#5k words

He tried everything he could to keep her alive. Various types of acupuncture, medicines, herbs, visits to the apothecary, nothing seemed to work on the vicious disease ravaging her body.

On a moonless night, he knelt by her beside, his undead heart aching as she spoke her final words.

“Don’t… cry…” she murmured, her skeletal hand caressing his cheek and wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I may die… but my love will… persist through it all…”

Choking on a sob, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to be alone… I can’t stand it, I won’t let you go.”

She began to hum, carefully running your fingers through his soft locks. “Then I’ll come back… I promise. I’ll… find you…”

The clouds covering the moon moved out of the way for just a moment, letting its light shine on her face one last time.

“I love you, Valentine.”

With that, she drew her last breath.

It took several days for reality to set in. Valentine still came to her room every night, sat beside her slowly decaying corpse, and kissed her head.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

~

Darkness fell over the land, leaving you nothing to light your path. Everyone warned you to be home before nightfall, but you foolishly ventured on, wanting to gather more fresh herbs for dinner.

After all, you were out camping in such a nice cabin, why not take advantage of the change of scenery and eat something you gathered yourself?

Life in the city was hard, and you thought a change of pace would be nice. After all, in only a few months you were to be married off to someone you didn’t know.

‘Aren’t arranged marriages outdated?’ you thought to yourself as you forced your body to move forward.

Your father was wealthy and a bit distant, but you never thought he would marry you off to someone you hadn’t even met!

It was just supposed to be a walk to clear your head, to try and make sense of what your life was becoming.

Well, now you were lost in a dark and wintery forest with your phone dead and scarf blown away with the wind.

It was hard to see even your own two hands in the pitch blackness that surrounded you, and the only way you were able to move without tripping was to grab at trees as you passed by.

A part of you wanted to cry out for help, but knew that could possibly cause you more trouble than it was worth. After all, many predators lurked in the thick forest.

You didn’t want to come face to face with one.

Tears fell down your cheeks, and you struggled to keep yourself from giving in to the falling snow. If you just lied down, maybe you wouldn’t have to be so afraid anymore.

The soft white snow would cover you in a blanket, keeping you nice and comfortable through the rest of the winter until you thawed in the spring.

‘No, can’t have that. I’m sure some animals will dig up my corpse. They wouldn’t be able to have a proper funeral for them,’ you thought to yourself, puffs of white escaping your lips.

Though, as you continued on despite the wind tugging at your coat and your boots sinking deeper into the snow, it almost felt like something was guiding you.

When you turned towards the left, your worries eased and the wind was a little less harsh. You didn’t give it much thought, and continued to travel on the easier path.

Little did you know, fate was leading you somewhere you were supposed to be.

The cold nipped at your skin, your lungs struggling to breathe in the frosty air. All seemed hopeless…

Then, a light in the distance lit a fire under you. You forced your frozen feet to keep moving, trying your best to ignore the pain in your tingling limbs.

‘Just a few feet more…’ you thought to yourself, struggling to keep yourself from passing out. ‘Almost… there…’

Before you lost consciousness, you saw the source of the light. Someone was holding an old fashioned lamp, a beacon in the snow storm..

~

Waking up was a bit easier this time. Though the light spilling past the gap in the curtains hurt your eyes, you didn’t feel as uncomfortable and weak as before.

You sat up on your own, blinking the sleep away as you finally took in your surroundings.

“You’re awake,” a voice called out from a dark corner of the room. Focusing in, you were able to make out a pair of red eyes, instantly alerting your mind to potential danger.

Human beings didn’t have scarlet eyes, but your father had told you many tales of those who did. Hoping the creature didn’t realize you noticed, you nodded.

“Haven’t you been taught to speak? You seemed awfully talkative in your sleep. I could hear you whining from down the hall, you know.”

Your face burned, and before you could retort he emerged from the shadows.

“I see your fever is down. The nurse has been fretting over you day and night.”

The man had long white hair that cascaded down his shoulders and red eyes to match. He was disturbingly beautiful, like a painting that came to life. It wasn’t human, his features were almost uncannily perfect.

He didn’t bother to hide his fangs when he spoke. “(Name) (Last Name), correct? Quite the coincidence…”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, we haven't formally met,” he mused, at your confused expression.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who was this handsome stranger? Or yet, the better question…

“What are you?”

The man rolled his eyes, sitting on the foot of your bed. “Quite the rude question, isn’t it? I’m a vampire, is that what you wanted to hear?”

He stared down at you, his gaze cold and unenthusiastic. “More importantly, I’m your fiancé.”

It was too much to process at once. You read plenty of horror and romance novels about vampires, and he fit the description perfectly. The strangest part about the situation wasn’t that he was a vampire though.

“You’re Valentine? As in the man I’m ENGAGED TO-“

“The very same.”

Nothing about him seemed like good husband material. His eyes seemed empty and lifeless, like those of a porcelain doll, and he was so cold towards you, his future fiancé. Even when his eyes were on you, it seemed like he was barely paying attention to what you had to say!

“I won’t marry you, I just won’t!”

Valentine smiled, a first in the little time you had known him. Instead of it being warm and inviting, it sent shivers down your spine.

“Oh, really now? We’ll see about that.”

The window curtains opened just enough for you to peek out, his gloved hand avoiding the sunlight. The outside world was blanketed in a thick sheet of snow, and you looked on in horror when you realized it reached the window.

“We’ve been snowed in. You’ll be staying here for at least a week until the blizzard passes through.”

He turned, brushing off his suit pants before walking to the door. “Breakfast will be served at 7 am sharp. A servant will arrive here shortly to get you ready.”

The vampire paused in the doorway, hesitating a moment before turning back to look at you. “… and don’t try to leave, you’ll freeze to death in that snow.”

With that, he was gone and you were left alone to fume in your room while you waited for help to arrive.

~

You walked the halls of the manner, noticing the only lighting came from extravagant light fixtures that hung from the ceilings. There were no windows besides the one that had been in your room, and you could only assume that was to protect the master of the estate.

‘I can’t believe father married me off to a vampire…’ you thought to yourself as you were guided to the dining room. Your father promised you the man you were to be wed to would take care of you and give you the life you had always wanted, but you were beginning to doubt his words.

When you were being dressed by the older servant woman, you were able to see your body in the mirror more clearly than usual. Your fat belly, rolls, and little imperfections made you wince. There was no way Valentine had agreed to be your husband knowing what you looked like, perhaps he had sinister intentions in mind.

No one as beautiful as him would want you, vampire or not, so you kept up your guard. Despite your insecurities, you were a confident woman that refused to be bullied or tricked into some loveless marriage.

By the end of the week, you’d have him end this engagement and go back home to your lovely cats!

Valentine was waiting in the dining room, an empty plate sat in front of him. He sipped on a glass of what you wanted to assume was red wine, hsi eyes never leaving you.

“Took you longer than I expected. I don’t like to wait, I’ll have you know.”

You bristled at his words, sitting across from him. His eyes cut to the servants, who quickly scurried to the kitchen to bring out your breakfast.

“I will be busy through most of the day and night. I suppose you can call this a trial run for our married life,” he said, sipping on his wine before letting out a sigh.

“…”

You didn’t want to speak to him, not when he seemed so cold and unfeeling. Even if you didn’t want to be married to him, it almost hurt to know your potential future husband would have no affection for you whatsoever.

When you weren’t looking, his eyes softened ever so slightly, and he took in your full figure before his features returned to his neutral expression.

For just a split second, you thought you saw the faintest crinkle in the corner of his eyes, the look of someone who was incredibly fond of another.

You shook your head and ate silently. It was just your imagination, you weren’t even sure if vampires could love someone.

After breakfast, you walked back to your room, shutting yourself in before pulling a book from the bookcase and plopping onto your bed.

Valentine watched as you left, that softness returning as he contemplated whether to let himself fall in love with a mortal again.

~

Earlier that night, Valentine felt something stirring in his chest. His undead heart felt heavy, and even his cold body felt like it was on fire.

Valentine staggered down the endless halls, gripping the wall as his chest ached. Something was wrong, and in his heart he knew he had to do something to prevent a terrible tragedy.

One of his servants approached, brows furrowed. “Master, are you alright-“

“The door… open the door.”

He fell into the snow, nearly crawling as he tried his best to move with the unyielding pain coursing through his body. Had he been poisoned?

“Master… there’s a girl out in the snow!”

From that angle, both the servant and Valentine could see a young woman through the nearly blinding snow. You, however, could not see them.

The second he laid eyes on you, the pain melted away into bliss, spreading through his limbs and all the way to his heart.

“Get a lamp and tell the others to prepare a room.”

After you collapsed, Valentine carried you to the room and watched over you through the next several days as you battled a horrible fever.

He refused to partake in his usual meals, unable to leave your side for even a second.

“Could it really be her..?” Valentine questioned aloud, his fingertips brushing against your feverish cheek.

When you woke up in a daze, he was the one to slowly lower you back down and tend to your illness.

Although his undead heart felt heavy in his chest when he left your side, he knew that if you truly were who he thought you were… you’d be upset when you woke up.

He loved you more than anything, but stayed silent as he wiped the sweat from your brow and monitored your health.

Valentine didn’t want you to be in an unhappy marriage, where you had no choice in the matter… so if you couldn’t fall in love with a vampire, he wouldn’t make you stay.

He loved you enough to do that.

Part of him was also afraid. You were reborn as a mortal, a being that would never be able to live alongside him without becoming a vampire yourself.

What was he supposed to do when you died too? Valentine steeled himself, not wanting to get too close. He had to emotionally distance himself, or he’d end up distraught for centuries again.

Though, as you fell asleep after eating breakfast, Valentine couldn’t help but return to your room. You were laying across the bed, a few pages into the book you had been reading before you fell asleep. It seemed your fever had taken a lot out of you, and you were still exhausted.

He carefully tucked you under the thick comforter, leaning down to inhale your familiar scent before kissing your forehead.

His body ached to be closer to yours, to feel your warmth sink into his pale skin as it once did all those centuries ago. Valentine had taken on no other human bride, for there was no other human he loved as much as you.

When he retired to his bed chambers for the afternoon, he couldn’t help but grope the bulge in his pants, his cheeks flushed as he sat on the edge of his bed.

Your scent had driven him to the brink of insanity, it took everything in his body to leave your sleeping body alone.

He slowly stroked his cock, thinking of the small glimpse he got of your naked body as he changed you out of your soaking wet clothes.

The snow left you cold and wet, and he didn’t want you to get sick… but still, his eyes had fallen on your ample bosom and thick thighs. How he wished to reach out and touch what was his, what had always been his…

But he didn’t, and as he touched himself he imagined an alternative reality where he did. He imagined you waking up, smiling as he kissed and touched you…

The vampire came, panting softly as the shame started to set in.

Did he really deserve you?

~

You woke up to an empty room in the afternoon, your body aching from the awkward sleeping position, but otherwise you felt… fine. Your book was sitting on the nightstand nearby, a bookmark placed between the last pages you read.

Although you didn’t remember placing the bookmark, you chalked it up to your mind playing tricks on you.

“Lunch is ready, madam.”

The sound of your door opening hadn’t registered, but the voice of the maid who stepped in to fetch you had. You jumped in surprise, nearly falling over before catching yourself on the nightstand.

“A-alright… I understand.”

You didn’t see him during lunch, figuring Valentine was busy with his work he mentioned before. You only saw him again while you were exploring, passing through the labyrinth-like hallways to try and find something to entertain yourself with.

“Lost?”

He appeared behind you, almost as if he had been your shadow this entire time.

“F-fuck! I swear to god, everyone in this place is trying to give me a damn heart attack.”

The man chuckled, but for some reason getting any kind of reaction out of him felt strangely… good.

“My apologies, I was just curious as to why you were wandering about like a scared little rabbit and assumed you were lost.”

This made you puff out your cheeks. “I am in fact not lost, I’m just exploring. I can find my way just fine, thank you.”

He watched you open a random door, only to be greeted by a supply closet. When you turned to him with your face heated with embarrassment, he scoffed.

“I’m going to be your husband, you can ask me to show you around, you know. I don’t bite.”

Valentine pretended to not be hurt when you flinched at his words, and simply turned. “What is it you want to see?”

You recovered from your temporary fear of his fangs sinking into your throat and replied. “… do you have a library, by chance?”

“The biggest library you’ll ever see.”

Valentine was completely correct. An entire wing of his manor was dedicated to his vast collection of books, ranging from historical records to smutty romance novels.

You tried to avert your gaze from the more… erotic covers but he notices they caught your eye. “Interested? I have a good selection of romance novels. You can take whichever ones you’d like to read to your room and keep them.”

That was rather kind of him, and it confused you slightly. How could a man that was supposedly as cold as him allow a stranger to take books from a collection he so obviously adored?

The shelves were free of dust, some older books fixed with new bindings to keep them from falling apart. The vampire must have spent a lot of money on the upkeep of his novels, so why were you allowed to just keep any you so pleased?

“Master Valentine, the phone is working again.”

The two of you glanced up at the servant as he walked in, carrying a rotary phone. You weren’t sure if those even worked anymore, and you only used one before when your grandma was alive.

“Ah, thank you Francis. (Name)…”

He tilted his head towards the phone, his expression back to being neutral. “Call your father, talk to him about your thoughts on the marriage and… tell him you have my consent to end it if you must.”

His words left you standing there in a daze as he left the room to give you privacy. You blinked, trying to regain your composure before you took the phone.

“Father… it’s me, (Name).”

The man on the other line huffed. “I thought you went and run off somewhere. Good to see you’re with Valentine, as this is his number after all. Tell me, do you like your future husband?”

You weren’t exactly sure anymore. Regardless, you sighed and continued. “Father, I told you I don’t want to be in an arranged marriage, can’t you-“

“I didn’t say you had any choice in this, little girl,”

You froze at that, recognizing the belittling tone of his voice. Though you didn’t hate your father, he wasn’t someone you enjoyed being around because of how he treated you like a pawn for his business affairs.

“Without marrying into the Valentine family, our business will go under. He’s willing to make some trades and deals that will have us set for life and pay for your sisters’ college funds. I sent you to college, didn’t I? You wanna repay me by putting your father in debt?”

You didn’t reply, your face falling as he sighed on the other end. “Do whatever you have to do to make sure this marriage goes through, or don’t bother coming home.”

You handed the phone back to the servant, silently carrying your books to your room as you tried not to cry. It seemed like you truly had no other choice now. After being so adamant about not wanting to marry him, would Valentine still even want you?

I mean, who would? You didn’t even like yourself, with your fat thighs and tummy that was too big. What could you even offer him in return?

With a glance at the romance novels, you blinked before getting an idea. They were all aimed towards women like her, with plump female protagonists. Perhaps… he had a fetish of some sort?

You went to dinner with your plan in mind, wearing the elegant red dress provided to you by the servants. Perhaps you could seduce him…

Valentine’s eyes followed your figure as you walked into the dining room, with an expression you couldn’t quite read. His grip on silverware tightened to the point it bent in his grasp

“You look… nice.”

Your plan was working so far, but you had to remain coy for it to keep going. “Thank you, Valentine. I didn’t want to look like a mess if I’m eating with such an important man.”

His eyebrow raised, but he didn’t question your sudden change in attitude. Instead, he sipped his drink, his red eyes following the curvature of your body before landing on your plump thighs.

Soon, you finished eating and left, giving him a little smile before you did. It left him feeling confused and… oddly aroused.

~

Valentine leaned back in his chair, glancing at the portrait of his deceased lover that hung atop the fireplace in his office.

You looked just like her, the same hair, same eyes, and the exact same, perfect figure he had always adored.

In his time, women with soft, plump bodies were considered the beauty standard, and it hadn’t changed for him. His pants tightened as he thought of you in that red dress, how your fat tits were barely within the expensive fabric.

He wanted to see you in even finer clothing… and perhaps none at all.

‘No, I can’t think of her like that…’ he thought to himself, rubbing his temple. ‘I don’t want to get attached…’

As he began to start signing the endless paperwork on his desk, a knock on the door caught his attention. Valentine could already pick up your scent through the door, so he straightened himself up in an attempt to hide his erection.

“Come in.”

You stepped into his office, still dressed in that red dress, though your heels were gone. Instead, you walked towards him barefoot, your eyes on his.

“You seemed stressed today…” you murmured, walking behind his desk. Before he could ask what you were doing, you reached around his chair.

Your hand moved down his chest and under his suit jacket. His skin felt cold, and you hoped he could still get it up being undead and all.

“I can help you relax, you know? Take it… as an apology for being so rude.”

At this point, the only worth you could find in yourself was making use of your body, but in his eyes you were showing him affection and care.

Was it truly okay to relax while your hands worked to unbutton his pants? It had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman, and you were his love, his everything…

Valentine let out a shaky breath as his cock sprung forward, precum dribbling from his tip as your hand held onto his length. He hissed, holding onto your arm as you stroked him slowly.

“I… could be a good wife. I might not have the most experience, b-but I’ve read plenty of novels. I can make you feel good…” you murmured against his neck, your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and arousal.

Watching his chest rise and fall rapidly as he panted and moaned with each jerking motion made you feel a certain something… but you didn’t give in to it. You were here to pleasure him, that was it.

“A good wife, hmm?”

He sighed, his eyes half lidded as he looked back at you, noticing your warm cheeks and pouting lips. Oh, how he wanted to feel your lips on his while you jerked him off. Every single day he imagined something like this whole touching himself, desperate to feel his lover against him again.

He came in your hand, panting as your thumb blushed over his pink tip. You brought your cum soaked fingers to your lips, shyly licking the excess liquid away as you stepped back.

“… I hope you feel better now,” you murmured, glancing towards the door. You did what you were supposed to do, you got him off and now you should leave.

Part of you didn’t want to, but you turned towards the door anyways, unable to look him in the eye.

“Where are you going?”

You stopped when you felt his hand on your wrist, keeping you in place. “… I did what I was supposed to, and now I’m going to bed.”

“… supposed… to?”

Valentine's undead heart clenched in his chest. Did you think that all you were to him was something to use? You didn’t get understand his feelings for you.

“My father… he said I have no choice but to marry you. It’s… not that I don’t like you. I just…”

He watched as tears fell down your chubby cheeks. “I’m afraid you… won’t want someone like me.”

Without further warning, the vampire lifted you up and placed you on his desk. You blinked in surprise, your face heating up when he tore the expensive red fabric of your dress from your chubby frame.

“I guess I’ll have to show you then… I can be a good husband to you.”

He didn’t care anymore. Valentine loved you, and didn’t want to see you upset. He pried your thighs open, kissing down your soft belly, paying extra attention to the soft fat of your tummy before placing a kiss on your damp panties.

“V-Valentine, you don’t have t-“

His fangs scraped against your thigh, making you go quiet. “Shh, I’m going to make you feel good, alright?”

Your panties were tossed to the side so he could get to your bare cunt, his tongue immediately pushing inside of you. His fingers flicked your clit, and he looked up at you with pussy drunk eyes.

No one had ever touched you like this before, much less buried their head between your thighs! Your mind was already fuzzy with pleasure, and your clit twitched against his lips.

His fingers replaced his tongue so he could focus his mouth on your clit, and you could feel something building up in your belly with each curl of his digits.

You came once, but he wasn’t done. As you felt fireworks going off in your lower belly, he latched onto your clit and added another finger, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you through your orgasm.

Even when you touched yourself in the past, you had never felt such pleasure. Suddenly, you started to squirm, feeling embarrassed. “S-stop, I’m gonna-“

Your pussy gushed, squirting fluid all over his pale face. You just squirted for the first time, and on your betrothed of all people!

There was no time to be embarrassed, though. The vampire between your legs was too busy licking his glistening lips as he stroked his cock, ready to be inside of you.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this, my love. No idea at all…”

You were too blissed out to question his words. Valentine had no intention of telling you that you were his reincarnated love… at least not yet.

He pinned your wrists above your head, peppering kisses along your neck before biting down gently, marking you as his.

His cock pushed into you, the slick dripping from your cunt making it easy to begin moving immediately. This was heavenly to him, being inside of the woman he adored after thinking he’d never see you alive again. Nothing would take you away, he couldn’t bear it.

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” he said through muffled whimpers, his hands gripping the fat of your hips. “I can’t let you go… you’ll be my wife, I’ll t-take good care of you!”

He lapped the blood from your neck, groaning into your sweat covered skin as he felt you clench around him.

Valentine came inside of you, his body feeling warmth for the first time in centuries. This was how he was supposed to feel, absolutely in love.

Your future marriage was saved, and you now knew that Valentine was fond of you, though for now… you weren’t sure why.

As you laid next to him, he decided to love your human self without guilt.

After all, you said you’d always return to his side.

~

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———————

As Hawks and you strolled down the bustling city street together, the warm sunlight bathed your faces, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air that nipped at your skin. Hawks' golden-brown eyes, hidden slightly behind his yellow visor, scanned the crowd with a sharp, vigilant gaze, always on the lookout for any potential threats or emergencies. His blonde hair, though neatly styled, had a windswept quality to it, as if he had just returned from soaring through the skies on a daring rescue mission.

Your hand rested comfortably in the crook of Hawks' elbow, his muscular arm flexing slightly beneath the yellow fur lining of his aviator jacket. The golden pattern etched into the fabric seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, a testament to the prestigious hero's status and accomplishments. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and security, knowing that you were accompanied by one of the most renowned heroes in all of Japan.

However, as you turned a corner, you noticed Hawks' easygoing demeanor take a sudden turn. His jaw clenched, his free hand balling into a fist at his side as he stared daggers at a man walking a few paces ahead of you. The stranger, a well-dressed man in a suit, had turned to smile at you, his eyes lingering on your face with a hint of flirtation.

"Hey there, beautiful," the man called out, his voice dripping with false charm. "Why don't you ditch the bird brain and let me show you a real good time?"

Hawks' wings flared out behind him, the red feathers ruffling with barely contained irritation. He stepped in front of you, his tall, muscular frame a barrier between you and the lewd stranger. When he spoke, his usually jovial voice was tight and sharp, laced with an undercurrent of warning.

"Watch your fucking mouth, asshole," Hawks growled, his eyes narrowing behind his visor. "That's my girl you're talking to. Show some goddamn respect."

Despite Hawks' obvious annoyance, you couldn't help but find his overprotective display rather endearing. A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stepped around Hawks, placing a calming hand on his arm.

"Aw, Hawks," you teased, your voice light and playful, "I didn't realize you were so possessive. I thought heroes were supposed to be selfless and put the public's needs before their own?"

Hawks' gaze flicked to you, his expression softening slightly at your teasing words. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side.

"Well, you're part of my public now," Hawks retorted, a hint of his usual charm returning to his tone. "And I always take good care of what's mine. So keep your eyes to yourself, got it?"

Despite Hawks' clear warning, the man seemed either too oblivious or too arrogant to heed the hint. He flashed you another slick grin, undeterred by the towering hero glaring daggers at him.

"Aw c'mon, I'm just being friendly!" the man said with a laugh, taking a step closer to you. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be hanging around with a cold fish like him. I could show you a real good time, sweetheart."

Hawks' eyes flashed with barely suppressed rage behind his visor. The muscles in his arm, still wrapped around your shoulders, tightened, pulling you more firmly against his side. His wings shuddered, the red feathers rustling ominously as he took a threatening step towards the man.

"This is your last warning," Hawks snarled, his voice a low, menacing rasp. "Back off, before I make you regret ever laying eyes on her."

But still, the man persisted in his unwanted advances. He reached out a hand, trying to brush his fingers along your cheek in a mockery of a gentle caress. The brazen action made Hawks see red.

Without warning, Hawks lunged forward, grabbing the man by the collar of his suit jacket. He slammed him against the wall of the nearby building, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh. Hawks leaned in close, his visor nearly touching the man's nose as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Listen here, you goddamn prick," Hawks hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm not going to tell you again. Stay away from her, or I'll make sure you regret it in the worst way possible. Got it?"

The man, finally seeming to realize the gravity of the situation, nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with fear. Hawks held him there for a long moment, his grip unyielding, before tossing him carelessly to the side. The man stumbled and nearly fell before righting himself, quickly putting as much distance between himself and the furious hero as possible.

Hawks watched him go, his jaw clenched tight, before turning back to you. His expression was stormy, his eyes still blazing with anger behind his visor. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he spoke.

"Fucking hell," Hawks muttered, shaking his head. "Some people just don't know when to quit." He looked down at you, his gaze softening slightly as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "You okay, babe? That asshole didn't upset you, did he?"

You stared up at Hawks in surprise, your eyes wide with astonishment at his uncharacteristically aggressive behavior, especially in such a public setting. In all the time you had known him, you had never seen Hawks speak to anyone with such harsh, vulgar language, let alone in front of potential witnesses. The hero was always so careful to maintain his public image, always putting on a show of charm and wit to win over the hearts of the citizens. Seeing him lose his temper so easily was a revelation.

Hawks seemed to sense your surprise, and he sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair in a gesture of frustration. His wings ruffled and shifted behind him, the red feathers trembling slightly as if disturbed by his own actions. When he spoke again, his voice was still tight and strained, but there was a note of apology in his tone.

"Shit, I'm sorry about that," Hawks muttered, shaking his head. "I didn't mean for you to see me lose my cool like that. It's just... I can't stand the thought of anyone else laying a finger on you. You're mine, you know? And I won't have anyone disrespecting what we have."

To emphasize his point, Hawks slid his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He dipped his head, his nose nuzzling into your hair as he inhaled deeply, as if trying to mark you with his scent. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a possessive caress.

"I know I'm being a little overprotective," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, intimate rasp in your ear. "But I can't help it. You just bring out this primal side of me, you know? This need to claim you, to make sure everyone knows that you belong to me and me alone."

He pressed a searing kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a long moment before he pulled back slightly to gaze down at you. His golden-brown eyes, visible behind his slightly fogged visor, swirled with a mix of emotions - possessiveness, desire, and a deep, abiding affection that made your heart skip a beat.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Hawks promised, his voice fierce and determined. "Not as long as you stay by my side. You're my partner, my love, my everything. And I'll be damned if I let anyone tear you away from me."

As you and Hawks continued your patrol, the hero's irritation only seemed to grow with each passing minute. His wings, usually held in a calm and confident manner, began to twitch and flare with agitation. You could see the feathers ruffling and shifting, a clear sign of his growing displeasure.

It wasn't until you noticed Hawks' eyes narrowing behind his visor that you realized the cause of his distress. Several elderly men, likely retired heroes or simply men of a certain age with a penchant for youth, were staring at you with open appreciation and admiration. Their eyes lingered on your curves, their gazes roaming over your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

"Fucking perverts," Hawks muttered under his breath, his hand tightening around yours. "Don't they have any goddamn respect?"

But Hawks' anger only seemed to grow with each lewd look and whispered comment. Finally, after one particularly brazen old timer winked at you and said something that made his friends guffaw loudly, Hawks had had enough.

Without warning, he tugged on your hand, pulling you unceremoniously into a nearby alleyway. The sudden movement caught you off guard, and you stumbled slightly, but Hawks' grip on your hand kept you steady. Once in the relative privacy of the alley, Hawks spun you around and pressed you up against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

"Hawks, what are you-" you started to ask, but your question was cut off by the hero's mouth crashing against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss. His hands roamed your curves, squeezing and caressing your breasts, your hips, your ass, as if trying to stake his claim on every inch of your body.

"I can't fucking stand it," Hawks growled against your mouth, his voice rough with jealousy and desire. "The way they look at you, like they want to devour you whole. It makes me want to fucking kill them."

He nipped at your lower lip, his teeth tugging on the tender flesh as he ground his hips against yours. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach, and it made your core clench and ache with a sudden, desperate need.

"Hawks, please," you whimpered, your back arching as his hands slid under your shirt to palm your bare breasts. "Not here, someone might see."

But Hawks seemed beyond reason, too consumed by his own jealous rage and lust. He ripped your shirt open, sending buttons flying across the alleyway as he bent his head to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he pinched and rolled the other between his fingers.

"Fuck, I need you," Hawks panted, his breath hot against your skin. "I need to be inside you, need to claim you, need to make sure everyone knows that you belong to me." He shoved a hand under your pants, his fingers pushing your panties aside to delve into your dripping folds without preamble.

"Hawks!" you cried out, your head falling back against the wall as he plunged two fingers deep inside you. "Not here, please, someone will hear us."

But Hawks was too far gone to care about the potential consequences of their public tryst. All he cared about was sinking into your welcoming heat, about fucking you with wild abandon until you were screaming his name for all of society to hear.

As Hawks ground his hips against yours, the evidence of his desperate arousal pressing insistently against your core, a litany of soft, needy sounds began to spill from his lips. The hero, usually so controlled and put together, was now panting and whimpering like a man possessed, his composure shattered by the intensity of his desire for you.

"Hawks, please," you gasped, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders as he rutted against you with wild abandon.

But Hawks seemed beyond reason, too consumed by his own hunger to heed your warnings. His hips jerked and bucked, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against your clothed sex with a delicious friction that made your toes curl in your boots. The hero's usual grace and finesse were gone, replaced by a primal, animalistic need to claim you, to mark you, to make you undeniably his.

"Can't… need you…" Hawks grunted, his voice a low, desperate rasp between clenched teeth. His hands roamed your body with a fevered intensity, squeezing and kneading every curve and dip as if trying to memorize the shape of you. "Mine… all mine…" He hooted softly, burying his face into your neck.

Soft, breathy coos and hoos spilled from Hawks' lips as he lost himself in the heat of the moment. The usually eloquent hero was now reduced to making needy, wordless sounds of pleasure and possession as he rutted against you like a man starved. His hips jerked and shuddered, the thick bulge of his cock throbbing and twitching with the force of his arousal.

"Hawks, baby, please," you whimpered, your head lolling back against the alley wall as he ground against you with wild desperation. "Take me somewhere private, I can't… I need you too, but not here…"

But Hawks was too far gone to listen, too consumed by the all-encompassing need to be one with you. With a last, shuddering groan, he fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, freeing his aching cock from its confines. It sprang forth, long, hard and leaking, the engorged head already slick with precum.

"Gonna… fuck, gonna fuck you now," Hawks panted, his voice a low, guttural growl.

With a low, desperate growl, Hawks spun you around to face the rough brick wall of the alley. Before you could utter a word of protest, he had your pants and panties shoved down to your thighs, exposing your most intimate area to the cool air. The sudden exposure made you gasp, your body instinctively tensing for a moment before relaxing again as Hawks pressed himself against your back.

"Shh, baby, let me handle this," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, soothing rasp in your ear. He nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. As if to emphasize his point, Hawks nudged the dripping head of his cock against your slick folds, the engorged flesh parting your lips with ease. He shuddered, his hips jerking slightly as he coated himself in your arousal, using your own juices to slick the way for his impending entry.

"Hawks, wait-" you started to say, but your protest was cut off by Hawks' hand covering your mouth. His large palm muffled your voice, his fingers pressing against your cheeks as he silenced you with a firm, unyielding grip.

"I know, baby, I know you want to scream for me," Hawks purred, his breath hot against your ear. "I love the sound of my name falling from your pretty lips, love hearing you scream your pleasure for all to hear." He punctuated his words with a slow, teasing roll of his hips, his cock sliding torturously along your slit, not yet breaching you but stoking the flames of your desire nonetheless.

"But not here, hmm? Can't have you alerting the whole damn city to what a dirty girl you are for me," Hawks taunted, his voice a low, wicked rasp. "So be a good girl and stay quiet for me, okay? Let me take care of you, let me give you what you need."

With that, Hawks thrust forward, the thick head of his cock pushing past your entrance and sinking into your tight, welcoming heat. He shuddered, his hips jerking slightly as he forced himself to hold back, to not plunge in balls-deep without warning.

"Fuck, baby, so fucking tight," The male groaned, his grip on your mouth tightening slightly as he fought for control. he began to move, his hips setting a deep, steady rhythm as he fucked into you with long, powerful strokes. The hand over your mouth muffled your cries of pleasure, forcing you to bite down on your lip to keep from screaming as Hawks claimed you, right there in the alley where anyone could stumble upon your sinful tryst.

As Hawks' thick, hard length plunged into your dripping core, your inner walls stretched and yielded to accommodate his impressive size. The sensation of being so utterly filled, of feeling every throbbing inch of him splitting you open, was almost too intense to bear. Your body trembled and quaked, a litany of muffled moans and whimpers spilling from your lips and vibrating against Hawks' silencing palm.

Hawks' cock felt like velvet-covered steel as it pistoned in and out of your needy channel, each powerful thrust striking deep and stirring up your molten heat. The ridges and veins along his length dragged deliciously against your sensitive walls, igniting sparks of pleasure that raced up your spine and made your toes curl in your boots.

With every drive of his hips, Hawks' pelvis pressed against your ass, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling and teasing your sensitive flesh. His heavy, cum-filled balls slapped against you with each thrust, a lewd, obscene sound that mingled with the slick, wet noises of your coupling.

Hawks' cock was so large, so thick, that you could feel every throb and twitch as he moved inside you. It stretched you wide, the drag of his flesh against yours setting your nerves alight with sensation. The way he filled you, so completely and utterly, made you feel owned, claimed, possessed in the most primal way possible.

As Hawks fucked into you with deep, relentless strokes, your body began to quiver and tighten around him. Your walls fluttered and clenched, gripping his pistoning length like a velvet vise as he stoked the fires of your impending release. The hero's cock was a delicious invasion, a thick, pulsing heat that set your very core ablaze with need.

"Fuck, baby, you're… so goddamn perfect," Hawks grunted, his voice a low, rough rasp in your ear. His words, rough and possessive, only served to heighten your arousal. Your body responded to his dominant tone, your walls clenching down around him like a silken fist as he rutted into you with wild abandon. The hero's cock was a brand, searing your most intimate places and marking you as his own.

As Hawks continued to take you from behind, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust, a symphony of needy, desperate sounds spilled from his lips. Soft coos and hoots, reminiscent of the cries of a lover drunk on lust, filled the air around you. The usually eloquent hero was now reduced to making wordless, animalistic noises of pleasure as he rutted into you with wild abandon.

You whimpered, your voice muffled against his silencing palm. Your body shuddered and trembled, your hips rocking back to meet his increasingly erratic thrusts.

Hawks could only groan in response, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps against your neck. His large hands gripped your hips with bruising force, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled you back onto his cock with each driving thrust. The hero's control was slipping, his desperation to claim you, to mark you, to make you undeniably his own, consuming him entirely.

In a moment of pure, unbridled passion, Hawks unfurled his massive wings. The red feathers shimmered in the dim light of the alleyway as he wrapped them around you both, cocooning your entwined bodies in a shield of downy plumage. The soft, warm embrace of his wings enveloped you, muffling the lewd sounds of your coupling and creating a intimate, secluded space just for the two of you.

"Mine… all mine…" Hawks panted, his voice a low, possessive growl as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His hips jerked and shuddered, the thick length of his cock plunging into your soaked, clenching heat with a force that stole your breath. The hero's wings tightened around you, sheltering you, hiding you from prying eyes as he lost himself in the primal act of taking his lover.

Hawks' hoots and coos grew louder, more insistent, as he felt his release fast approaching. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside your gripping channel. The hero was chasing his pleasure, driven mad with the need to fill you, to mark you, to stake his claim on your very soul.

"Gonna… fuck, gonna cum…" Hawks grunted, his hips slamming against yours with a force that rattled your bones. His words, rough and filthy, sent a bolt of white-hot desire straight to your core. Your body clenched, your walls squeezing his pistoning length like a velvet vise as you teetered on the brink of your own explosive release.

As Hawks' thrusts grew more frantic and desperate, his hips slamming against yours with a force that rocked you forward, he pressed himself flush against your back. His strong, muscular chest was a solid wall of heat against your shoulder blades, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your skin. Hawks' arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you against him, as if he never wanted to let you go.

"Need... need your warmth," Hawks panted against your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your flesh. His lips brushed against your skin with each word, leaving a trail of searing kisses and nuzzling caresses. "Need to feel... your heat around me... always."

The hero's voice was a low, needy rasp, rough with the intensity of his desire. His hands roamed your curves, squeezing and kneading every dip and swell of your body as if trying to memorize the shape of you. Hawks' fingers splayed across your stomach, pressing against the soft flesh possessively as he rutted into you with wild abandon.

Soft, breathy coos and hoots spilled from Hawks' lips as he lost himself in the heat of your body. The sounds were intimate, intimate in a way that made your heart race and your core clench. They spoke of a need so deep, so all-consuming, that it set your very soul ablaze with desire.

"Warm... so warm inside," Hawks murmured, his hips grinding slowly against yours as he savored the feeling of your tight, wet heat engulfing his aching cock. "Can't... can't get enough of you."

Hawks' lips brushed against your ear, his tongue flicking out to trace the delicate curve. His teeth nipped at your earlobe, tugging on the sensitive flesh as he shuddered against you, his body trembling with the force of his desire. The hero's breath was hot against your skin, his chest heaving with each ragged, desperate inhale.

"Never... never want to let you go," Hawks groaned, his voice a low, possessive rumble in your ear. "Want to stay... buried inside you... forever."

With each word, each touch, each kiss, Hawks sought to brand himself upon your very being. He wanted to crawl inside your skin, to merge his essence with yours until you were one and the same. The hero was consumed by a hunger for you, a need that could never be fully sated. And as he rutted into you with wild, desperate abandon, he made sure you felt every inch of his all-consuming desire.

As Hawks' thrusts grew more erratic and desperate, his wings fluttered and ruffled around you, the red feathers brushing against your skin like the gentlest of caresses. The hero's body was a furnace pressed against your back, his heat seeping into your pores and warming you from within. With each coo and hoot that tumbled from his lips, Hawks' wings seemed to tighten around you, cocooning you in a shield of downy, protective plumage.

"Mine… all mine," Hawks panted, his voice a low, possessive growl against your neck. His hips jerked and shuddered, the thick length of his cock plunging into your soaked, clenching heat with a force that stole your breath. "My mate… my woman… my everything."

Hawks' words were interspersed with soft, breathy coos and hoots, each one sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a fresh wave of desire in your core. The hero's desperation was palpable, his need to claim you, to mark you, to make you undeniably his own, consuming him utterly.

His wings, so often a symbol of his strength and power, now served as a living, breathing blanket. They wrapped around you, shielding you from the cool night air and enveloping you in a warm, intimate embrace. The ruffled feathers tickled your skin, the soft under down caressing your flesh like the gentlest of touches.

"Need… need to fill you," Hawks grunted, his hips slamming against yours with a force that rattled your bones. "Need to… fuck… need to make you mine." His words were punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust, his cock driving deep and striking a spot that made your vision go white with pleasure.

The hero's wings tightened around you, the feathers molding to the curves of your body like a second skin. They kept you warm, kept you safe, kept you his. With each coo and hoot, each desperate, needy sound that spilled from Hawks' lips, the hero sought to brand you with his touch, his scent, his very essence.

"Mine… forever and always," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, possessive rumble against your ear. His teeth nipped at your neck, his lips kissing and suckling at your skin, as if trying to leave a mark, a claim, a promise of his eternal devotion.

And as Hawks lost himself in your body, in your warmth, in your love, his wings kept you enveloped in their feathery embrace. A living, breathing shield that spoke of his all-consuming need to protect you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity.

Hawks' thrusts grew more frantic and desperate by the second, his hips slamming against yours with a force that bordered on punishing. The hero was driven by a primal, all-consuming need to claim you, to mark you, to fill you with his essence until there was no doubt in anyone's mind that you belonged to him and him alone. He panted, his voice a low, guttural growl against your neck. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, gripping you with a bruising force as he rutted into you with wild abandon. "I need to make you feel full and satisfied.."

The hero's words were filthy, obscene, but they sent a bolt of white-hot desire straight to your core. Your body clenched, your walls squeezing his pistoning length like a velvet vise as he fucked into you with a single-minded purpose. Hawks was chasing his release, desperate to paint your insides with his ribbons of white, to stake his claim on your very womb.

"Gonna… gonna fill this pussy up," Hawks grunted, his hips jerking and shuddering against yours. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside your gripping channel, the thick head flaring and catching on your sensitive walls with each driving thrust.

Hawks' wings fluttered and ruffled around you, the feathers brushing against your skin like the gentlest of touches. He nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing against your racing pulse as he panted and growled with the force of his desire. The hero's body was a furnace against your back, his heat seeping into your bones and setting your very soul aflame.

"Mine… all mine," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, possessive rumble against your ear. His words were interspersed with soft, breathy coos and hoots, each one sending a fresh wave of desire crashing through your body. The hero's desperation was palpable, his need to fill you, to claim you, to make you undeniably his own, consuming him utterly. And as he lost himself in your heat, in your tight, welcoming body, Hawks knew that he would stop at nothing until he had branded you with his essence, until he had pumped you so full of his seed that there was no question of who you belonged to.

"Fuck… can't… can't hold back," Hawks groaned, his hips slamming against yours with a force that rattled your bones. "Gonna… cum."

And with a last, desperate thrust, Hawks hilited, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he buried himself to the hilt inside your gripping heat. Thick, hot ropes of his seed gushed forth, painting your walls white as he marked you, claimed you, made you undeniably his own. Hawks shuddered and jerked against you, his wings tightening around you like a shield as he rode out the waves of his intense, all-consuming release.

As Hawks' orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, his body shuddered and jerked with the force of his release. A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, the sound a mix of pure masculine satisfaction and a deep, primal contentment. His hips jerked and shuddered against yours, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he pumped stream after stream of his hot, thick seed deep into your core.

For a long moment, Hawks remained still, his body pressed flush against your back as he caught his breath. His wings wrapped around you like a warm, feathery blanket, shielding you from the cool night air and keeping you enveloped in his embrace. Soft, breathy coos and whines spilled from his lips as he nuzzled into your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"Fuck... that was... incredible," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, sated rumble. His hands, still gripping your hips, relaxed their bruising hold, his fingers now gently caressing your flesh. The hero's body was a furnace against your back, his skin damp with a sheen of sweat from the intensity of his release.

Hawks' cock, still buried deep inside your fluttering channel, gave a last, lazy throb before beginning to soften. Thick rivulets of his seed seeped from where you were joined, trickling down your thighs to pool on the rough concrete beneath your feet. The hero's wings tightened around you, as if he never wanted to let you go, to let a single drop of his precious essence escape your perfect, welcoming body.

"Mmm... I could stay like this forever," Hawks sighed, his voice a low, contented purr against your ear. His lips brushed against your neck in a soft, lingering kiss, his teeth grazing your skin in a gesture of possessive affection. "Buried inside you, keeping you full of my seed, my perfect little mate."

But even as he spoke, Hawks knew that they couldn't stay in this alleyway indefinitely. As satisfying as this moment was, the hero was still a public figure, still bound by the expectations and demands of his role. With a soft, rueful chuckle, Hawks nuzzled into your neck, his voice a low, coaxing murmur against your skin.

"Come home with me, sweetheart," Hawks purred, his hands sliding up your sides to cup the soft swells of your breasts. He kneaded the pliant flesh, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, coaxing them to stiff peaks beneath your shirt. "Let me take care of you properly, let me worship this gorgeous body the way it deserves."

---

Bruce wakes up slowly and then all at once. His brain, a little addled from the sucker punch (it's been a while since someone got the drop on him like that), is still sharper than most. Sharp enough, anyway, to remember that he just got knocked over the head by some type of clone of his dead son and that said clone wants to steal his currently disoriented and aggressive son from the Cave. From Bruce's protection.

That's all Bruce really needs to remember. He's sprinting before he realizes he even stood up.

There's screaming from the containment cell. Angry, frenetic words barely coherent, if at all. And then there's a much clearer voice shouting, “Dick, stop it! I’m right here! The Joker’s not here!”

Oh god. It's exactly as Bruce feared. Something happened. Dick snapped, reverting back to whatever frenzied, uncharacteristic state led him to attack the Joker.

Jason - not his Jason, but another Jason, and that distinction is imperative - sees Bruce's approach, but rather than attack again, he runs to the cell’s control panel. “Bruce, what's the code to the cell?”

Bruce takes a better look at said cell and, more importantly, its occupant.

Dick is leaning against a wall with one hand and punching with the other. He's not putting a dent in the ballistic glass, but the glass is certainly leaving a dent in him. His hand is swollen and bruised with blood bubbling up on his knuckles. Even so, he doesn't seem to notice, almost robotically attacking the wall, even as his blood smears across it and his bones make audible cracks.

“24-16-81,” Bruce replies, rushing over to the control panel himself. But Jason - other Jason - has input the code before Bruce can do so himself.

“Get out of here, Jay!” Dick yells again, never letting up. If that wall was the Joker, he’d definitely be dead by now.

Jason hits confirm and watches as the cell doesn’t open up like he expects it to. Instead, there’s a soft hissing. He turns to Bruce. “It’s stuck. What’s your backup plan?”

“It’s not stuck,” Bruce replies, and that soft, dismissive tone makes Jason’s jaw tighten.

“Well then what-?”

Thud.

Jason spins around to see Dick collapsed on the floor. He fusses desperately with the panel, but it seems frozen on the green “ACTIVATING” screen.

“It’s definitely stuck!” Jason spits back, trying not to panic.

Bruce, however, looks as calm as ever.

Jason wants to shoot him. In the face. More than once. “What the fuck??” he shrieks. “Help me! He could be fucking dead, and you’re-!”

“He’s not dead,” Bruce insists.

Inside the cell, there’s a loud whoosh of air and then nothing at all. Dick doesn’t flinch, still unresponsive on the ground.

The puzzle pieces click in Jason’s mind, and then anger beyond any anger before swells in his chest. “You gassed him???” He has to hold his wrist to keep from grabbing his gun.

“No,” Bruce counters. “You did.” He takes a step closer, starting to crowd Jason (or the Jason look-alike, perhaps) away from the control panel.

“You gave me the code to gas him!”

“He was a danger to himself already. If you opened the door, he might’ve hurt you too.” Bruce settles the intruder with a glare. “Now, tell me who you really are, because Jason Todd is dead.”

Jason considers clocking Bruce again, if only to escape the question, but then he remembers that he still doesn’t have the code to the cell. He needs Bruce awake if he wants to get Dick out of this. (And he does want to help Dick, because… Well, he really did kill the Joker. He really was going to do it again. He clearly gives a shit about Jason, even if he’s a little unhinged about the whole thing.) There’s really only one option, no matter how much Jason may hate it.

“Talia al Ghul brought me back. Lazarus Pit.”

Bruce looks thoroughly unconvinced. And he is, indeed, thoroughly unconvinced. “I had sensors on the casket. I would have known if she took his body.”

“Yeah, if she had opened the casket. But I busted through it while it was shut. And then, y’know, dug myself out of my own grave.”

And if Bruce was thoroughly unconvinced before (and he was), now he’s entirely unconvinced. “She resurrected you while you were still inside the casket?” He arches an eyebrow, and Jason winces, because things are never good when Bruce decides to use a facial expression other than apathy, anger, or disappointment.

“No. I…” Jason shakes his head, stepping away. “Why are you making me explain myself? I’m fucking here, aren’t I? And I sure as hell wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t have to.”

It’s a mystery. Jason Todd, back from the dead, via the Lazarus Pit. Kind of.

It’s possible. Certainly, it’s possible. But Bruce can’t trust someone who can’t explain themself. Especially this guy, who looks like Jason, sounds like Jason, and acts like the complete opposite of Jason. His little boy never held such disdain, wouldn’t hate him with such ferocity.

… right?

Bruce takes a breath and does something he’s never done before: ignores his instincts. (“Danger! Danger! Danger!” they shriek. Bruce shoves them in a mental filing cabinet.) “Why do you hate me, Jason?” he asks softly, allowing himself to feel the pain he’d been suppressing for four years now. “Because I didn’t save you?”

Jason needs a moment to process that Bruce isn’t grilling him anymore. He’s asking patiently, watching with a vulnerability Jason has never seen on the man before. There’s no trick to his question. If anything, he sounds hurt.

“I…” Jason has been working hard to build up the Red Hood persona. He’s been planning his dramatic reveal for weeks. He’s been imagining Bruce’s face when he realizes, when he finally decides that Joker’s victims are far more important than any moral code. He’s furious that this - this pathetic attempt at a jailbreak - is how he actually reveals himself. He gets angry at Dick and then Bruce again, remembering that maybe Dick is the reason he’s here, but Bruce is the reason Dick had to go after the Joker again. Bruce is the reason there’s still a Joker for Dick to kill again.

“You let the Joker live,” Jason says simply, wishing he had a speech prepared. This all could have been so much more dramatic. It would have been beautiful. Poetic, even. “And you brought him back after your favorite son killed him.” He laughs dryly. “Or is the new kid your favorite now? You know, what with Dick breaking your precious ‘no killing’ rule?”

Bruce takes a step forward, but Jason steps back in tandem. With a sigh, Bruce backs off. “You’re mad I didn’t avenge you?”

“No.” Because it’s not that simple, and it never has been. “I’m mad because that fucker is still killing people, and you not only won’t stop him, but you brought him back! I’m mad because somewhere out there, another father lost his son to that bastard. I’m mad because you didn’t let me be the last.”

Bruce considers the boy - the man - in front of him. He’s so much taller than before. He’d always been a little short, what with malnutrition slowing his growth, but now his height rivals Bruce’s. His eyes are the same blue, nose has the same curve to it. The same dark hair frames his face, but there’s a shock of white, right where his bangs used to curl against his forehead. The scar on his left ear, the one on his chin, the one on his right hand - they’re all gone, but those same freckles still dust his skin.

Jason certainly looks the part. He knew the code to get in. No alarms have triggered, alerting Bruce to extradimensional material, so the odds of Jason being from another universe are low. Even the story about Talia lines up; she’d been in Nanda Parabat with her father for months and then dropped off the radar a few weeks ago. The League of Assassins has been abnormally active ever since. Ra’s has made it clear in the past that the Lazarus baths are exclusive to himself, so if Talia put Jason in one… Well, it stands to reason that Talia could be hiding from Ra's’ wrath.

“If you really are Jason” - and Bruce has the sinking feeling that this is true - “you know better than that. I don’t play God.”

“It’s not playing God! It’s doing your damn job! It’s-!” Jason cuts himself off with a wave of the hand. “Forget it. You know I’m not a fake. Open the damn door already.”

“Jason,” Bruce says, and it’s that this-is-an-order-do-not-question-me voice he always did back when Jason was Robin. It makes him straighten his posture and clench his fists on instinct. “Did you ask Dick to kill the Joker?”

If Bruce wasn’t holding Dick hostage, Jason probably would have shot the bastard for that. “No! He wigged out because you clearly did a shit job of helping him process his grief. You know he was hallucinating? He thought I was a goddamn voice in his head, Bruce. Good fucking job.”

Bruce refuses to take the bait, tempting though it might be. “Why were you at Arkham, then?”

“I was stopping him from killing the Joker. You’re welcome, by the way.”

It makes no sense. Jason just went on a huge rant about how the Joker’s death would be beneficial for society. Now he’s claiming to do exactly what he accused Bruce of: saving the Joker.

“Why?”

Jason pushes past Bruce, returning to the control panel. In the cell, Dick seems to have regained some sense of consciousness, but he’s doing a lot more drooling and staring than any conscious person really should be. “Doesn’t matter; your precious clown is alive and well.” Or… maybe not well, but alive, at least. “Now open the door already.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s drooling,” Jason emphasizes.

Bruce reassesses the situation. There really is little risk in checking on Dick now. The biggest concern, really, is that Jason is going to grab him and run off. “66-18-94,” he says, approaching the cell wall.

“What will that do? Fill the cell with water?”

“Just do it,” Bruce hisses.

Jason grumbles. If anything happens other than the cell opening, he’s not going to hold himself back from shooting Bruce this time. Fortunately for all involved parties, one cell wall retreats into the floor. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Dick,” Bruce calls, kneeling beside the boy - man, whatever, he’s just a kid - and taking a better look at his hands. The left hand looks okay, maybe a little scraped up, maybe a little bruised. The right hand, by comparison, looks like an abstract sculpture. Someone's nightmare version of a hand, where the number of fingers is constantly changing and the skin is purple, green, and red. Knuckles are bent out of place. The thumb is missing its nail (a consequence of poor punching technique, which means Dick definitely wasn't with it when he tried to put a fist through the wall).

Dick hums, gaze oh-so slowly drifting to Bruce. “Mm. Hey, B.”

“Okay,” Jason says abruptly, kneeling down beside them. “Good talk, Bruce. We’re leaving now.”

“No!” Bruce doesn’t mean to shout. Or sound so desperate. In fact, he isn’t sure why he spoke at all. “I… Alfred should look at Dick’s hand. And you probably need a few hours of sleep. Adrenaline crash.”

Jason sizes Bruce up, eyes narrowed, glare unwavering. “... hypocrite,” he finally says. Then he nods slowly and stands up again. “Just until his hand is wrapped.”

They’re definitely not leaving that soon. Bruce doesn’t say this, of course, but his thoughts feel like cannon booms. Fortunately, Jason must have his earplugs in. He doesn’t call out the lie or even indicate that he noticed it.

Fine with Bruce.

---

“... Bruce…?” Dick’s voice sounds like rocks in a blender. His throat feels like rocks in a blender in a trash compactor.

“Still here.” It's Bruce's familiar rumble, softer than usual and, as always, gruffer than necessary.

“What… what happened?” Dick sits up slowly, noting the cast on his right hand and the IV in his left.

Bruce sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You don't remember?”

“I… don’t remember what?”

“You dropped off the grid, and a week later, I get news that you’re in Arkham, beating the Joker to death.” Bruce’s face remains unwaveringly stoic. This is his default, but it’s also his way of coping with extreme emotions. Dick gets the sense that this is an I-am-so-angry-I-don’t-know-how-to-process-it expression and not a typical apathetic expression.

Dick’s eyes trail to his hands. Somehow, stoicism is worse than wrath. “I’m sorry. I… I’ve been seeing things. And I’ve been trying to ignore them, but Jason tackled me, and I couldn’t get him to move without talking to him, and it’s just been a nightmare ever since.” The words tumble from his lips like sand in an hourglass.

“Hn.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I am.” Dick looks up, frustrated tears stinging his eyes. He just feels so… out of control. He’s always had an acute sense of his body, his actions, every tiny movement and twitch. He had to as an acrobat. That went doubly for vigilante work. But now…

Now he can barely tell truth from reality. How can he react properly if he doesn’t even know where he is, what’s happening?

“I know you are,” Bruce says absently, fingers massaging a temple. “I know. I’m getting you help.”

Dick glances up. There’s a cheap drop-down ceiling above them, crumbling from the force of the air vents. He realizes, suddenly, that they’re not in the Cave. “Where are we?”

Another sigh. Bruce won’t meet Dick’s gaze. “Arkham medical wing.”

“Oh. Oh. So we aren't… I’m still…?”

“You killed the Joker. What should I have done, Dick?”

The air freezes. Time slows to a crawl. Dick’s ears ring. He blinks once, twice. “Wait, I killed him?”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes tightly. He looks almost annoyed to answer the question. (Has Dick asked him the question already?) “He died in the hospital two hours ago. Kidney failure and severe blood loss.”

“Oh.” Dick had assumed that Jason stopped him before he could actually kill the Joker. But he hadn’t, apparently. “Fuck.”

Bruce finally looks at Dick, expression almost bored. “Yeah. ‘Fuck.’”

“I…” Dick doesn’t know what to say. He wants to beg for forgiveness, plead for Bruce to set him free, promise to never kill again, but it’s far too late. He killed. He deserves to be here.

“You can plead insanity. That’s what happened. I hope.”

Dick frowns. “You think I might kill him in my right mind?”

Bruce laughs dryly. It’s robotic and sends chills down Dick’s spine. There is something very wrong here. “These days? Yeah. You already did it once, didn’t you? Why wouldn’t you try again? I was stupid for not reporting you back then.”

“You… what?”

Bruce stands and leans a little too close for Bruce “Personal Space” Wayne. “I should have sent you to Arkham a year ago. At least then the Joker would be alive. At least then, I wouldn’t have to try to explain to Jim Gordon why my former protege, the one who was supposed to be the best, went on a bloodthirsty killing spree. The city doesn’t trust the vigilantes anymore. You ruined everything.”

“Bruce, I… God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-”

Then Bruce explodes into confetti and viscera. Blood and glitter paint coat the walls. Gory balloons floats to the ceiling. Dick tries to jump up, but he can’t move, suddenly tied to the bed. He fights and he struggles, and people are grabbing him, trying to hurt him, and he just wants things to go back to normal. He wants Jason to be alive. He wants Bruce to be normal again. He-

“Wake up!”

Dick wakes with a start, accidentally jarring his still-broken hand and cursing softly as a million knives stab his fingers.

“Relax, dude. Take a second.” Tim keeps his hand on Dick’s shoulder, undeterred by the wild look in Dick’s eyes. (God, how long have they looked like that? Wide and bloodshot and darting every which way?) “Breathe slow.”

“I’m sorry, Timmy,” Dick says, eyes unfocused and looking in the exact wrong direction if he’s trying to talk to Tim. “I put you in danger. I let you become Robin.”

Is he hallucinating? Tim can’t be sure. He certainly looks like he’s speaking to a fake Tim.

“Hey, I’m right here.” Tim waves a hand in Dick’s face, and Dick glares at him, leaning away.

“I know where you are,” Dick grouses. He does. He’s just… “Where are we? And… where’s Jason?”

“The Cave,” Tim answers. Then he points just to Dick’s left. “Your grumpy bodyguard won’t let you out of his sight. And wants to pretend I don’t exist, apparently.”

Jason growls, folding his arms and shifting in his seat. “Yeah, you’d know a lot about pretending, wouldn’t you, Robin?”

Tim’s upper lip curls, but he doesn’t grace that with a response.

Dick looks back and forth at the two. “He’s actually there?”

Jason tries to summon some patience, but he ran out of it hours ago. He stretches to reach Dick’s good hand, currently cuffed to the bed railing, and pinches it.

Dick tries to pull away and the cuff bites into his wrist. “Shit,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay, okay. Don’t need to be such an ass about it.”

“Trust me; that was completely necessary.”

“How are you feeling?” Tim asks cautiously, watching Dick with a bizarre mix of sympathy and unease.

“Oh. Um. Hand hurts like hell. Must’a hit something pretty tough.” A spike of panic shoots through Dick’s stomach. He remembers exactly what - or perhaps, who - he hit. Who he… killed? Or was that a dream? Or-?

“A wall,” Jason clarifies. “You looked like an idiot.”

“You mean I didn’t… kill the Joker?”

Jason’s expression sours. He leans back in his chair and looks away.

Dick’s heart rate picks up. Thud, thud, thud, thud.

“No,” Tim assures him. “The Commissioner called a few minutes ago. The Joker lives on.”

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Jason mutters.

“Didn’t you stop Dick from killing him?” Tim accuses, narrowing his eyes.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” Jason growls.

“Guys, cut it out,” Dick orders, shocking even himself with how sane he sounds. He is most definitely not sane and honestly barely knows what’s happening anymore. He shakes his head and looks over at Tim. “Where’s B?”

“Avoiding Jason, probably,” Tim replies, earning himself a middle finger from Jason and a confused frown from Dick.

“He’s… not glad to see him?” He shoots Jason a pointed look. “He’s not glad to see you?”

“We’re not discussing this.” Jason’s voice leaves no room for argument.

“I need to talk to him,” Dick tells Tim. “Could you find him for me?”

Tim pauses. He really shouldn’t leave Dick with Jason. Bruce made that very clear. Jason has been wanting to leave since he arrived, and apparently, he plans on taking Dick with him. (To do what, Tim’s not sure. For all his bitterness and cursing, he’s weirdly protective of Dick, so probably nothing that would endanger him.)

Dick smiles teasingly at Tim’s hesitation. “You can have my dessert for a week.”

Tim chews his lip. According to Bruce, a single second unsupervised would be enough time for them to run away. Tim seriously doubts that, though. The cuff would take at least fifteen seconds (at least) to unlock, and Jason won’t leave without Dick. “Two weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick replies lightly. “Get out of here.”

Jason, of course, saw the entire exchange, and now he’s feeling something akin to heartburn. He’d blame it on the pizza if he got any. But he didn’t, so he’s forced to face the nagging thoughts swirling around in his brain:

Dick and Tim really do act like brothers. How long have they been working together? Longer than I was Robin, probably. The Pretender really took my life: my name, my uniform, my brother-

“Jay,” Dick calls, and there’s something sad about his eyes and the purse of his lips. He looks pretty pathetic in that med bay cot, one hand hidden by finger splints and a blue cast, the other hand dangling from a pair of handcuffs. The circles under his eyes are dark, and his face looks a bit thin.

“Yeah?”

Alone with Dick, Jason feels infinitely more comfortable, even if he’s in the last place he wants to be. Anything is better than sitting next to Tim. He just doesn’t know how to mind his own business, constantly staring, eyes squinting slightly, gears shifting in his brain.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, oddly sincere. “I know you didn’t want to see B.”

Jason grunts. “I’ll be better once we’re out of here.”

Everything about the Cave makes Jason want to puke. He’s hit with memories of flinging Batarangs at targets and hiding in the giant dinosaur’s mouth to get out of a dentist appointment. He remembers pain, joy, sweat, tears, blood. He remembers some of the happiest years of his life.

And he hates it. He hates being reminded of what he lost.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “You really think he’ll let me leave?”

“Eh, good point. All the more reason to leave now. Think you can slip that cuff off, or do I need to jimmy it?”

“I… think I should stay. We’re not… I don't know how to fix this.”

Jason sighs and folds his arms. Before, he was okay with Dick going to Bruce, but before, Bruce hadn't drugged, kidnapped, and imprisoned his own son. “I don't know. We call a crisis line. Talk to that psychiatrist, Sasha-”

“Sarah.”

“Yeah, her.”

Dick rolls his shoulders and looks away. “Is that enough? I mean, I tried to kill the Joker.”

Jason stands suddenly. “Oh my god. That's what this is about? You don't want help; you want to be punished.”

“I- no! No, I’m saying I’m dangerous.”

Jason narrows his eyes and paces closer. “How many times have you tried to kill me since you lost your mind? Or Bruce? The Pretender?”

“Tim.”

“Potayto-potahto.”

“I didn't know I was punching a wall, Jay!” Dick insists. “If I wasn't locked up, that could've been you!”

“You wouldn't hurt me, and you definitely couldn't have like that. You were dazed. Strong, but slow. Clumsy. Trust me; you don't need that cuff.” He nods at the handcuff digging into Dick’s wrist. “What you need is someone to actually fucking work with you rather than throw you in a cell to rot.”

“Jason, you don't realize how terrifying it is, not knowing where you are or what's happening or even what you're doing. I feel so out of control. At least in a cell-”

“-you can't hurt anyone,” Jason finishes for him. “Yeah, whatever. But you only hurt one person, and he had it coming. You're hardly the danger you say you are. We can work this out, but you getting shivved by your cellmate in Arkham won't fix things. And then who’ll watch Blüdhaven?”

“You’d do it for me, wouldn't you?” Dick is serious, and both of them know it. His puppy dog eyes are the rotten cherry on top of this shit sundae.

“Fuck you,” Jason growls. “No. You’re not a lost cause, and you can’t keep thinking of yourself as one!”

“Dick. Jason.” Bruce says the second name like his tongue is a thousand pounds. It’s barely anything resembling Jason’s name, but they all know who he’s addressing. What he’s trying (and failing, Batman is failing) to say.

“B,” Dick replies, wary at best and terrified at worst. The unspoken question hangs heavily in the air, its leaden hands pressing down on the men’s shoulders, constricting their chests.

Bruce sighs and settles in Tim’s vacated chair. He takes his sweet time studying Dick and Jason. The loss in his eyes, that desperate spark of something that almost was, overpowers any anger or bravado he attempts to wear.

“I smoothed things over with Gordon,” Bruce finally says. “As far as he knows, Clayface broke out of his cell, took on Nightwing’s appearance, and tried to kill the Joker over a disagreement in the cafeteria.”

A morally gray (at best) decision on Bruce’s part. Jason would be proud of the guy if it didn’t send an aching reminder that Bruce will break his moral code for those he truly loves.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Dick chews the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. “I thought… I thought you were-”

“Institutionalizing you? Turning you in?” Bruce exhales heavily, avoiding his sons’ eyes. “No. I talked to Leslie and Alfred and… It wouldn’t work.” He looks up at Dick, expression severe. “I need you to be honest with me from now on. Completely. No running away. No covering things up. If you’re seeing people that don’t exist, I need to know.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Bruce and Jason raise eyebrows in unison. Jason notices and quickly drops the expression, scowling instead. Bruce remains oblivious to this.

“I’m serious,” Bruce presses. “I need to know. How many people are in the room right now? Ghosts included.”

Dick blows out a frustrated puff of breath. “Just you and Jason.” It’s technically true. He sees Bruce and Jason. There’s also a younger Jason dangling from a noose tied to the dinosaur. But it’s still Jason.

“How many of me?” Jason counters.

Dick really doesn’t appreciate the sudden team-up. “Fine. Two, or whatever. I know the kid’s not real.”

“‘s what I thought.”

Cautiously, Bruce reaches over and unlocks the handcuffs. “Leslie is reaching out to some contacts. And I’m sure Dinah would be happy to assist.” He smiles weakly. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Dick tips his head in uncertainty. “And I know you won’t change your mind and ship me back to Arkham because…?”

“Because I’ll beat his ass,” Jason promises. He glares at Bruce. “I swear on my grave.”

---

In the next hour, Sarah has been contacted, Dick’s prescription has been updated, and said man is passed out in his old bedroom in the manor, sleep deprivation and antipsychotic side effects making the siren song of a comfortable pillow and blanket far too alluring to ignore. Jason doesn’t leave his side, though Alfred dropped off a small mountain of books for Jason to keep himself entertained. (Alfred also snuck in a hug, and Jason isn’t too macho to say he missed the guy.)

Bruce walks past Dick’s room frequently, pausing just long enough to spot the dark head of hair sticking out from under the sheets. He doesn’t peer close enough to see if Jason is still standing guard. He did it the first time, and Jason kicked him out with a furious, “He’s not going to Arkham, asshole!” 

It isn’t until the evening that Bruce dares to check for Jason again. He’s mellowed out a bit, quietly paging through a novel resting on his lap. It’s painfully reminiscent of Jason when he was thirteen, curled up in the library with yet another Austen (collector’s hardbacks; a gift from Alfred for Jason’s birthday) in his hands. He would always hold the book a little too close to his face, and his expression would shift slightly, as if attempting to visualize exactly how each character was emoting.

“Bruce,” Jason says when Bruce lingers in the doorway. He keeps his eyes on the book. “Don’t stare. It’s weird.”

“You’re… still here?” Bruce doesn’t know why he expected Jason to simply disappear after a few hours. He’s clearly not moving until Dick does.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jason grunts, gently closing his leather-bound book. “I’m just here to keep you in line.”

A ray of hope peers out from behind Jason’s shadowed threats. Bruce sees it, not because he’s an optimist (something he never has been and never will be) but because he’s an estranged father. He’ll take any opportunity to see Jason again, even if it’s in a negative context.

“Should I ask Alfred to prepare your room? It won’t take long; he’s been keeping it… ready for you, I suppose.”

Jason isn’t sure whether to be confused or flattered. “He thought you buried me alive?”

“No,” Bruce says absently, gaze flickering to the garden beyond the window. “No. He just missed you.”

“And you couldn’t look at my room.” It’s not a guess. Jason knows Bruce well enough to know his chronic inability to deal with his own emotions.

“In a sense,” Bruce settles with, because it’s a less direct way of admitting he cares. The stoic bastard.

“Yeah,” Jason replies with a shrug. “Guess a night on the best mattress money can buy wouldn’t hurt.”

Bruce lingers still, growing awkward and uncertain. “Jason? I’m sorry. About… you know.”

“I know.” Jason opens his book again. He knows Bruce is sorry, but in words only. He isn’t sorry enough to do something about it.

And then, twenty-two seconds later, Bruce is still lingering when he gets words out. Easier words but still plenty important. “Thank you, Jason. For keeping him safe. Even from me.”

“Yeah,” Jason hums, glancing over at the drooling mess in the bed. He kicks his feet up, resting his ankles on Dick’s legs. Dick doesn’t flinch.

Cassandra: The prophet who saw everything, yet changed nothing. She spoke in flames and ruin, her words dismissed until the world proved her right.

Oakhurst was a strange town.

It was suffocating, the air too thin, too claustrophobic. Trees rose like bones, ribs of the ever breathing forest. The ground seemed to break every time someone stepped on it a little too hard. Plants spidered from the rotten soil, bright blooms of poppies and alliums dotting the monochrome floor.

Avid sometimes could hear voices echoing from the woods, be it screams or secrets he couldn’t tell. Sometimes he swore they called his name. Sometimes he swore he knew the voice. The sounds never scared him anymore—it was background noise, like the chime of a clock you couldn’t escape. He had learned not to listen too closely. Those who did never came back right.

He didn’t need to know. Because he could see one secret that was in front of him.

Scott.

Scott and his impossibly cyan locks of hair, the way it caught the dying light like fractured jewels. The way his eyes shined like the stars. The way he talked, smooth like silk. Scott didn’t just stand out in Oakhurst—he didn’t belong to it at all. Looking at him was like staring at sunlight through broken glass: brilliant, cutting, impossible to ignore.

Avid hated him.

Hated the way people bent toward Scott like flowers to the sun. Hated the ease, the charisma, the infuriating smile that seemed to plague his lips, concealing something that Avid couldn't pin down. Hatred was an easier route than admitting Scott unsettled him.

His own sable hair fell into his violet eyes, dark and “brooding”, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. He was prepared—he always was—but Scott… Scott was chaos incarnate in silk and shadow.

The aforementioned stood a couple strides away from the brunette, smiling with… Shelby.

Instantly Avid snapped out of whatever trance he was previously in, storming up to the pair.

Shelby noticed him instantly, honey eyes widening. “Avid!” She shot him an almost pleading look. She hated when he and Scott fought but Avid had to protect her.

His glare didn’t soften.

Avid’s steps were sharp against the brittle of the ground, each one punctuating the fury buzzing through his veins. Scott’s back was to him—cyan hair folded neatly into a braid, shoulders straight and all proper, as though nothing the cursed town could touch him. Even the infuriated Avid.

He wanted to rip that smugness off his face.

“Scott.” His voice was low, almost a growl.

The man turned.

And Avid froze.

Instead of the bright, beautiful, face that he despised was a stark white mask, carved from bone, empty sockets gaping where eyes should've been. A grinning skull staring back at him.

For a moment, the whispers stopped. The forest stilled. Even Shelby’s breath hitched beside him.

Avid blinked hard, waiting for the trick to break—for the mask to slip, for Scott’s amused laughter to fill the still air. But the skeleton grin held. Silent. Unshaken. His chest twisted, something colder than anger digging under his lungs.

Shelby’s voice broke the quiet, “Avid?”

Nothing had changed—Scott was still standing there, still smiling, only now his upper lips were replaced with teeth.

Avid curled his fingers, “Take that off,”

Scott tilted his head, the mask catching the dying light. As if amused. As if daring the vampire hunter. “Now why would I do that?”

His eyes, though hidden by shadows, twinkled with mischief. His perfectly blushing lips turned into a smile, cold and conceiting. Avid hated it. Hated him.

Avid’s blood boiled.

“Y-you think this is a game?”

“Absolutely,” Another perfect smile.

Scott leaned forward, pointer finger tracing his jaw before stopping under his chin. Then the man forced Avid’s chin up, making him look straight into the voids of the black sockets. Another shiver ran through the brunette.

“Take it off,” Avid said, punctuating each word.

“What if I don't?” His face leaned closer, causing a flush to cover the shorter’s face. Just the cold.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll rip it off myself.”

Another smirk.

“Oh-kay you two, let’s calm down.” Shelby interjected, her face scrunching into a smile. Her voice was high and bright, attempting lightness, but it trembled at the edges. She stepped forward, planting herself between them with a practiced ease, her notebook clutched like a talisman.

The brunette glared at Scott once again. Scott, as almost feeling Avid's glare, cocked his head towards him, a smiled painted onto his red lips. Avid tore his gaze away, barely able to breathe. His skin still buzzed where Scott had touched him.

Shelby frowned. “Seriously, what is with you two lately?” Her lips turned into a pout, she didn’t like it when they fought.

Scott turned, mask still grinning, voice laced with silk and blood. “Just a little… tension in the air.”

Shelby narrowed her eyes. “Tension that ends with someone dead?”

Avid’s lips parted, a retort on his tongue—but Scott got there first.

“I’m not that cruel,” he said smoothly, glancing at Avid. “Not unless I’m invited to be.”

Avid stiffened, his fist clenching at the attention. His cheeks flushed once more, turning a bright bloody red. “You’re not funny.”

“No,” Scott mused. “But I’m pretty.” As if to emphasize his point, his fingers splayed beneath his chin like the petals of a dark bloom — a gesture too graceful to be anything but intentional.

Shelby groaned. “Ugh. I hate this town.” Then she turned on her Mary Jane heels. “Just… try not to kill each other? Please? The last thing we need is a murder.” The redhead had barely rounded the corner before Avid spun around, jabbing a finger into Scott’s chest.

“You think this is funny?” Avid hissed, voice low and sharp.

Scott blinked slowly. The bone-white mask tilted just so, catching the moonlight in a way that made Avid’s stomach twist.

“I think you’re funny,” Scott said softly, almost fond. “Always so angry. So ready to burn.”

Avid’s hand trembled. He hated how close Scott stood—close enough to feel his breath, close enough that his presence wrapped around him like fog.

“Take it off.”

“Or what?”

“I swear, Scott—”

“Swear what?” Scott’s voice was a silk-wrapped knife. “That you’ll stake me? Right here? In front of your little friend? In front of the whole cursed town?”

Avid faltered.

Scott leaned closer, breath brushing his ear. “You won’t.”

The silence between them crackled, thick and charged. The mask grinned. Avid’s fingers twitched.

“I will.” His voice broke on the last word. “I’ll—”

Scott’s hand caught his wrist. Gently. Almost lovingly. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

“You always tremble before you fall.”

Avid shoved him back—but Scott didn’t move. Not really. Not like someone with weight should.

“You’re not normal,” Avid whispered, voice ragged. “You’re not human.”

Scott smiled. “Maybe…” he trailed off, hand caressing Avid’s face, making the brunette flinch. “Good luck proving it, allium.”

And with that he left, fading into the ink of the night. Leaving a blushing man with too many questions and too little questions.

•     •     •

The door slammed with the rage of a man scorned by something ancient and irritatingly attractive.

Avid all but flung his cloak across the banister, muttering curses in a dozen dead languages. His boots were soaked from the marsh path, tracking muddy water across the stone floor as he stormed into the parlor.

By the fire sat Drift, her legs tucked beneath her, coat draped neatly over the chair. She was reviewing hand-scrawled notes beneath candlelight, monocle somehow not falling off, eyes sharp.

Without looking up, she said, “You're late. Was there a corpse, or just your pride again?”

Avid threw himself dramatically onto the worn velvet settee. “He called me allium.”

Drift blinked. “...The genus of garlic?”

“Yes!” Avid shouted, sitting upright. “He looked me in the eye—with that mask, I mean, not really—and said it like it was a compliment! As if I’m a bouquet in a funeral! A garlic flower! A joke!”

Drift tilted her head. “You are kind of a bouquet of threats and seasonal depression.”

Avid groaned, flopping backward. “Why is he like this? Why does he have to speak in riddles and metaphors and... and caress my face like some tragic poem?”

“Did you stab him?”

“I—no! He was—Drift!” Avid stuttered, unsure of how to reply. He had wanted to stab him, to see the blood bloom on the silky fabric. Had, past tense, he noticed numbly

“Should’ve stabbed him.”

“I wanted to! But then he touched me and the world went all—weird, and I was warm and cold at the same time, and now I think I’m having a breakdown.”

Drift finally looked up, one brow arched. “So, a normal Thursday.”

Avid sat up, scowling. “He moved like he wasn’t even real. Like air pretending to be a person. And that mask—I don’t think it was painted. I think it was actual bone.”

Drift nodded slowly. “Fascinating. And you’re sure you weren’t just… seduced?”

Avid blinked. “By death?!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. You have a type.”

“I don’t have a—” He stopped. Glared. “Don’t say it.”

Drift leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “A pale, mysterious, probably cursed type who calls you by plant names and invades your personal space while whispering sweet existential threats?”

Avid shoved a pillow over his face. “I’m going to throw myself into the forest.”

“I’ll pack your garlic.”

“Drift.”

She chuckled and leaned back, eyes narrowing just slightly—thoughtful. “He’s testing you.”

Avid lowered the pillow. “What?”

“Scott,” she said simply. “He’s drawing lines. Seeing which ones you’ll cross. Flirting, yes. But also... measuring.”

Avid’s jaw tensed. “Measuring what?”

Drift looked into the fire, voice soft. “How human you are. How far you'll go. How much of yourself you're willing to lose to chase him.”

A long silence.

“…He still called me a garlic flower.”

Drift smiled faintly. “Could be worse. Could’ve called you thyme.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t. You just hate being seen.”

Avid pulled the pillow back over his face with a grumble. “I hate poets.”

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his temple. He’d been trying to convince himself that Scott was just a problem to be solved—a puzzle, a threat, a game. But the truth was slipping through his defenses, a quiet whisper in the dark. He was turning, slowly and painfully, into an obsession he couldn’t shake. And that scared him more than any vampire ever could.

•     •     •

Eventually he decided to go to bed. The night had stretched far too long before he had complained to Drift into the early morning, and now all he wanted to do was collapse and fall into oblivion.

But, of course, nothing could ever be so simple.

The first thing he noticed was the draft tumbling through the room, causing a shiver up his spine. The breeze came from the slightly opened window Drift must have propped open during the day and forgot about, too enthralled by her work.

A soft smile on his lips, he walked over to close the pane, when something shiny caught his eye. Hidden among the layer of salt he had sprinkled, was a shine of silver.

Examining it closer, it was his.

The chain that he always wore after the incident. The charm was a locket, made of iron—for faeires—and inside was a dyed spider lily petal.

Avid stared at the locket, unmoving.

It shouldn’t have been off his neck. He never took it off. Not since—

He thumbed the latch open. It clicked softly, a sound like a whisper from a coffin.

Inside, the petal was still there, pressed and dry as ever. But folded behind it—delicate, hidden like it had always been there—was a slip of parchment.

Avid's breath caught. He hadn't put that there.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded it. The paper crackled like old skin. The ink was brown—not quite black, faded by time and perhaps something older—and the writing curled with impossible grace, slanted and flowing like water.

It was handwriting. Not modern. Not even close.

It looked like it had been written when gods still walked in daylight and people still whispered about monsters instead of posting warnings on fences.

He squinted at the strange, looped letters—

And felt the blood drain from his face.

You dropped this, Allium.

His eyes, a muted violet, widened, rereading the line over and over. Allium. Allium

His face blushed, the nickname oddly sweet. If only it wasn't from him...

The brunette sat lightly on his mattress, the bed squeaking under the added weight. His fingers brushed against the dried cursive that seemed to belong to centuries ago. It did, he reminded himself.

And yet, the words felt like a trap disguised in silk and flirts.

He had to be careful, Avid decided. Had to watch the vampire, carefully. Watch for some sort of slip up that Avid could use to prove, to everyone, that the man was a vampire.

Because no matter how much Scott’s smile beckoned, no matter how dangerously close he pressed, Avid knew that beneath that charming mask lay something far darker than the myths whispered in Oakhurst.

And he wouldn’t be the one to fall into that darkness without a fight.

He slipped the necklace over his head, the metal burning cold against his warm neck. The hung heavy, a comforting weight that he hadn't realized had left him. Blowing on the half melted candle on his night stand, he fell into a light sleep. One full of nothing but silence.

And if his hand snaked to his locket, with a smile brushing his lips. Well that was between him and the spirits.

•     •     •

Avid had attempted everything to get the vampire to accidentally out himself.

Lured him out into the sunlight (which he did with no hesitation) to tried to expose him to holy water (that wasn't actually that holy, he later learned), he had tried them all over the last couple of weeks.

He had one last idea.

Avid’s boots crunched against the brittle ground, each step deliberate, carrying the weight of months of silent plotting. In his hands, a bouquet of alliums—blooms of garlic and wildflowers, sharp and fragrant, a quiet warning wrapped in petals.

Scott stood at the edge of town, mask gleaming in the fading light, arms crossed like he was waiting for a joke. Or a challenge.

Avid stepped forward, holding the bouquet out like an offering—and a gauntlet.

“I picked these for you,” he said, voice low, steady, but with a hard edge beneath it. “Allium. Thought you might appreciate the irony.”

Scott’s eyes, shadowed beneath the bone mask, flickered with something unreadable—amusement? Approval? The smile beneath the skull widened.

“Well, aren’t you clever,” Scott said, reaching out to take the flowers. His fingers brushed against Avid’s, and a sudden heat bloomed up the shorter’s arm, sharp and unexpected.

Cleo, watching from her garden, which was filled with thriving plants, rolled their eyes, whispering, “Finally. About time you two stopped pretending and just flirted.”

Avid’s jaw clenched, but Scott only laughed—a smooth, chilling sound that danced between mockery and something dangerously close to affection.

“You think these flowers will make me show my true self?” Scott’s voice lowered, threateningly. “Or is this just another one of your little games?”

“Maybe both,” Avid said, stepping closer, feeling more confident than usual, the scent of garlic thick in the air between them. “Maybe I’m daring you to drop the act.”

Scott leaned in, the mask almost touching Avid’s face. “Or maybe I’m daring you to look closer.”

The tension crackled like the forest around them, a spark ready to ignite.

Pearl’s voice, who was sitting on her porch--petting the air?--cut through the silence again, light and teasing. “You two are hopeless. But at least it’s entertaining.”

The bouquet hung between them—a symbol of challenge, threat, and something dangerously close to something neither wanted to admit.

He hated Scott. Or at least that’s what he told himself. But lately, the edge of his mind was caught, tangled, twisted around the vampire in ways he didn’t want to admit. It wasn’t just suspicion anymore—it was something else. Something dangerously close to obsession.

And in that moment, no one saw what was really happening.

Except Avid.

•     •     •

Avid had enough.

He was going to reveal Scott one way or another.

He just needed to corner him. Threaten him by holding a stake to his heart. Make him confess.

Avid’s breath hitched as he rounded the side of the house. Moonlight spilled over the cracked wooden siding, casting long shadows that tangled with the dark underbrush.

He spotted Scott’s silhouette near the garbage bins, hands casually tucked into his pockets, leaning against the peeling paint like he owned the place.

“Scott,” Avid called out, trying to keep his voice steady but knowing it sounded like a challenge.

Scott’s head tilted, and that lazy smile curved his lips. “Looking for me, darling?”

Avid’s pulse sped. This was it.

He moved closer, narrowing the distance between them — but Scott slid away, smooth as smoke, a glint of amusement in his shadowed eyes.

“Not so fast,” Scott teased, stepping aside. “We could talk all night.”

Avid clenched his fists. “No more games.”

The vampire’s smile deepened, but then, in a flicker, he stepped backward—right into the corner of the porch where the house jutted out.

Avid lunged, trapping Scott between him and the wall.

Scott’s smile faltered for just a second before he leaned forward, voice low and teasing, “So bold, allium. Careful, you might get burned.”

But Avid didn’t hesitate.

Avid’s hands trembled as he gripped the stake tighter, the cool wood pressing against his palm. His eyes never left Scott’s skeletal mask — that cruel, mocking facade that hid too many secrets.

“I’m done pretending,” Avid said, voice low and fierce. “You can’t hide anymore.”

Scott’s smile was a sharp slash beneath the bones. “Is that so?”

Before Avid could react, Scott moved — slow, deliberate — until he was mere inches away. The warmth from his body pushed against Avid’s like a challenge.

With a surge of reckless courage, Avid’s fingers found the edges of the mask. He yanked it free in one swift motion.

Beneath the cracked bone and shadows, Scott’s real face shone — beautiful, impossible.

“Red…” Avid trailed off staring into the depths of the others eyes.

“Hm?” Scott mused, raising a perfect brow.

“Y-your eyes… You're a vampire!!” Scott’s eyes widened before being replaced with a glare. “You’re a vam—”

He was cut off by Scott spinning him, around against the wood of the house behind him. Avid squeezed his eyes shut, praying to the spirits that it wouldn’t hurt. And that he was sorry.

But the sharp pain of death never came, instead replaced by the soft warmth of lips against his.

He opened his eyes to see Scott, eyes shut, way too close to him.

Avid, only then, dumbly realized what was happening.

Warmth flooded through his already flushed face, feeling the silky softness of lips brush against his own chapped and bitten raw ones. Scott’s hands trailed their way to one on his cheek, the other on the nape of his neck.

Shivers flooded his body at the caress, how sweet it was. How gentle it was.

Avid, against his better judgement, pushed into the kiss, deepening it. His hands didn’t move, they stayed trembling by his side. The vampire—Avid reminded himself—pushed back, the brunette’s head hitting the rotted wood, tilted upwards.

The vampire's hand snaked down to his jaw, pulling him farther up. Avid, in a clearer mindset, might have complained about the pull in his neck, but now, his brain was too dizzy to think straight.

Instead his hands finally moved, carding his fingers the silk of Scott’s hair, messing up the perfectness that he always had. His fingers tangled in the thick strands of Scott’s hair, pulling gently as if grounding himself in the moment — despite everything screaming that this was madness.

Scott’s teeth worried over his bottom lip before biting down.

Avid felt it before he registered it—sharp and sudden, a sting that burned across his mouth. The bite was sharp, a sudden sting that burned across his lip — but beneath the pain bloomed a strange heat, spreading outwards, intoxicating and overwhelming.

He jerked back, hand flying to his lips. A taste hit his tongue, a sweet but bitter linger, iron heavy on his tongue. Warmth slicked his palm. A drop trailed down, slow, deliberate. Blood. Crimson like… like Scott’s eyes.

His gaze snapped up. Scott’s hair was mussed, his clothes creased, his smile just a little too wide. That look in his eyes—wild, hungry, beautiful. Avid’s cheeks betrayed him, flushing warm.

“Y-you…”

His gaze lowered, back to the ground. Darting anywhere else—cracks in the cobble, the dying grass—anywhere but those eyes.

“Me?” Scott purred, coy and pretty. His fingers cupped Avid’s jaw again, tilting his face back up, forcing him to meet those red, red eyes.

Avid’s words stuck. His violet eyes—wide, trembling—locked on Scott’s. It was dizzying, to look in his eyes. The dark vermillion pulling him in like a siren's song. They looked wrong, if Avid was being honest. He had grown used to the pretty blue they were before, the one that looked like stars.

“I-i..”

“Come on, darling..” his voice was like silk, too soft and smooth to be genuine. His thumb brushed against Avid’s lips, before bringing it to his mouth, tongue darting out.

Avid’s chest tightened. His gaze flicked to Scott’s lips—vibrant, red, almost soft. Too soft for someone who had just bitten him. They curved into a smile, gentle and cruel all at once, as though Scott knew exactly how flustered he was.

“Mm,” Scott hummed low in his throat. “You taste divine.”

Avid should’ve run, should’ve screamed. He should’ve grabbed the stake strapped to his belt and drove it straight through the vampire’s heart.

Instead, he stepped forward, arms circling Scott’s neck, dragging him down into another kiss.

Scott didn’t hesitate. His mouth caught Avid’s with practiced ease, lips pressing too deep, too hungry, like he’d been waiting for this. Avid gasped, and Scott took it as an invitation, tongue slipping past, tasting, claiming.

The taste of blood lingered between them, copper-sweet, intoxicating. Avid tried not to shiver, tried not to think about how his knees nearly buckled. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Scott’s hands slid down his sides, steadying him, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed flush. Avid’s fingers curled against his shirt, clinging without meaning to. His thoughts were a mess—drawn between fear and, horrifically, want.

Scott smiled against his mouth, feeling the hesitation, the betrayal of Avid’s trembling. “That’s it,” he murmured between kisses, breath warm, velvet. “Don’t fight it, darling.”

Avid wanted to shove him away, stake him, scream at him—anything but this.

But his hands fisted in Scott’s shirt anyway, yanking him closer, kissing him back like he’d drown if he stopped. His breaths came short and desperate, every brush of Scott’s mouth sparking heat through him.

Scott, by contrast, was maddeningly slow. His lips curved in a smile against Avid’s, teasing, deliberate. One hand at the small of his back kept him steady, the other cupping his jaw, guiding him as though Avid were something fragile. When Avid pressed harder, Scott eased away just enough to make him chase.

“Careful,” Scott murmured, voice brushing warm against his mouth. “You’re acting like you actually want this.”

Avid growled low in his throat, too breathless for words, and kissed him harder—messy, furious, desperate. Scott only laughed softly, kissing back with that same agonizing patience, like he had all the time in the world.

Another sharp nip at his lip—Scott’s teeth dragging slow, purposeful—made Avid shudder. He hated how it pulled a sound out of him, hated even more how Scott’s smile widened at the noise.

“Mm,” Scott whispered, almost tender, though his eyes glinted red. “You taste better when you give in.”

Avid wanted to argue. Wanted yell and scream. But his cheeks burnt red, and he pushed forward once more. Into oblivion. Into death. Into surrender.

Scott’s thumb lingered at the corner of Avid’s mouth, smearing the faint trace of blood before dragging down to his chin. His touch was light, maddening. “There you go,” he breathed, lips brushing the words against Avid’s swollen mouth. “So much prettier when you stop pretending.”

Avid’s chest heaved. He should’ve shoved him back. He didn’t. His grip only tightened, nails catching on fabric as if he could anchor himself in the very thing undoing him.

Scott tilted his head, nosing along Avid’s cheek, down to the hinge of his jaw. His breath was hot, his voice softer, lower. “You’re trembling.”

“I—I’m not—” The denial caught in his throat when sharp teeth grazed his skin, a warning, a promise. Avid’s knees nearly gave.

Scott laughed, low and wicked, and kissed him again, stealing the sound from his mouth. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, a languid claiming. It made Avid’s pulse roar in his ears, dizzy with want and dread all tangled.

And still, when Scott finally drew back, lips glistening, Avid leaned forward like a fool chasing the ruin of him.

“Ah,” Scott leant backwards. “Be patient, allium.”

Allium. The flower of garlic. Unity, patience, mockery.

Avid, ashamedly, whined. The sound slipped out before he could bite it back, high and desperate, and his face burned hot.

Scott’s grin widened, sharp and devastating. “Oh, don’t pout, darling. It doesn’t suit you.” His hand slid up Avid’s chest, slow and deliberate, pressing flat over his racing heart. “Besides… you smell far too sweet to keep me away.”

Avid’s throat bobbed. He should’ve shoved him off, said something sharp, anything. Instead, he stood frozen under Scott’s touch, trembling, breath ragged.

Scott leaned in again, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Avid’s ear when he whispered, “Beg, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The words sent a shiver down Avid’s spine. He hated it. He hated him.

And yet—his hands stayed locked in Scott’s shirt, clinging like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

When he didn’t answer, Scott hummed, soft and taunting. His teeth scraped the curve of Avid’s neck, not quite breaking skin, not yet. “Patience, allium,” he murmured again, savoring the way Avid’s breath hitched at the threat. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

“W-wha–”

Scott didn’t let him finish. His mouth opened against Avid’s throat, fangs sinking in clean and sharp.

Avid gasped, a choked sound that tumbled into a ragged gasp, body arching forward as pain flared bright—followed by something hotter, heavier, that dragged his breath short. His fingers tangled in Scott’s shirt, pulling instead of pushing. The vampire’s hum vibrated against his skin, low and satisfied, as he drank in slow, deliberate pulls.

Every heartbeat felt stolen, his pulse thrumming out of control. Avid’s chest heaved, heat spreading dizzy and sweet, wrong and intoxicating. His lips parted on a sound he couldn’t swallow.

Scott’s hands were steady—one firm at his back, the other cupping his jaw, tilting his throat just so. He licked between pulls, savoring the blood, eyes glinting red with teasing hunger.

“St—” Avid’s voice broke, desperate, trembling. “Scott, no. Stop, please—”

Instantly, Scott froze, fangs slipping free. The bite ended, leaving a shallow, pulsing mark. His lips glistened red, but the predatory gleam in his eyes softened.

For a moment, there was only Avid’s ragged breathing, his trembling fingers brushing at the wound, knees nearly giving out. Scott leaned back slightly, slow, deliberate, but there was gentleness now in his movements.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, voice still low and silky, but softened, almost intimate. He brushed a thumb over the trace of blood at the corner of Avid’s mouth, smoothing it away.

Avid’s chest heaved, heart racing. He expected mockery, hunger, another bite. Instead he got Scott’s gaze holding steady on him, patient and watchful.

“You’re—” Avid swallowed hard. “You’re a monster.”

Scott’s lips quirked faintly. “Mm. Maybe. But not with you. Not tonight.”

He leaned closer, thumb lingering at the corner of Avid’s lips, eyes teasing but gentle. “And yet…” His grin returned, softer, warmer, just enough to make Avid’s chest twist. “…you still want me, don’t you?”

Avid could only blink, trapped between exasperation, embarrassment, and something else, something wild and irresistible.

“I wouldn’t say want…” He turned away from the now gentle stare of the vampire, praying to the spirits that the moonlight covered up his flushed face.

A laugh echoed through the silence, soft like a windchime. Pretty, warm, and it made Avid’s cheeks burn all over again.

He spared a glance at Scott and froze. That grin—playful, teasing, but somehow gentle—held him in place, making his chest flutter.

“You really are something, allium,” Scott murmured, tilting his head just so. “So frazzled, so stubborn… yet somehow, utterly captivating.”

Avid’s hands hovered awkwardly over Scott’s chest, unsure whether to push away or lean closer. He tried to speak, tried to insist he wasn’t… affected. But the words felt small, pointless against the pull of Scott’s red-tinged eyes and soft smile.

Scott leaned in, close enough that his warm breath brushed Avid’s ear. “You don’t have to fight it,” he whispered, gentle now, but playful still. “I like it when you blush.”

Avid’s heart thudded in his chest, loud and impossible to ignore. His fingers twitched, longing to reach out, and yet he stayed still, caught between embarrassment and the weird, dizzying comfort of Scott’s closeness.

Scott chuckled, quiet and affectionate, resting a hand lightly over Avid’s. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he said softly, thumb brushing over the back of Avid’s hand. “You’re safe with me… at least for tonight.”

Avid blinked, the warmth pooling in his chest spreading to his stomach, to his fingertips. He wanted to argue, to protest, but instead he just let a small smile slip, flustered and helpless.

Scott’s grin softened, lips just a fraction curved, eyes twinkling. “There it is,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “The real you… beautiful, stubborn, and entirely mine.”

Avid’s knees threatened to give way, and he caught himself against Scott, letting the moment wash over him—soft, silly, intimate, and entirely, deliciously theirs.

“There you two are!!” yelled a voice in the distance.

Avid instantly pushed Scott away, spinning around to see a familiar redhead running.

Shelby came barreling toward them, notebook clutched like a shield, cheeks pink from running. “I thought you were dead!” She exclaimed, adjusting her glasses. Then her amber eyes widened, with something akin to worry. “You two were fighting again weren’t you?”

Her lips formed a pout as she glanced between them as her brow cinched together. “Why can’t you two get along?”

Avid was about to say something, to reassure her, but Scott beat him to it, “Don’t worry Shells. Avid and I… have come to an agreement..”

Avid froze, cheeks burning hotter than the sun. “W-we have?” he stammered, eyes darting between Scott and Shelby.

Scott gave him a slow, teasing smile, thumbs brushing over Avid’s shoulders. “We… worked things out,” he said, voice deceptively soft, eyes glinting with mischief.

Shelby blinked, clearly unconvinced, but her brow furrowed as she studied them. “Uh-huh. You definitely were fighting. You can’t lie to me, Scott.” she said, tapping her notebook as if that proved it. “I mean, I was so worried. One of you could’ve been dea—gone. And look at you two—” Her gaze flicked between their flushed faces, lingering on Avid’s trembling hands and Scott’s too-perfect smirk. “This doesn’t look like an argument to me…”

Avid groaned internally, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Scott, on the other hand, leaned closer, resting his hand on Avid’s shoulder, voice playful but soft. “See? Nothing to worry about, Shelbs. All is well. We’re… cooperating.”

Shelby blinked, unconvinced but relieved, hands tightening around her notebook. “Cooperating? Hmph. You two are impossible. Just don’t kill each other”

Avid shot Scott a glare, half embarrassed, half exasperated. Scott only chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Avid’s forehead, eyes sparkling. “We’ll try.”

Shelby groaned, dropping into a dramatic flop against the nearest house. “I give up. You two are hopeless,” she muttered, shaking her head. “But don’t make me worry again. Seriously.”

Avid’s cheeks flamed hotter than ever, and he wished the earth would swallow him whole as Shelby’s sharp eyes flicked between him and Scott, clearly reading more between the lines than she let on.

Avid’s heart was still racing, and Scott’s soft laugh vibrated against his ear. He wanted to protest, wanted to claim that nothing had happened—but somehow, the warmth pooling in his chest, the teasing smile of the vampire, and the way Scott’s hand lingered over his, made all words impossible.

Scott whispered, just for him, “See? Even Shelby can’t ruin this moment.”