your brain to short-circuit. to explode your synapses so ferociously that your eyes melted out of your head. 

the same guarded look slid over his eyes, his barriers raising back up in an instant. another vicious swallow sliced down his throat. his fingers clenched and unclenched on the novel, sliding against the cover with a force that threatened to rip it off. 

"might have been too generous with the sprays," you added cautiously. your brows furrowing at his reactions. 

"i like the old one more, it mixes with your skin better," he closed the book he was reading. you swore you could hear the deliberate breath he took after finishing his sentence. a deep inhale that expanded his lungs to maximum capacity and held them there to settle. then, he was disappearing again to place the back on the shelf. it was almost as if he floated as he walked, an elegance that was unnatural for a man of his stature. he was gone from your view, hidden in some back corner of the store. 

wait, mixes with my what? your brows furrowed as you stood up. there was a soft crash, a shaking of the shelf, and you were instantly on alert. your feet automatically followed him into the shelves, faltering at the sudden silence in the shop. 

did he leave? your skin prickled in fear? anticipation? the temperature in the room dropped several degrees and froze your fingertips. but then you saw him, hunched over a shelf, his body weight relying on the ledge to support him. his entire body was tense, muscles threatening to rip out of his skin, the cords twitching underneath his shirt. 

"jason?" you were panicked, immediately stepping beside him. your hands hovered over his arm — his deathly frozen arm — concern clouding your eyes, your judgement. "what happened? are you-"

he shuddered through an aggressive inhale, ripping himself up and stepping back. you stepped back as well, giving him space to breathe. he was pale, dark swirls peeking through the collar of his shirt and curling up his neck. the only sound coming out of him were ragged, choking gasps getting caught in his throat. 

you moved closer, your hands raising placatingly. he could see the apprehension on your features, the way your fingers trembled as you held them up. for him. all of this was for him. your scent moved with you, potent in the hair and sticking to his nose. it was everywhere. consuming. suffocating. he wanted more. he needed more. needed to taste, to— 

"i'm fine, stay away," he choked out again, his body flung back against the shelf behind him. the spines rattled on the shelves, a quiet crack rippled through the air and fell upon deaf ears. your heart was pounding at the sudden change. the two of you had been getting somewhere, getting somewhere good. he was talking to you. the twitch of his lips that threatened to reveal a smile was becoming more and more common, something you had been steadily uncovering from him layer by layer until he would feel comfortable enough to show you a real one. now, he looked like he was physically pained by the sight of you. 

"let me help? i can call-" you were practically pleading with him. you were confused. panicked. way out of your element. you were scared to touch him again. his reaction from a brush of your fingers was enough. had you done this to him?

you stopped, your voice cracking. your vocal cords shaking around your words,"j-jason? your eyes are red?"

"i have to go," the words ripped out of his throat. spat out with venom and disgust, slamming into your chest and knocking you back. he was gone in an instant, in the blink of an eye, before you could take air in your lungs to protest his departure. the only sign of his presence was the sound of the backdoor slamming with the force of his exit. 

you were shaking in the silence. worried, anxious, scared. confused. you were fucking confused. 

your legs were shaky, your knees cracking as you kneeled down to gather the books that had dropped in his panic, the ones that had been knocked off the shelf when his back collided with the wood. in the quiet of the aftermath, you began to re-shelve the novels, handling them with the same care you watched jason handle them with. 

ice flowed through your blood as your gaze leveled with the shelf he was gripping. your breath caught in your throat, the book slipping from your grasp and thudding on the floor again. your fingers shakily came up and pressed into the indented wood, smooth and still warm, shaped like fingers. molded to a hand that burned hotter than the sun. you swore his finger prints were branded into the wood, sizzled like they had every right to be there, like they deserved to be permanently etched into the place that had become his sanctuary. yet, the wood was ice cold when your fingers smoothed over the indents. temperatures that reflected frostbite seeped from the wood and into your finger, forcing you to pull back and attempt to sooth the ache that was caused instead. 

all you were left with was the puzzling sight of his red eyes, lacking the usual stormy blue that would warm the back of your neck when he thought you were too distracted to notice him. you always noticed him. 

the haunting red. vibrant and angry. like blood. 

                   ‿‿‿‿

after that incident, he had become a literal ghost in your life. he was one with the darkness. the shadows that clung to him swallowed him whole, enveloping him like an old friend. he always had been, you realized. there was a magnetic pull that centered jason, everything in his vicinity orbited in his galaxy. the tether was almost unbreakable, though you questioned whether you wanted to be released from his grasp.

you missed him. 

shame was a lump in your throat that you struggled to swallow. your routine was disrupted. tilted off its axis. what once felt like a steady comfort in your life, now left you reeling. every gust of wind that passed through the door as it swung open held the ghost of him. there were traces of him everywhere — in the chair that remained planted beside your desk that you refused to move; in the pile of books that accumulated beside the chair, his chair, that reminded you of him; in the wood that had bended to his will on the shelf in the back corner of the store. 

another shift passed with jason's absence. agonizingly slow. dull. the crack in your chest carving deeper with each day passing. 

you wanted answers. you deserved answers. 

he had looked at you as if you were the one hurting him. his eyes had turned red. or did they? you didn't know anymore. it was a blur in your mind, a dream. you had ran through those moments so many times in your mind that you couldn't distinguish between what was reality, and what was fantasy — rationalizations of your mind attempting to fill in the gaps of what you couldn't comprehend. 

unfortunately for you, the shift was far from over. you had inventory and stock to complete before you were allowed to go home. normally, the shipments would come at the beginning of the shift, allowing whoever was working plenty of time to complete the actions and make it somewhere safe before hitting the danger zone — or 10pm in gotham. 

the truck was delayed, held up due to multiple blocked streets that were covered in layers of ice from an attack by Mr. Freeze. the chill was noticeable, despite the attack being on the other side of the city. unfortunately, Mr. Freeze making an appearance didn't mean you could go home, it was just another day in gotham. 

by the time the truck did arrive, your shift was nearing it's end — meaning that nightfall was quickly approaching. stock never took long though, you believed you could finish it quickly and make it home safely, in a timely manner. you could do it. everything would be fine. 

everything was not fine. 

there was more inventory than you had accounted for, double than usual. granted, the past couple of times the inventory had arrived during your shift, jason was with you and offered assistance. but this time, jason wasn't with you. hadn't been with you for weeks now. 

and it was late, dangerously late. you were getting increasingly more worried with each minute that passed. you were nearing the end of the pile, though that didn't bring you any solace. you still had to make your way home.

from behind you, the back door crashed open, the steel hinges screeching under the force of the impact. the knob slammed into the wall, cracking into the wood with a sickening split. your heart lurched into your throat as a frightened scream tore out of you. you were back against the wall in an instant, looking around for an escape. 

a body fell through the door, landing on their knees through heaving breaths. a red helmet, a large body under a fitted black suit. red boots caked in mud. red hood. 

you could hear his heaving breaths through the helmet, his arms barely holding up his body. 

"red hood?" you choked out weakly, the adrenaline continuing to pump through your body. you were dizzy with panic. 

his head snapped up with force to meet your gaze. he crawled closer, forcing himself in front of you. 

"angel, i-" red hood spoke, his words continuing to be choked out. you legs pulled up your chest, keeping some space. red fucking hood was at your knees. the familiar pet name hung in the air and only deepened your confusion. he reached up, his fingers pressing into a button on the side of his helmet. a soft click echoed between the sound of his breaths before he ripped the helmet off his head. he kept his face angled down, but the familiar strands of black hair with a tuft of white were the first thing you noticed. jason. jason was red hood, and kneeling in front of you. 

his head dropped further as a pained groaned exited his mouth. there they were again, peeking out from the collar of his armoured plates. dark swirls, curling up his neck, blackening his veins and causing them to protrude against his milky skin. they looked identical to the first time you saw them, like the shadows in the corners that enveloped him. that's why they were familiar. they lived inside of him. 

you were speechless, lips parted in shock as you gazed down at him. there was grime covering his hands, his suit, his hair. his back tensed again, writhing under the pain that you couldn't see. he inhaled deeply through a staggering choke. his head leaned up, his eyes, half lidded, meeting yours. red. 

"forgive me," he choked out before his heavy weight settled on top of you. his face shoved into the crook of your head, nose nuzzling into your jugular. the scent of your blood up close was better than he had ever imagined. one of his hands cradled the back of your head gently, the cold of his hands seeping into your skull. his other arm slid around your waist, supporting your body against the hard shelves behind you. 

you froze in your position. you had never been this close to jason before, and now he was on you, his arms around you. he was inhaling deeply against your neck, aggressively. no matter how much he took, it was never enough. it would never be enough to quell the hunger that consumed him. 

"smell so fucking good," he growled softly, pulling you closer into him. you could feel every inch of his body, feeling the way his lungs expanded in his chest with every intake of air. his head lifted slightly, enough that you could feel the brush of his lips against your skin as his nose moved up towards your ear before back down to it's original spot on your neck. his shoulders began to shake with restraint. 

"fuck," he gritted out again, his breath fanning across your skin. you felt the soft press of his pillowy lips to your neck before he was gone from your body. his body flew back across the room, a loud woosh of air accompanying his shaking body. it was as if he was shoved by an invisible worse, hitting the shelf so hard that it cracked, forming a jason-shaped crater into the wall. 

you tried to ignore the way it felt when his lips touched your neck, how gentle he was despite his vicious tremors. 

his face scrunched in pain, eyes pinching shut. with that, his lips curled up and your heart stopped. fangs. two sharp, pointed fangs in his mouth, venomous. lethal. vampire. jason todd was a vampire. the vampire. gotham's vampire.

this entire time. the entire time you had known him. all that time you had spent together, coexisting in silence. the lingering glances, the nights he drove you home after your shift to ensure you got back safely. the — oh, god — the bodies. all the bodies, the blood spilled in gotham. it was him. it was him the whole time. 

and despite knowing this, you loved him. you were in love with him. the sight of him in pain was agonizing to view.

another invisible punch landed on jason's ribs, his body jolting and writhing. a soft whimper escaped his lips. a fucking whimper. 

you sat up on your knees, crawling closer. another choke left his mouth at the action. he was shaking his head before he could gather his words. "no," a beat and a heavy breath, "no, stay back. you can't… you can't come any closer,"

"let me help you, please," you whispered. pleading. you felt helpless, scared. you were out of your depth, in over your head. "tell me what to do, jason"

"you can't fucking help me, angel, i shouldn't have come here," he heaved. 

"well you did," you snapped back, crawling closer and settling down in front of him. just as he had done to you. the wood bit into your knees, grounding you through the intensity of his gasps. "so tell me what you fucking need," 

"you. okay? i fucking need you. it's only ever been you, and i can't—" he cut himself off to catch his breath. "i wasn't going to make it in time, i need… i need to eat, but i can't—"

your hands came up, gently moving to cradle his face. he groaned instantly, the weight of his head dropping into your palm. "eat? will it help you? if you… you need to drink blood, right?" 

he forced a weak nod, his eyes drooping. "you have to go, far away from me, angel, please, i'll be okay,"

you ignored him, inhaling a shaky breath. you crawled closer between his legs, angling your neck to the side. "then drink,"

"no," he gritted out. forced. leaning his head further back into the wall. 

"yes, you can, let me help you," you whispered. your chest met his, keeping your neck on display for him. it was taunting him. 

"i can't, angel, you don't understand, i won't be able to stop,"

"i trust you,"

"well, don't. i'm a fucking monster. i've been haunted by your scent for months. by the sound of your blood pumping out of your heart and through your veins. all i want is a taste," his teeth were clenched so hard you were sure they were going to crack. the light caught on his fang, taunting you with the prospect of sinking into your flesh. 

"it's okay, jase, i promise. i want to help you," your fingers curled into the back of his back as you brought him closer to your neck. he let out a shuddering breath, his nose pressing into the skin again. his arm curled around the back of your waist, lifting you up and settling you on his thighs. he pressed another shaking kiss to the skin before letting out a weak groan. 

"just a taste, and i'll stop. i promise, angel, i don't want to hurt you, would never hurt you, i—" he muttered out weakly, seemingly hit under delirium. he waited a moment, giving you second to back away. 

you had expected pain. you had expected piercing pain. you hadn't expected the rush of pleasure that tingled your fingers. you couldn't control the sharp gasp that escaped from your mouth as your hands tightened in his hair. his grip on you tightened in return, pulling you closer. 

he moaned into your neck as he lapped up the blood. you were exploding on his tongue, curing him. the sweetest libation he had ever experienced. he was ruined. your blood was pure of sin, strong, addicting. 

"fucking shit, angel, you taste so good," he groaned into your neck, sinking his teeth back in. he could feel his strength restoring, the effects immediate. the darkness in his veins slowly disappeared, his luminous skin smooth and unblemished once again. he should stop. he knew he should stop. but you tasted too good, too good to stop. he needed more, wanted— 

your eyes were drooping in pleasure, slowly going limp in his arms. your mind was hazy, though you didn't know if it was from the blood loss or how good it felt. there was a soothing warmth settling over your skin, like the rays of sun that had once illuminated gotham. the rays that you never saw outside anymore. the rays that you saw deep in jason's soul. 

jason forced his head back from your neck, his veins thrumming with the high of your blood. he was full. full of you, full of your life. it was different than drinking the blood of gotham's lowlifes, he didn't know how he would be able to go back. your head lolled forward without the support of jason's fangs in your neck, immediately falling onto his shoulder. he kissed up your neck, towards your mouth. you gazed up at him and desire surged, raw and invasive, up your throat, restricting your voice momentarily. you wanted him. needed him. 

this was not how you had imagined your first kiss with jason to be: rough, devouring, twinged with the coppery taste of your blood. but perfect.

a whimper rumbled deep from his chest and into your mouth, thickening the fog that continued to cloud your mind. his lips were slippery with your blood, tangy, mixed with the addictive taste of him — a taste that was meant to trap you, hook you into his web with no room for escape. you were his now. his. 

"hmmm, my angel, so sweet," he licked into your mouth to emphasize his words, his fangs retracted now that his hunger for blood was satiated. his hands held your hips down against his, and he ground his hips up against yours to punctuate your words, "wonder if you taste good everywhere." 

his words sent fire straight down your spine, desire pooling in the heat of your underwear. you practically whined into his mouth with want, words failed you. he lifted you in his arms, laying you on the floor and covering you with his weight again. you arms immediately pulled him closer. his frigid body seemed to be warmed by the desire blazing between the two of you.

your mouths clashed again, your tongue dragging over his teeth to catch his fang again. he smirked into your mouth before trailing kisses back down to your neck. his hand gripped your chin, exposing the bite marks in your neck that he had left moments prior. he gently pressed his mouth to the wound, eliciting a gentle whimper from you at the sensitivity. his tongue licked over both of the holes, letting his saliva pool into the bite marks. jason's venom had healing properties, ones that he never had to use often, ones that you obviously didn't know that he had. 

he trailed down your body, lifting your shirt to stop just under your bra. there were too many layers between you, he longed to feel your skin against his, feel every crevice of your body on his, feel you. your heart beating under his palm, steady, warm, alive. another time. he would get that another time. 

but he was impatient. he longed for a taste. not for your blood, no. the monster inside was calm. asleep. this hunger was different. this was jason. and he needed it more than he needed the taste of your blood. 

"tell me to stop, and i will," he mumbled against your stomach, licking and sucking every inch of skin he could find. you were here with him, it would be enough if that was all you wanted. 

"don't you dare," the thought of jason stopping, his mouth leaving your skin sent a flare of panic up your ribs. he popped open the button of your bottoms, pulling them down with a fever. the fabric was tossed behind him, discarded like it had personally offended him for simply being on your body, for keeping him away from the bare skin of your inner thighs. 

heaven. he was in a heaven he didn't deserve. he couldn't die, condemned to immortal life of suffering, but the space between your thighs made him feel alive. 

he dipped his nose into the crease between your hip and thigh, filling his lungs once again. you writhed on the ground slightly, attempting to nudge him to where you wanted him, needed him to be. 

"i know, i know," he cooed softly, his hands gripping your inner thighs and pushing them open. his half-lidded eyes landed on you, exposed, spread for him to see. "gonna give you what you need,"

he leaned down, his tongue tracing a line through your folds. your back arched immediately at the action, the wetness of his tongue. he dove in immediately after, his lips circling around your nub and sucking. his tongue circled your clit with precision, like he knew your body, like he had memorized every single thing about you. 

you were at his mercy, held still under his grip as he got his second fill of you. as he drank from you again, though this time it wasn't blood that he was craving. mind-numbing. it was mind-numbing. your hands gripped onto his hair, steadying yourself from the onslaught of his mouth. 

he moved down to your entrance, tasting your walls. he moaned into your pussy, pushing his face further into you. his tongue slid back up before sealing over your clit again. your hips slowly ground into his face, chasing the pleasure that he was giving you. your teeth were threatening to tear through your bottom lip with how hard you were biting into the flesh. 

"jason, please, please, please," you babbled softly, tugging on his hair. tugging him closer. to give you more, give you everything. and jason wanted to oblige. he was greedy. the darkness inside of him was screaming for you, to trap you in his grip. he leaned back to gaze up at your appearance. wrecked. panting. fucking ruined. 

he parted his lips, flashing his fangs extending out of his gums. a twisted smirk spread across his face at your hazy eyes locked into his fangs. he dropped his head back down, his tongue flattening against you with a new intensity. you choked on a scream with the force of his tongue flicking against your sensitive clit. the sharp points of his fangs dragged against your folds, causing a wave of slick to drip down you. he didn't let it waste, leaning down to lap back at your entrance. 

you could feel the pressure building up, between his tongue, his fangs dragging against your skin, begging to dip in for another drink. you were putty in his grasp. it was too much. electrifying, setting your veins on fire with every drag of his tongue. 

his hand left your thigh to settle his thumb on your clit, rubbing tight circles while he continued to lick into your. your body jerked, a soft shriek exiting your mouth as your body shook with the force of your release. your muscles tensed, your fingers tightening in his hair, keeping him in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face. 

his hand left your clit and smoothed up your stomach, keeping you pressed down as he continued to slowly drag his tongue along you, cleaning you up, leaving nothing of your release to go to waste. he groaned in satisfaction, releasing your clit with a soft pop, pressing one last soft kiss to the jumping muscle before gathering you back in his arms. 

you were limp against him through the shock of the aftermath of both events. 

his fingers gently carded through your hair, cradling you against his body. 

"you're so perfect, my angel, did so good for me," he whispered into your head. he shut his eyes, letting out another ragged breath, though this one wasn't due to insatiable hunger — but out of love. he loved you. he fucking loved you. he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with you, though he knew from the moment he had laid eyes on you that he was consumed forever. 

it took a little bit for you to regain your strength, for the shock to dissipate from your system. jason's gentle words of encouragement brought you back, the feel of his hands running up and down the expanse of your back. you lifted your eyes to gaze up at him, your eyes checking his well being, calculating. 

"good?" your voice was small and breathless, but not weak. there was hunger beneath your tone. there was blood around his mouth, dried, staining. your blood. trickling down his lips and towards his chin. red stained his teeth, stuck in the crevices of his incisors. his eyes were blue again, the familiar colour that you had loved so dearly. no trace of red, no trace of the dark swirls that littered his skin. he looked beautiful. utterly destroyed, but beautiful. 

his dishevelled appearance paralleled your own. you were shattered. eyes barely open as you inspected him, but he could see your senses returning back to you with each breath. you shuffled closer on his lap, ignoring the groan he bit back at the action. 

"hey, hey, don't move to fast, angel, i'm right here," he whispered, supporting your body in his arms. "just breathe with me for a second, yeah? that was a lot."

"so it was you," you whispered softly in return with a slow blink.

he nodded in confirmation, his eyes flickering over your features. memorizing each crevice. he wanted to keep you away from this side of him, to keep you safe. guilt pooled in his stomach at the thought. 

"just you?" 

"my family… we all are," his soft revelation hung in the air between you. you took a moment to consider the implications of his words. his family. 

"you said it wasn't batman," 

"i said batman doesn't kill people, not that it wasn't him,"

"now is not the time for semantics, jason, you said-" 

"you're so beautiful," he whispered, cutting off your words with his own reverence. his thumb traced the skin of your cheek. soft. his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them. his thumb moved from your cheek to press into your bottom lip. 

"thank you," he added softly after. you could feel the gratitude, not for letting him feed from you. for trusting him. For seeing beyond the monster he thought he was and just seeing jason. 

because that was what he was. he wasn't gotham's tyrant. the vampire that caused fear in the inhabitants of a city. 

he was just jason. 

your jason. 

an: i need him so bad it's insane. I feel like this is all over the place, but I'm very proud of it. please like, comment, reblog, send me your thoughts! I would love to know how people feel about this one. the thought of this has been eating at me for a while now, now enjoy!

special shoutout to @moonologyy for matching my freak. that's my goat. idk what i'd do if you didn't listen to every single one of my thoughts! i owe you

and shoutout to @athenxt for being my first (and continued) supporter!!! you're special to me, queen.

The Hall of Justice is always a location that you're happy to visit for multiple reasons. It ensures that you get a steady paycheck from Max, and it's nice to check in on the progress as the building slowly looks more like a locale for superheroes to frequent. 

And, of course, there's always one person that you're eager to see whenever you arrive. Maybe Guy and Kendra have clued in to it and Max knows that it puts a smile on your face to do so, which is why he always sends you to lead point on these errands. You've decided not to question a gift responsibility in the mouth. 

You approach the sanctum sanctorum that Michael sits behind, the familiar symphony of whirs and beeps clicking out a comforting, metronomic rhythm that informs you of one thing: he's here, and thus everything is moving in clockwork order.

You nod in the direction of a t-sphere that orbits your body in what almost seems anthropomorphic curiosity, taking care to hold the package in your arms with a little more care as you near. 

You know that you don't need to announce yourself; Michael knew that you were there the second that you even touched down on the perimeter of the estate, but you still take care to let your voice carry the remaining distance to him. 

"Here’s the delivery Mr. Lord sent me in to bring," You offer cheerily into the harmony of the room as you approach the nearest corner. Michael cocks his head in your direction as you settle the package down at the corner of the desk, the one that you know he's particular to having you stop by. You haven't been a frequent flyer here without picking up certain things that you know the clientele like to operate on. 

"Thank you." He husks in that calm, collected voice—you have to fight the surge of sensation that rushes down your shoulders as he casts up that pair of dark eyes in your direction. You offer him your most genuine smile, eager to prolong your visit a little longer.

You cast your plane of vision at the screen that is already running diagnostics on one half, a looping security feed circulating on the other. 

"What’re you doing today?" You ask politely, knowing that you won't be shooed off in the way that a certain winged warrior or Green Lantern would. All for the simple fact that you're actually interested. He turns coolly back to the computer, typing in a combination of keystrokes with casual elegance. 

"Improving the surveillance." He gives you by means of elaboration. "The t-spheres will be able to recognize from instantaneous bioscans who's new, and who's a repeat offender." 

At this, he points to the security feed and draws your attention to the t-spheres, which are a glowing red on the screen as they rotate through the many different panels they find residence through. You make a hum of appreciative interest as you place a hand on your hip.

You're distracted enough by the comprehensive display that you don't notice the sleek way he darts his eyes down to drink in the motion. 

"Really." You ask, leaning in a little to try and spot where you and Michael occupy the monitor. "Do they recognize me?" 

"Of course they do." He almost sounds mildly insulted at the prospect, taking care to draw your attention to where the two of you are small dots, your backs facing the birds-eye camera propped in one of the corner windows. "You’ve been here 87 times in the past 2 months." 

You blink at the specific morsel of information, and try not to overthink the fact that he had that number ready in the arsenal. "Wow. Any trends in my data?"

You know you're eating up precious time, but you can't help but go for it, especially since he's game to oblige your questions. You can't help but extend your stay a little bit, especially as you watch him produce a new tab without even looking to the trackpad. A small graph immediately manifests and grows across the real estate of the screen. 

"Least amount of time you've spent with a Justice League member is Guy at 5," He points a finger in a specific direction so that your eyes can track the data that demonstrates your frequency of visits, "Trending upwards with 10 at Kendra, and…..72 times with me."

Saying that you're struck by embarrassment is an understatement. Something swoops steep and low in your stomach as you stare at the marked difference in the graph labeled with your initials and next to it: "MR. TERRIFIC," where it details a whopping percentage of 82%. 

"What?" You say, feeling your mouth go dry, the heat rise immediately under your cheeks, your neck, your heart that squeezes in self-consciousness. "That’s not—correct." 

"The numbers don't lie," He informs you matter-of-factly, seemingly unperturbed by the facts that the data are rather mortifyingly delineating for the two of you in stark clarity. You try not to appear too appalled as he looks back up to you. 

"Well…would you look at that," you reply, trying to sound more breezy than you actually are. In fact, you'd rather prefer it if the ground opened up to swallow you entirely whole, rather than endure being exposed in such a vulnerable manner. 

"I didn’t realize I took so much precedent to you." He says, and he keeps that focused gaze trained on you. Almost as if he's trying to determine something that you're afraid he's becoming dangerously close to becoming aware of. It's all you can do to palm a sheepish hand to the back of your neck. Fumbling for words, you produce the most tame response that you can find.

"Well. Can’t I have my favorites on the Justice Gang?" You ask with a smile that you hope appears bracing rather than humiliated. You find yourself mentally floundering under the intensity of that searching gaze for a moment longer, before he finally releases you, turning back to the screen. Only then, can you slowly issue out the breath you've held trapped inside of you through your nose. 

"Guess it makes sense." He states, minimizing the graphic so that the feed can return back to the normalcy it was before you arrived. 

"How’s that?" You ask, eager to turn away from the discomposure you found yourself unexpectedly shunted into. You try to remember how to blink as you feel those eyes turn their attention back to you, a familiar pleasure as you bask in the attention of them. 

"I have my favorites on Max’s team, too." He asserts. 

It's a long, long, moment, elapsed slow that the two of you share that locked gaze, that that heat spreads strong, sweet, through your veins. As something pounds unsteadily in your ribcage, that threatens to expand tight and painfully the longer you remain besides him. 

There's a noise from the far end of the hall and you're the first to break, looking over to see the other members of the Justice Gang arriving back to the roost. Time for you to go, and put a bookend on this rather interesting interlude in your daily routine. 

"Ah, well," You say, giving one final smile in parting, "I'll see you later, Michael." 

When he says your name, paired with a low "See you around," you try not to think of the way that it goes straight to the junction of your legs, as you turn heel and beat feet away. As you leave, you don't take heed of how Michael watches you go, with all the words unspoken left hanging between you—until the next time you can exchange them again.