#timbit writes

it was a friday evening, the first friday evening without an obligation. 

the past month had been a flurry of papers, readings, assignments, papers, presentations, more papers. for once, you had one evening to yourself. 

all those plans went to waste as the taste of smoke that curled up from your car invaded your senses. 

you had texted a please of rescue to your best friend twenty minutes ago.

you were no car expert, and you had no desire to begin poking around under the hood of your car. 

through the sounds of the birds singing in the trees, you finally heard the familiar rumble of tim's own car. a loud engine that rattled the pavement under it's tires. the white car pulled to a stop just behind yours. 

his boot stepped out first, crunching the gravel below. 

"please, just do this for me," you heard tim's grumble of annoyance. he ducked his head out of the car, phone raised to his ear. his knuckles were wrapped tightly around the device, bordering white with exertion. 

you turned your face back towards your car out of privacy. the conversation seemed to be bordering tense. 

the only indication of him coming closer was the continued thumping of his boot against the pavement. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the tips of his shoes stop just beside you. 

"yeah, yeah. yes, bro, oh my fucking god. i'll see you soon," he muttered, his clipped tone becoming increasingly more annoyed before sliding his phone into his back pocket. 

he smiled at you in greeting before leaning his head to inspect the undercarriage. his eyes roved over your battery, your transmission, before analyzing another part that you couldn't name. 

you were utterly lost. 

"how is this thing still going," he grumbled softly. 

you frowned at his words, hand coming up to slap his shoulder. 

"don't talk about shark like that," you scolded. shark was special to you. she was reliable (for the most part). she was a constant. she had been with you since your first year of university, after you had saved up 3 summers worth of money to purchase her off your neighbour's hands. 

"listen, shark is beautiful, but constantly fucking you over," tim pointed out, waving a trickle of smoke out of his face. 

"she's getting old, is all. she's fine," you defended weakly, though your voice held a hint of defeat. 

"jason's on his way, he said he'll take a look," tim responded, turning around to rest his backside against shark's side. his arms crossed over his chest as he craned his neck to the side to gaze at you. 

"jason? like your brother jason?" you asked, planting yourself beside him. 

tim hummed in confirmation. 

"i've never met this brother," you added hesitantly. 

"he likes to keep to himself. got a small shop. doesn't take too many clients, but sells a lot of parts to other people. i think. i don't know," tim shook his head, pinching his nose slightly. "he'll bring the tow to get shark to the shop."

just as tim finished explaining, the sight of the bumbling tow truck came into view. 

"go wait in the car," tim said, nodding his head in the direction of his own car. 

"oh, but don't you want me to—" you began, furrowing your brows towards the tow truck that was backing into the space in front of yours. 

"no, i'll handle it," he stated, turning to face his brother as his brother stepped out of the car. 

your world stopped as you saw jason over tim's shoulder. 

god, he was beautiful. 

your mouth dried up, the bustle of nature quieted down, and tim's presence ceased to exist. he was large. comically so, yet he moved like he didn't know how much space he took up. 

his brows seemed permanently furrowed, shoulders tense like the weight of the world constantly rested on his shoulders. though it didn't take away from his beautiful features. jet black strands with streaks of white in the front that flopped over his forehead, a strong set jaw that framed a plump lower lip. 

"let's make this quick, shithead," his voice rang out, deep and smooth. your knees almost buckled under you. it was then that jason had noticed you, half hidden behind tim's frame. he barely blinked in acknowledgment, eyes shifting back to tim within a second of landing on you. 

why hadn't tim let you meet jason before this?

you had been introduced to his other siblings at some point or another, even had established your own friendship with some of them. but jason, jason was a different ballgame. the way your breath thinned when you saw him scared you. 

tim glanced at you over his shoulder before returning his attention back to jason. his eyes narrowed slightly at his brother, "dude, you owe me for covering your ass last week, stop being an asshole," 

their conversation faded when you finally opened tim's passenger door, sliding your body into the seat. their sibling squabble wasn't of interest to you. curt bickering over small shoves; side eyed glares and quick quips over memories that didn't include you. normal brothers is what they were. you were tired and annoyed — and the sight of jason did something to you, something you weren't ready to admit — and tim's desire to push his brother's buttons did nothing to help. your skin felt tight over your bones, a flush settled under your skin and threatened to restrict your airways. your jeans were sticking to your thighs under the piercing rays of the sun. the warmth felt unforgiving in this moment, cooking you from the inside out. 

the road in front of you stretched for kilometres, a long-winded gray road that led nowhere, that led to home. 

a short time later, tim opened the driver's side and slid into the seat. 

"gonna drive you to the shop, jason said it's an easy fix," he explained, turning the car on and pulling out of his spot. your car had been hooked up to jason's tow truck, your heart sank at the sight. 

"did he say what happened?" your voice was hoarse from lack of use. 

"nothing to worry about," he responded, a finality in his tone — one that you had decided wasn't worth the questioning. your car would get fixed, you were sure. then yourself and shark could be on your way. 

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

jason's shop was small. 

quaint. 

it was messy, yet clean at the same time. it was a dizzying paradox. the shelves of his shop were meticulous, not a spec of dust could be seen on any surface. though, his belongings overtook the area. his toolbox lay discarded on the floor next to the post-lift, with an assortment of tools laying scattered across the area. they each seemed placed with purpose — like each was there for easy access. 

the melodic beat of a rock song was playing in the back, some old one from the 80s that you recognized instantly. though, the familiar tune did nothing to drown out the silence that stretched between you. 

jason was under the hood, back on a trolley that was rolled under shark. his shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his muscles stomach. the smooth patch of skin. you were sat beside of work bench, a small metal chair that froze the back of your thighs — a stark contrast to the sweltering heat you were stuck in only an hour prior. 

tim had left shortly after dropping you off — he, himself, had papers, assignments, exams to study for just as you did. 

your voice rang out into the air, introducing your name to the man under your car. the clanging of metal paused for a singular second, and the only sound heard was a guitar solo playing quietly through the speaker.

…okayy…

his lack of response unnerved you. you weren't comfortable in this silence. your teeth gnawed into your lower lip, your eyes raking down his lower half. dark blue jeans, faded with use, paired with brown boots with scuffed toes. 

"so, what exactly is wrong? tim didn't tell me," you attempted again, leaning forward in your seat. his legs shifted, knees falling apart, as he changed the angle in the undercarriage. your eyes raked up the inside of his muscled, jean-clad thigh and sand filled your throat. 

"when was the last time you got an oil change?" his muffled voice rumbled back, ignoring your questions.

"uhhhh, the previous owner did one before i bought it?" you recalled, brows furrowing with retrieving the information from your memory. 

"which was when," he continued. a particularly loud clang erupted from beneath the car and you heard jason swear under his breath. 

"since tim and i's first year?" 

"the fuck?" he pushed the trolley from under the car, head lifted to regard you in shock. his features were even more pronounced in the dim lighting. the blazing sun was setting, coating the shop in a twilight. the overlight light fought to burn bright enough to light up the room, but fell short. you almost struggled to form another thought as you watched the cut of his jaw clench. 

"what…?" your voice came out smaller than you intended it to. you cleared your throat quickly, masking it with a soft cough. "my car runs fine." there it was. your voice was steady. clearer. how you usually sounded. irritation laced your mind, fogging up your senses. you could have been home right now. 

"you haven't changed the oil since you got this car?" he repeated. his tone disbelieving. a small pit of dread formed in your chest. you hadn't changed the oil, no, you didn't know that you had to. 

your head shook before you even knew you were committing the action. 

jason's only response was a huff — a puff of breath and a shake of his head as he rolled himself back under your car. his arm reached out, fingers curling around a tool — you didn't know which — that lay off to the side. you were amazed at how seamlessly he moved underneath your car. how he was able to grab each tool without hesitation, how he knew where each tool lay placed on the floor. it was a harmonious dance between himself and his tools. 

the silence ate at you again. it was loud. 

eventually, he wheeled himself out from below your car again, abs flexing through the imprint of his shirt as he pushed himself up. a small streak of grease lined his cheek, cutting a contour down his cheekbone. his hair stuck to his forehead, the white streaks mostly hidden by the black on top of his head. 

"my cigarettes are beside you, do you mind?" his head nodded towards the pack of marlboro reds and a lighter neatly placed on his work station beside you. you nodded, the items laying heavy in your palm before tossing them to him — one after the other. 

he shoved one in his mouth before glancing up at you again. his brow raised. "need me to step out? or?" 

"oh! no, no, you're good," 

"want one?" an extra cigarette was pinched between his fingers, extended out towards you. 

"no, thank you. i don't smoke," you declined politely, your hands settling under your thighs. your mind wandered to the situation at hand. the state of your car was unknown. tim had said there was nothing to worry about, but jason wasn't giving you a reason to believe otherwise. his tools were clanging around down there, creating all sorts of noises that were unfamiliar to you. 

jason's eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, lips forming an 'o' around an exhale of smoke. the grey cloud streamed out of his lips and curled into the air. your nose wrinkled slightly at the smell, though, you didn't comment. 

"shop's closed now, darling, gotta come back tomorrow," he inhaled around the cigarette again, eyes flickering over to you. his arms were perched over his bent knees. a position of leisure. 

"what? no? what about my car?" you protested, back straightening instantly. 

"it'll get finished tomorrow," his smokey words floated towards you. 

"you were down there for an hour and a half? what the fuck takes that long?" you stood up in frustration, your hands flailing before your chest. 

"car shit takes that long. like i said, shop is closing. your car'll be done tomorrow," he pushed himself up, height towering. imposing. his shoulders practically blocked out the little yellowed lighting the room already had. 

"how am i supposed to get home then?" you snapped, going over to your car to retrieve your wallet from the glove compartment. your car had been lifted onto the post-lift so that jason could work comfortably underneath. you stood on your tip toes, sprawling your body across the height to reach into the consol and grab your belongings. 

jason couldn't help the way his gaze lingered on your back, over the brown tank top that you wore that accentuated every dip and curve that had his mind spiraling for the past two hours. down to the jeans that hugged your figure like it was made for you. he tried to ignore the way your backside pushed out against the protrusions of your car, unknowingly displaying yourself in for his eyes to see — and hopefully only his eyes. 

when you finally turned back around, his eyes snapped back up to meet yours. 

"call your boyfriend to come and pick you up," jason stated flatly, turning his back to you as he began to reorganize his tools. his ears were tuned to your movements, though, tracking every sway of your hips as you shuffled in spot. 

a scoff left your mouth before you had the chance to catch it. 

jason paused momentarily, reigning in his silent victory. you didn't have a boyfriend. but he knew you'd call tim, he would retrieve you and jason would finally be able to breath again. 

you had to bite your tongue. the weight of the situation was pressing down on you, threatening to push you into the earth's crater with every passing moment. it wasn't just your car — no, your car was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. it was life. it was school. it was your job. you didn't have time to deal with a broken down car, you didn't have the funds to repair it either. 

suddenly, you felt slightly shameful at the sudden burst of attitude you had just given jason. this was his job, not his life. the inconveniences of your life had nothing to do with him. his shop hours were his shop hours, and you would just have to come back to deal with your car in the morning. 

"well?" he turned to regard you with a raised brow, his eyes shifting up to the clock again. he couldn't be in your presence for another second. his senses were invaded by you. the sweet scent of your perfume that wafted through the air had been torturing him the second you had sat down in his shop. the sight of tim giving you a hug before he left had his nostrils flaring — something he wasn't particularly proud of. 

but he couldn't stay away from you either. and he knew it too. 

"yeah, no, that's fine. what time should i be here tomorrow," you blew a soft breath out of your mouth, smoothing a hand over the top of your head. 

"anytime after nine is good," jason's muscles bulged from where they lay across his chest. the tight black t-shirt he wore scrunched against his biceps. you tried to hide your eyes wandering down his arms, down the sleeve of tattoos littering his arms. a few small birds in flight stood out from the rest. 

cute. 

you nodded in agreement, pulling out your phone. "okay. and the address of this place?" 

he told you, his leg crossing over the other. he remained leaned against his work table, head cocked to the side. his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth. he told you slowly, words enunciating around each number and letter.

you nodded, giving a small polite smile as you moved to leave. "see you tomorrow then, jason, thank you for your help." 

he dipped his head slowly, eyes never yours as he watched you leave. 

by the time you had made it outside, your phone call to tim had already been declined. his contact picture — a picture of him asleep in his bed with a facemask on — stared back at you, the brightness blinding you in the setting sun. 

you let out a sigh and looked around. jason's shop was in the middle of fucking nowhere. with navigation pulled up on your phone, you began to slowly walk in the direction of your home.

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

the road felt endless. not a person around for kilometres. you were unsure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. the rumble of a car in the distance unnerved you. you wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, pushing yourself further away from the road while remaining on the walking path. your head remained high, giving the illusion of confidence. 

a car slowed to a roll beside you, old and black, dark on the inside. you kept walking, your eyes shifting to the vehicle out of caution. 

"get in," a gruff voice called out. a familiar voice. your brows ticked downwards before your head snapped towards the vehicle. 

jason. 

he was the last person you had expected to see. his car followed your pace, tires crunching over the cracked road. it was eerily quiet out, dark in a way that left you unsettled. once the sun had dipped below the horizon, a chill blanketed the city, extinguishing all traces of sweltering warmth that the daytime had brought.

"i'm almost home, i'm good," you called back, continuing to walk, flashing him a smile that he knew was made of plastic. 

"i didn't know i had asked you a question," he quipped back. his car remained in a slow roll beside you. "i'm telling you to get in."

"and i'm telling you that i'm fine," you attempted again, shaking your head. 

your name on his tongue stopped you in your tracks. he hadn't referred to you by your name yet, only nicknames that felt like a punch to the chest everytime he said them. but the syllables — your name — in his voice affected you more than any "darling" or "sweetheart" that had left his lips so far. 

he didn't say anything further. letting your name linger in the air between you. you knew what words were meant to follow. and you knew he wasn't going to say them again. 

"fine," you breathed out and stepped towards his car. jason leaned over the consol, shoulder muscles shifted under the strain. he opened the door for you from the inside, his gaze remained fixated on you until you settled with the seatbelt securely before he drove off again. 

the only way to describe the atmosphere in jason's car was… awkward. 

"you didn't have to do this, i was fine to walk," your voice was more clipped than you had intended, your shoulders shifted behind the seatbelt digging into your neck. 

"don't think timbo would like it very much if i let the pretty lady walk home while it's dark out," he gave you a sidelong glance. "especially since her car is still in my shop." 

"i can handle getting home just fine," you huffed, your arms crossing over your chest. 

"never said you couldn't," his chin tilted slightly. his gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, eyes scanning the street. 

you didn't know what else to say. your heart was beating so hard, you were sure jason could see it thumping out of your chest.

jason's appearance seemed calm — burdened, even. because he had refused to admit that he had secretly hoped tim declined your call so he could drive you home. rescue you, he had rationalized. he hadn't let you get far before he began following you. no, he was making sure you were safe. 

you had the survival skills of a leaf, he had learned. you hadn't noticed him once. your eyes shifted between your phone and the road ahead, never once at the car that had been trailing you for the past 15 minutes. 

and now that you were in his car, he was losing his mind. his grip was steadily tightening on the wheel with the force of his restraint. his back molars were threatening to crack with each clench of his jaw. you were killing him and you had no fucking idea. 

you were infuriating. and you were kind. it pissed him off. the sight of your face, beautiful and angelic. he could see the fire that sparked in your eyes, and the glow that radiated under your skin. he was sure there was a fucking halo hovering over your head as well. 

and you were sitting there. in his car. shoulders visible from your tank top. your skin on display. goosebumps raised your flesh, allowing him to see the visible sign of chill and the way you were fighting to hide the shivers that wracked your body. why the fuck weren't you wearing a jacket?

he couldn't stop the puff of annoyance that left his mouth. his arm reached into the backseat, fingers curling around a sweater he had left discarded in the backseat. 

your brows furrowed when he dumped the sweater in your lap. 

"what—"

"wear it. you're cold," he cut you off, his eyes flickering between you and the sweater. 

you didn't fight this time, letting yourself be enveloped in the warmth of jason's sweater. the sweater was 3 sizes too big. but so warm. you continued to murmur directions to your home to him, letting the silence overcome you again. 

the ride was coming to an end, and you were unable to tell if you wanted to stay in his presence or be as far away from him as possible. the conflict was eating at you. his car slowed in front of the building, the streetlights illuminating only a small patch of the otherwise dark street. 

"well, thank you for the ride," your lips pressed together as you shot him a shy glance. 

he nodded slowly, his fingers pressing the button of your seatbelt. the click echoed through the car. he placed the seatbelt back in it's rightful place near the door, his steady arm brushing against the front of your shoulder. 

you tried not to let your breath stutter, but the pitiful sound escaped you regardless. if he had noticed, he didn't let on. 

you were sure you were going to have a heart attack. his proximity was dizzying. you didn't even know him, yet his presence affected you to an embarrassing degree. 

god, you were pathetic. 

his arm shifted to the door handle, body leaning over the consol once again — across the front of your chest — to push it open. his fingers moved with precision. with a level of care that contradicted how much strength he visibly had. up close, you could see each freckle that dusted his cheeks and his nose; the slope of his nose that had a bump right at the bridge; and the dip in his cupid's bow that twitched with every word he spoke. 

you were mesmerized. 

jason's eyes met yours, face inches from yours. nose inches from yours. he gave you a languid blink before his gaze flickered down to your lips. his tongue darted out to wet his own before they snapped back up to meet yours. 

his irises had dilated in size, sucking you into the black void. 

"don't worry about it," jason murmured back. he was so close that you could feel his breath dust your cheek. 

his gaze flickered down again, calculating. it would be so easy to kiss you, to taste you like he had been wanting to all evening. but he wouldn't. 

he pushed the door open slightly before sitting back in his seat. another shudder crawled up your spin from his lack of warmth, despite his sweater covering your body. you pulled it off slowly, setting it in it's place in the backseat again. 

see you tomorrow, pretty girl," he murmured as you climbed out. you froze momentarily before stepping out and turning to face him. your upper body ducked so you would be eye level with him. 

"see you tomorrow, jason,"

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scuff marks masterlist

In fact, that was a sight you had never expected to see, given how he knew how sacred this belonging was to you. It was no secret that you could often be found writing in that journal; with your head down and engrossed in your own little world as you wrote anything and everything that came to your mind. Even at times when you were meant to be working, he would catch you at your desk hunched over the notebook.

To your appreciation, Clark never asked if he could see inside – ever the gentleman. He never made any efforts to peek at the pages when you weren’t looking – or at least, not that you knew of –, and was, for the most part, very respectful of your writing; this was opposed to the occasional wish for you to share an excerpt of whatever you had written down.

There were times where you were more than happy to share aloud what you had written, and there were others when you had politely declined his wish with the claim that it was something you felt needed to stay personal to yourself. 

But here you were, your lips parted in shock as you watched him hold your journal open in his hands. You felt like your world had come crashing down. A chill ran through your body and settled deep within your bones at the mere thought of all of the things that you had written down in there, things that he was now reading.

“Clark?” you breathed out shakily. There was not enough air in the world that you could inhale into your lungs, there was no cure for the dizziness that spun your brain. 

His head snapped up to look up at you, his eyes meeting yours equally as wide. 

“Hi, Honey,” he said softly, slowly standing up as if he didn’t want to startle you as you looked as though you were about to run away and throw up at any second. He looked down at your journal, still tucked away in his hands before back up at you. 

“This… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear,” he added quickly, his hands clutching your journal between the two of you. 

The room tilted on an axis. Nothing seemed right as the walls began to close in on you. As you continued to gaze up at him, a heavy weight settled on your chest that left a lingering pain in the centre of it. 

In an instant, all you could see was your room tinted in a hue of red as rage exploded through your veins and clouded your mind. You stormed up to him, your face contorted in hurt and anger as you looked up at him with fire in your eyes. 

You were never one to get mad, to get upset; in fact, you were probably one of the most rational people that Clark had ever encountered. It was a perfect balance to his somewhat scattered tendencies when switching between Superman and civilian life. 

But here he was on the receiving end of your anger, something that he had never experienced in all his years of knowing you. 

“How could you?” you asked, your voice soft through the hurt and anger that was radiating off of you was tangible in the air, as you took the journal from his hands and held it up. Your face was a stone mask of nothing but he could see the emotions brewing in your eyes. Emotions that he had caused.

He was terrified; terrified because your tone was steady, though he could feel the tension floating off your body in crashing waves. Waves that struck him and left him feeling more guilt than he thought he would feel. 

“No, wait, I didn’t-” “No! Clark, how could you?” you cut him off, your hand coming out to push him to sit back down on the couch. You had to be the one to look down at him otherwise you felt like you wouldn’t have the upper hand. Your hand gripped his shoulder as he sat on the bed looking up at you. 

He went speechless as he let you handle him. Your touch was soft and gentle, just like you always were – the thing he loved most about you. Despite being used to the horrors he had faced in his life – the cold nights and harsh battles on alien planets – you were the one thing he knew would always be soft and warm. 

He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he tried to get the words out they died in his throat once again. It was all too much, the scent of your perfume engulfing him and calming his nerves, your touch warming his shoulder and spreading throughout the rest of his body, and your beautiful face looking down at him – though, this time you were looking down at him as if he was the last person you wanted to see. He always had a tendency to become speechless in your presence and make a larger fool of himself than he normally would.

As he gazed up at you in this moment, he could no longer keep up that act. All he could do was savour these final moments of you; of your beauty; of the love he had for you that threatened to break through his walls at any given moment.

You continued to stare down at him for a couple of moments as you waited for him to give you an answer – to say anything. The tension in the air was palpable, a tension that you so desperately wanted to take in your hands and rip into shreds because this was Clark, your best friend. The man who saved a squirrel simply because it was a living being. 

But as you stared down at him, all you could feel was pain. You shook your head, stepping back as you dropped the notebook down into his lap.

He looked down at the notebook and then up at you in confusion as the leather hit his thighs, his fingers reaching down to curl around the spine. “Keep it, since you wanted to read it so bad,” you shook your head again in disbelief as you stepped out of your way and gestured to the door, “I’d like to be alone now.”

He stood up immediately with a soft protest leaving his mouth but you cut him off again. “Go,” you said, looking down before looking back up at him with a quieter, “Please.” 

You glanced up at him as he looked down at you with a pained expression, his lips parting again to speak. All you could do was shake your head and look away to fight the tears that were threatening to spill if you continued to see your journal within his grip. 

The sounds of his footsteps with a slight silent hesitation near your door as he exited your room, kept your body tense until you heard the door shut softly behind him and the fading of his steps as he retreated.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

That was a week ago, and it was one of the hardest weeks of your life. You avoided Clark like the plague – leaving when he entered the room, not looking in his direction, and even going as far as to pretend he didn’t even exist. It wasn’t completely because he read your journal, it was the knowledge that he knew everything you had written in there, especially the entries regarding him. 

Maybe it was your fault to write down your feelings for him in there, knowing that another set of eyes could have read them, but that notebook never left your side. Unless you were in the privacy of your own home and in a space in which you had trusted him to respect – which he had never given you a reason not to. You needed an outlet for the depth of your love for Clark. It was always so consuming, even debilitating. You could feel it in every crevice of your being, and the only way to expel it was to put it on paper. 

Maybe you were being overdramatic. Maybe. 

You walked into work that morning, a week after the incident, exhausted from a long and restless night. Metropolis had been a hub for extraterrestrial behaviour this past week, you had assumed, since Superman had been flying around more than normal. You could hear him outside your window. You could see him outside of your window. Flashes of blue and red as he zipped around and hovered. 

This morning at the Daily Planet felt infinitely more hectic than usual. Papers were flying, bodies were blurs as they moved around the room in a hurry. You spared a quick glance at his desk. A turn of the eye through a blink, and nothing more. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment yet. 

Clark was already gazing at you. His fingers wrapped tightly around his pen as his thumb clicked the end repeatedly. Unconsciously.

He had already sensed your presence the second you had turned onto Fifth and Concord. The comforting scent of your perfume slowly infiltrated his nostrils when you had stepped into the building. His mind calmed down the second you stepped out of the elevator and into the room. You calmed him down.

His body called for you. His skin longed to be pressed against yours in any capacity whenever he saw you. He saw you glance over, of course he did. He noticed everything when it came to you. He saw you pretending like you weren’t looking, and it made his heart skip a beat at the idea that you didn’t want him to know. 

A loud snap flinched him out of his trance. The broken plastic of the pen scattered in his palm brought him back to reality as he gazed back up at you. He dropped the scattered pieces across his notepad as he quickly stood up and silently followed you to your desk.

You didn’t hear him following behind you, but you felt his proximity when you stopped just behind your chair and gazed at the wrapped package where your keyboard normally sat. For someone who took up as much space as Clark did, you never heard his footsteps thud under the heavy weight of his mass. The heat from his hand hovering over your shoulder seeped into your skin and had you tensing in your spot. You gazed down at the wrapped package as if it was toxic waste on your desk.

“It’s for you-” Clark’s gentle timber barely reached your ears as you gently grabbed the present and pressed it back into his hands. Quickly. Softly, but quickly. The package itself burned your hands in a branded reminder of the intent behind the present. 

I’m sorry. 

An apology gift. An apology gift for sorrow-filled feelings consequenced out of their own volition. 

“No, Clark,” you murmured back softly as you slid into your seat and turned your monitor on. The silence behind you stretched on for a moment, and you didn’t dare to turn around. Your vertebrae grinded and cracked with the force of your rigidity.

Finally after a few short moments, Clark leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “I understand, I’m sorry. I miss you, Honey.”

He didn’t touch you beyond that. His large, always warm – almost too warm sometimes – hands remained respectfully by his side. Fuck Clark Kent. Fuck Clark Kent with this gentlemanly manners, his understanding, his patience, his farmboy charm, his kind eyes, his captivating– 

No.

You shook those thoughts from your mind immediately as you quickly dove into the articles that needed editing for the day. By the time the work day ended, your exhaustion streamed through your bones and into your brain. 

“Hey, Babes, what are you up to tonight?” Lois planted on the desk in front of you as she knocked her legs between yours. Her signature smirk, though a hint softer as she gazed at you, was plastered on her face as she leaned forward. “Drinks? Bar? Jimmy is in. Clark will go if you go-” You tensed at the mention of Clark before shaking your head slightly. “Sorry, Lois, I’m not feeling a night out this week,”

Her gaze narrowed as she analyzed your form. Her analytical eyes zeroed in on various points of your form. 

“Spill it.”

“... Nothing to spill.” you attempted to feign nonchalance, but fidgeted under her gaze. “Stop doing that!”

“What are you hiding from me?” She stated again, her eyes boring into your features. “What happened with Clark?”

Your hand came up to quiet her, as if that was possible for a personality as loud as Lois’. “Shh, what if he hears you!” You whispered in embarrassment, looking around as you ducked your head down. Despite the fire coursing through your body, you knew Clark had left The Planet an hour and a half ago on reporter business, you know?

“He left so long ago, we’re fine” She waved you off, rolling her eyes as she gently kicked her feet, “tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Yeah, and somehow, he always manages to know, you know? I think he has superhearing or something cause there’s no way-” you began to ramble, giving her a speculative glance as you leaned into her bubble as well. 

“Okay, what did he do?” She pressed again as she interrupted your ramblings, this time quieter for your sake. Coaxing. Your quiet-natured heart always appreciated softer conversations, something Lois had actively attempted to start doing when she was with you. “He read my journal,” you mumbled through a soft breath, frowning at her. Your hand came up to cover your eyes at the frustration. “Am I overreacting? Am I being immature?”

Thoughts swirled through your brain and out your ears, so wild and loud that you were sure Lois could see them. Were you overreacting? Did Clark’s actions warrant silent treatment, or even a termination of friendship? Your immediate thought was no. Truthfully, you didn’t think you could be without Clark’s friendship. He was your best friend. You didn’t want to be without him, but you struggled to look him in the eye. And, sure, you were younger than most of the Daily Planet staff, but you had just graduated from your Masters program! Give a girl a break!

Your gaze focused back up at Lois’ face as a small pout formed across your lips. “You’re not overreacting, he shouldn’t have done that,” Lois sighed softly. Her hand rubbed your shoulder soothingly before gently nudging your chin as she gave you a small, reassuring smile. “But I do think you owe him a conversation. Let him explain.”

Her words were urging, and kind – the kind of tone she always took with you. Your pout lingered on your lips for a few moments longer before you let out a resigned sigh. Your bones were heavy and weighed your skin down into your chair. “I think I’m just embarrassed? You know? That he read it? That he saw everything?” You attempted to rationalize, nibbling on your bottom lip softly before sitting up again. Lois hummed in understanding as she stood up and grabbed her bag, “Movie night? Take out, Ice Cream and Snacks?” You nodded appreciatively as you gathered your own belongings. Despite not knowing her for long, she had quickly become one of your closest friends.

Lois smiled and squeezed your hand, “Perfect! Go home, get cozy. I’ll be over later with everything. Don’t worry about anything.” 

Your journey home was uneventful. Your preparations for your movie night with Lois were sluggish, but left you feeling lighter than the past week. She kept you distracted with conversation and avoided anything related to The C-Word. Gratitude simmered deep in your chest and thawed your frozen heart. Moving to Metropolis had been scary for you for a number of reasons, but you worked so hard to persevere due to your love for your program at Metropolis University. Making friends was even harder. It had seemed like everyone kept to themselves or avoided getting too close due to the growing threat of extraterrestrial visits. 

But then, you secured an internship at The Daily Planet, and your life changed for the better. Sure, everyone else had a few years on you, but it never felt that way. They accepted you. They made an effort to include you despite your shy demeanor and hesitations to get too close. 

Lois was your mentor, your supervisor, and, eventually, your best friend. She molded you into the journalist you wanted to be – the journalist you strived to be. She also helped you realize that being on the front lines wasn’t your passion, it was a projected dream. You loved editing, you just didn’t know if you could make a career out of it. Lois showed you that you could. Perry recognized that as well, and offered you a job as a Daily Planet Editor. 

After Perry hired you, you suddenly felt like you belonged somewhere, with a job that you were genuinely happy with. Clark was the root of that feeling. He made you feel seen. Over the course of your year working at the Planet, you had become the closest with Clark, and Lois. Weekends spent alone in your apartment turned into nights out with the Daily Planet team. 

Then, things shifted and nights with the group turned into nights with Clark. Hushed words were shared in the quiet of various shared spaces with Clark: in your living room, at his kitchen table, under the dim lighting of your fairy lights that hung from your bedroom ceiling. It was real. Honest. Quiet. Safe. 

You weren’t looking to fall in love with Clark, but it was really hard not to. You were sure that everyone in Clark’s life was in love with him. He was beautiful. His curls were always a little bit messy. His tie was never tied properly. You loved when his glasses began to slip down his nose and how quickly he pushed them back up. You loved his dimples and how you could always see the indent threatening to break his skin. 

A small smile spread on your own face at the thought of Clark. You stood up and began to tidy up your apartment after Lois’ departure. You had let yourself go this week, which wasn’t something you were proud of. The mess that had accumulated was a reflection of your state of mind. 

You began to unpack your work bag for the weekend, taking out your lunch containers to put into your dishwasher. You froze as you opened your bag, blinking down at the wrapped package that was nestled between your lunch container and your pouch of necessities. With careful hands, you pulled out the package. 

That sneaky little bitch-, you thought as your eyes narrowed down at the gift. When did he? Oh. you knew exactly when he slipped the gift into your bag. Your shoulders slumped at the memory of his lips gently pressing into your head. 

I understand, I’m sorry. I miss you, Honey.

Those words that he whispered earlier into your hair branded your scalp. Honey. That stupid nickname that only Clark called you that you loved so much. That made you feel gooey inside. You missed him too. You really missed him. 

Your fingers slid under the edge of the paper and gently unwrapped it. Guilt settled over you like a blanket as you gazed at the gift laid out before you on the table. Your fingers gently traced over the letters burned into the front of the browned leather. C.K. The gold lettering branded into your finger tip. 

You were in disbelief over what was in front of you. His journal? What was this – Some kind of journal swap? You didn’t even want to read his journal, you didn’t even know he had– 

Well, that was a stupid thought. You had assumed he had one, you had just never seen it. The leather was soft and worn under your hands. Flimsy, like it had been broken in with consistent use. You could practically see his fingerprints etched into the cover, certain areas changed with the memory of his fingers. You thought that about yourself sometimes too. His fingers had also left imprints on your heart; In the skin just above your elbow where he liked to hold you in his attempts to be respectful; The little path his thumb would trace behind your ear and into your hair – you swore you had developed a cowlick there from Clark’s constant ministrations. The unnatural warmth of his hands melted down the barriers of your reservations just by tender touches alone. 

Though, everything about you had changed since you let him into your life.

Through your thought process, you had made your way outside and onto your balcony. The cushion under you was grounding as you curled up in the chair. Possessing Clark’s journal was charting into a dangerous territory. You knew he gave it to you in order to even the score; he read yours, and now you could read his. That exchange didn’t sit right in your gut. It bubbled at the thought of opening these pages. You were almost scared to find out what he had written down in there, and why he was so willing to give it to you. 

Almost. 

“Breaking news, Supervillain ‘Bizarro’ is spotted in Metropolis. Live footage of him on Clinton Street, residents take safety measures-”

You lazily glanced at the news channel displayed on your TV as you continued to contemplate the journal in your hands. Wait. Clinton Street? You lived on Clinton Street. But there’s no commotion anywhere? The streets were quiet. You stood up and looked over the balcony to see any activity.

Your breath caught in your lungs as you became face to face with Bizarro himself. You blinked quickly at him as he floated up past your balcony and in front of you. The leather of Clark’s journal pressed into your chest as you stumbled back. God, you had hoped Clark was okay, he only lived a few buildings next to yours. 

There wasn’t enough air to adequately fill your lungs. Bizarro floated closer with the dopey smile spread across his mouth. You weren’t fooled, however, you knew the strength he possessed. It was scary how similar Bizarro had been created to clone Superman. He moved with a heavy limpness, a contrast to the elegant grace that Superman seemed to float with. Closer, he floated, and you stumbled back further with the grace of a newborn baby gazelle. 

The sky remained dark and empty, not a cloud was there to mock the position you found yourself in. You could only hope that Superman would be on his way soon, but the familiar flashes of red and blue that you had grown accustomed to this past week was nowhere in sight. 

Still, Bizarro floated closer, a thick glob of drool stringing down the corner of his lip and hung down from his chin. His lips were moving as if he was speaking to you but only gargled noises reached your ears. His large hands, grey tinted and uncoordinated and nothing like the warmth of Clark’s hands, reached out for the strands of your hair. 

A strangled shriek burned your throat as you tripped over your balcony chair, your head almost slamming onto the concrete if it wasn’t for the hands that cradled your body. 

Hands, on your waist, and tangled in the back of your hair. They lifted you upright and steadied your shaking form. Blue; and red; and yellow. A cape. Superman? Your eyes focused on his face, blinking through the haze of panic. Yes, Superman. Definitely Superman. “You with me?” The rich gravel of his voice reached your ears as the vibrations squeezed through the panic flooding your system. A small nod was all you could muster. Superman’s thumb traced the patch of skin behind your ear and into your hairline, the same way Clark always did. You shook your head at the thought of Clark, swallowing thickly. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of Clark, not when Superman and Bizarro were about to face off on your balcony. Even if you did wish it was Clark holding you at the moment instead. Even if you did wish that it was Clark’s thumb tracing that familiar spot. How did Superman know to do that?

“Good, I’m good,” you mumbled out thickly. Superman’s eyes glanced down at Clark’s journal in your hands before guiding you backwards. Bizarro’s figure floated up behind Superman’s shoulder. His unfocused gaze was transfixed on your head. 

“Her… yes.. I want,” Bizarro’s words hung in the air, a tenseness settled over your heads. Superman turned around to face Bizarro. He floated up to meet Bizarro’s eye level. 

“We talked about this last time,” Superman chided as if scolding a child. “Why are you out right now? You know you are not supposed to be.”

“... girl,” Bizarro frowned, looking around Superman’s shoulders and back down at you.

“No, Bizarro, no. What did I tell you? I let you stay at your compound, untouched, if you stay there. Away from Metropolis. Away from people. There is no girl,” Superman’s cadence turned stern, blocking you from Bizarro’s view. 

Bizarro’s expression contorted into anger. His spit flying through his roars. 

“Alright, you’re done here, buddy,” Superman gritted out, his hands slapping down on Bizarro’s shoulder. Bizarro snarled back, his hand coming up and connecting with Superman’s stomach with a solid thud. Superman’s solid form flew right by you, knocking you over with the force of the wind, and slammed into the concrete wall of your balcony. You hit the ground hard, sliding back until your body was stopped by the sliding door separating you from your living room. 

Your world spun. You could hear the struggle between Superman and Bizarro, and the faint sound of a helicopter hovering somewhere above you. As your head stopped spinning, your eyes focused on Superman wrapping his arms around Bizarro and shooting into the air. 

Your hazy gaze flicked back to your television that was showing a live broadcasting of the fight. There was your balcony. There was you – God, how embarrassing! And there was Superman and Bizarro having a sparring match in the air. A comically overly powered sparring match, more like. You pushed yourself up and crawled back inside. Your bones were heavy with exhaustion, screaming in protest at every little movement. 

The news showed Superman apprehending Bizarro and shooting off into the sky once again. Gone. They were gone. What the fuck just happened? Superman and Bizarro just fought on your balcony. Your gaze flickered back outside and into the body shaped dent into your balcony wall. Concrete shards crumbled onto the floor, some pieces grinded to dust. 

Your phone buzzed with an onslaught of missed messages and calls. Lois, Jimmy, Cat, and…. None from Clark. Oh. He's probably busy? Another call from Lois came through on your phone before you could deliberate any further. “...hi,” your voice was small and breathless. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? I saw you on the news, C-.. Superman saved you?” Lois’ voice immediately rang out through your speakers. 

“I’m fine… promise, um… I don’t…” you rested your face in your hands, attempting to breathe air into your lungs. Your world was tilted off its axis. 

“Do you want me to come back? Do you need anything?” you would hear her voice but nothing registered. 

“No, I’m good, Lois, promise. Just shaken up. Call you tomorrow, yeah?,” you responded back quietly, attempting to keep your tone light. You barely finished hanging up the phone before another flash of blue on your balcony caught your attention. Superman… was on your balcony?

You were paralyzed in your spot, blinking up at him standing on your balcony. He was… different than you had expected from up close. Larger. His hair was perfectly intact, except a singular strand that hung down his forehead. His blue eyes were striking, yet kind. He radiated an energy of safety that infiltrated your barriers and blanketed over your nerves. 

You stood up and slowly walked over to the balcony door, sliding it open. Your arms ached at the exertion it took to open the door. “Hi?” you murmured out softly. Your sock covered toes pressed into the wall that held the sliding door in place. It was an attempt at grounding you to this reality – that the haze in your head was clearing and this wasn’t a part of your imagination. 

“Hello, Ma’am. Are you okay?” Superman’s gaze locked onto your form, you felt as if he was looking inside of you. You gave him the faintest nod, your eyes wide and unblinking. You gripped the sliding door frame so tight that you swore it was bending under the pressure of your fingers. 

His gaze settled at the top of your head before slowly making his way down your form. His eyes glowed as they lingered over certain areas more than others. “Minor bruising in some spots, no concussion. No brain damage or internal injuries. You’ll be fine in a few days.”

“How do you… what?” your confusion was evident on your face. You knew he had X-Ray vision, but experiencing it was a jarring experience. 

“How do you know that?” You repeated your question. Your voice was meek, uncertain. No concussion? Sure felt like it. 

“X-Ray vision. I know what injuries look serious enough for medical attention,” He stated professionally – sure of himself. His gaze remained intense, checking over you again. 

His words were meant to assure you, balm over the past hour so you could move forward. It wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t wind down, not after the events of the week, and this night could have tipped you over the edge. Your body yearned for Clark’s comfort. Even just the simplicity of being in his presence would have been enough to quiet your brain. You knew your actions towards him this week bordered the line of disrespect. You couldn’t just run back to him now that you needed him. “Is he… what happened to him? Bizarro,” you snapped out of your thoughts. You didn’t recognize your own voice. You could feel the disconnect between your brain and your synapses. You felt delayed, like your mind might have been playing tricks on you. Superman’s voice washed over you in a calming wave, something that only happened to you when Clark spoke to you. 

“He won’t bother you ever again, Ma’am, I promise,” Superman’s words did little to assure you, despite how trusting you were of him. Your body responded to his words in relief, though your mind remained on edge. He bent down and retrieved a notebook off the floor – Clark’s journal. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize I… thank you,” you murmured out softly, reaching your hand out for the journal in Superman’s hands. Your fingers connected with his, trapping the leather between your grasps. His hand was warm, unnaturally warm, and instantly seeped up into your fingers and through your arms. A familiar warmth that was enough to replace the feeling Clark’s hands gave you – it would do, for now. 

It was interesting seeing Superman up close. You could see the strength in his body. Otherworldly. Comforting where it should be terrifying. Your eyes flickered down to his hands where they brushed over yours, before back up to his eyes. Soft. Blue. Familiar. Your head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation. That shade of blue, so– 

“C.K… your name?” his voice rumbled out, distracting you from your thought process. He could see your thoughts swirling in your brain, the look of contemplation in your eyes. You were smart, Clark was well aware of your intelligence. Looking too closely at him would reveal a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share yet. He gave you a kind smile as he pulled his hand away from yours. 

You breathed your name out softly, failing to elaborate and let your name hang in the silent air for a second.

Stupid, stupid. 

Superman had a small, almost fond, smile on his face as he regarded you. You felt like he was in on a joke that you weren’t. Your mind spun, and your nerves went into overdrive. As he moved to respond, you couldn’t stop your words from vomiting out. 

“I mean, the lettering on the journal isn’t for my name, but this is mine? Well, not mine, it’s someone else’s-” you pressed your lips together to cut yourself off from speaking further.

“You have someone else’s… journal?” Superman mused, his hands clasping behind his back. His gaze was intense, his head cocked down as he regarded you. 

“It’s complicated,” you responded softly, bringing the journal to your chest. 

“You know, I can do more than just fly around and fight bad guys, I’ve been told I’m a great listener,” his tone remained gentle – a stark contrast to his physical appearance. He lowered himself into one of your balcony chairs, gesturing to the one beside him for you to join. 

“Adding “therapist” to your job description?” you lowered yourself into the chair, bringing your legs up comfortably. “Do you always come back to check on the people you save, Superman?”

“Not always,” The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back to settle in. He practically spilled over the edges of the seat, making the normal sized chair look miniature. His response was simple, but unmistakable. The unspoken words hung in the air, words that you weren’t sure you were imagining due to the dissipating haze that was slowly lingering in your mind. His comically large figure sat in your balcony chairs like he owned the place, like he had done this a thousand times before in your apartment. 

“Lucky me,” you murmured back softly, a silence settling over you. You had already begun to pick at your nail polish, deciding to distract your fingers with tracing the lettering of Clark’s journal instead. All the words died in your throat. This was weird, right? Really weird? Superman was sitting on your balcony, offering to be your therapist. 

His gaze settled on your fingers. He was well aware of your nervous stature, the silent anxiety you could harbour occasionally. He knew, but you were under the impression that you were talking to Superman, not Clark. You didn’t know they were the same person – that the very man who was the reason for your troubles was sitting right beside you. 

“So what happened?” He urged softly. His smile was reassuring, his gaze flickering down to the journal in your lap. 

You hesitated slightly, still struggling to find the words. “I… I feel like speaking to you is a conflict of interest,”

“Why would you think that?” His breath caught in his throat, but you didn’t notice. Clark’s mind went into overdrive. Did you know?

“Well, I mean. Everything is just… stupid, and petty of me, it’s all my fault. You’re a conflict of interest because you know Clark, he interviews you, and you guys are friends?” you finally gazed back up at Superman. “I don’t want to put you in the middle of whatever is going on between us.”

“Clark, right. Yes, Clark Kent. We are friends. Very close,” he cleared his throat, looking forward at the view off your balcony. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even-”

“No. Nothing to apologize for, I promise. I’m here to listen to you if you want,” He rumbled back gently. He didn’t push. He didn’t pry. He sat there, quietly coexisting beside you as if he had all the time in the world to sit right there; as if there was no other place he would rather be right now. “Besides, whatever horrible thing Clark did to you, I won’t tell him.”

“I could never say anything bad about Clark, ever. He has the biggest heart I have ever seen,” your voice was small, laced with guilt. “I guess, I just don’t know if I can face him,” 

Superman remained quiet beside you, waiting for you to gather your thoughts. He didn’t look at you with judgement, only understanding. Your gaze was fixed on Clark’s journal on your lap. 

You let out a huff of embarrassment, your hands covering your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to talk to me again. I’ve been a horrible friend to him this past week.”

“I can assure you that he wants you in his life, you don’t have to worry about that,”

“How do you know that? Did he say something to you?” You sat up slightly nervously, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. “Cause if he said something, you have to tell me, I don’t want to make an even bigger fool-”

He gave you a hint of a smile, his expression soft as he regarded you. “Just talk to him, Honey. I can assure you that Clark would be happy to.”

You nodded, settling back in your seat with a quiet breath. Your mind raced with scenarios and possibilities. Honey? Superman called you-

“Okay, you’re right. I can talk to him. It’s only Clark, right? Nothing to be scared of.” You turned to face Superman again, your anxiety tangible in the air. You shook the previous thoughts out of your mind, it’s just a nickname. “Right?”

“Nothing to be scared of,” he assured with a nod. His eyes were light with amusement.

“But, I mean, everyone has reached out to me since the news broadcasted me getting thrown onto the floor like a ragdoll, but Clark hasn’t. So that must mean that he hates me,” You countered, your voice laced with panic.

Superman threw his head back, a smile still spread across his face. He couldn’t help but think about the love he had for you at that moment. You had no idea who he was, who you were talking to. How madly in love he was with you, the complete opposite to what you were rambling about. 

“Let me ask you this,” he focused his gaze back on you. “You have Clark’s journal in your hands.”

You nodded in confirmation, waiting for him to continue.

“Have you read it? Before deciding that he hates you. You have all of his thoughts right there,” he grabbed the journal from your lap and held it up. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think that I could,” you denied immediately. Your hands raised defensively as if that would stop the thoughts from penetrating your mind. 

“You can. Read it, trust me,” he urged. This time, you could feel the pressure he applied with his words. His hands pressed the journal into yours and guided your hands to open the journal. 

Your eyes hesitantly read over the words on the first page. Daily Planet thoughts. Mundane, but in Clark’s unmistakable cadence. 

The next page – details about his visit back home to Smallville for the weekend. You remembered him telling you about that weekend months into your friendship. He had told you how excited he was to go home, finally get away. You smiled fondly at the memory. 

You flipped a few pages ahead, landing on an entry dated around a year ago, the day you started your internship at the Daily Planet.

‘Today, I met an angel. That is the only way I can describe her. Angel. She is stunning. Beautiful. Ethereal. The new intern working at the Planet with us. She walked in all nervous, I could tell. I could smell it on her skin, hear her pulse racing. Perry is putting her under Lois – good choice. I don’t think I would be able to handle it if I had to mentor her. I forgot everything when I looked at her face. She told me her name, it’s beautiful just like she is. I’m a goner. Completely gone.–’

You read the top part of the entry quietly. You couldn’t keep reading this. You couldn’t. 

“Keep going,” Superman commanded from beside you. Your mind was screaming with hesitation. His arms wrapped around your form settled in the chair, guiding your hands again. When did he move out of the chair? How is he so large?

His guided your fingers to flip ahead with an odd familiarity, like he knew his way around these entries intimately. He held open an entry dated 6 months ago. “Read it. Now.”

Your eyes flicked over the words hesitantly. “This isn’t right, I don’t want to invade Clark’s–”

“Read it.”

‘Everything about her reminds me of honey. The sound of her voice, her scent – it sticks to me and clings to my essence, the smooth glide of her touch. That’s why I call her ‘Honey’. I can never get enough. I shouldn’t have gotten as close as I did, as I am right now. I should have kept my distance. It’s not safe for her, for me. I could never forgive myself if something happened to her, but I love her. I am in love with her. Gosh, I am such a coward. I love her but I am lying to her. I can never tell her my real name, my real identity, where I’m really from. Every time I see her, the words are on the tip of my tongue; the words that reveal that it’s me wearing that cape–’

Your brows furrowed slightly. Cape?. Your synapses exploded with realization. The thoughts exploding through your mind and firing down to your fingertips. You could feel it in your toes, where they were pressed against Superman’s legs. This wasn’t just Superman, this was Clark. Your Clark.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. You were speechless at the revelation, not having the strength to continue reading. 

“Clark?” your voice was far away. Breathless. It barely reached your ears, you were sure he couldn’t hear your words either. 

“Hi, Honey,” he whispered gently. Placatingly, lovingly. He shifted again, in that elegant way that he always seems to carry himself, and placed himself right in front of you. His large body was nestled between your knees, pressing against the edge of the chair. He had that soft smile on his lips that he only ever reserved for you, the crater in his cheek barely denting into his skin. 

“Clark.” you repeated again, disbelief written over your features and in your eyes. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your body slid off the seat of the chair and settled into his lap. His arms – strong, sure, steady – anchored you to his body. 

His laugh rumbled through his chest and rattled your bones. He smelled the same. Warm, familiar, distinctly Clark – Superman? No, just Clark. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed into his neck, your nose nuzzling into the skin. “I’m sorry for being upset with you, and ignoring you. I’ve been the biggest bitch, and the worst friend,”

“You have nothing to apologise for tonight,” his voice was barely above a breath into your ear. The smooth tip of his nose traced a path from the base of your neck up to just below your earlobe. He would never get enough of your scent up close. Sweet, fresh, no amount of the scent could satisfy his cravings. It was an insatiable desire that clouded his mind. It was times like these that he was thankful for his increased sense of smell. He never really got many opportunities to be this close to you, to have direct access to your skin. “Tomorrow, though, you have some groveling to do, Honey.”

His words, meant to be teasing, bounced right off the shield of panic that surrounded your thoughts. “Anything. You’re fucking-”

“Language,” 

“Shut up.”

There was safety in Clark’s arms, in the ridges of his chest, in being engulfed by the man you loved. His hands, strong enough to rip the burning sun apart without a mark to show for it, held you like you were something worth keeping. Something precious. Maybe you were worth keeping. 

“It wasn’t right of me to read your journal,” Clark’s voice began again softly against the skin of your neck. “And I don’t have a good enough excuse as to why I did it.”

“Why did you?” you whispered back. The night was cold in Metropolis, biting at your cheeks and freezing your joints. Though, you barely felt it in the warmth of Clark’s embrace. 

“I thought you knew I was Superman,” his words were a puff of air against your skin. His forehead was pressed into your shoulder and the shame he was radiating practically seeped into your skin. He let the words hang for a few moments before he lifted his head to catch your eyes. 

“It was eating me alive, not knowing. I wanted to ask you, but it felt dangerous. I thought I could take a quick look and be done with it,” he let out another huff, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he blinked at the Clark-shaped dent in your balcony. “X-Ray vision, you know, I can see the words without even opening the book. But then I saw what you wrote about me, your confession, and I had to see it for what it was – without the X-Ray.”

Your gaze averted. You knew exactly what you had written there – cheesy declarations of love and your insecurities about not wanting to ruin your friendship – and you knew he had seen it. Hearing him say it out loud only deepened the embarrassment that festered in your stomach. 

“I was so happy to see that you returned my feelings, that the girl of my dreams loved me too. When you walked in and saw me with your journal, you looked like you hated me,”

“I don’t, no! I didn’t mean, I was just mad-”

He cut you off gently, his hand cradling your cheek. “No, Honey, let me finish.”

“I know you don’t hate me, My Darling, I can hear your heartbeat, I know how it beats to your emotions. That doesn’t make it better, though, does it? I know I hurt you, and I’m truly sorry,” his fingers curled around his discarded journal in your lap. He held it up between the two of you, “I know giving this to you doesn’t erase what I did, but I hope that it can be a start. It tells you everything that I’ve been too afraid to say outloud.”

“I love you, Clark,” you blurted out softly. Your fingers curled around the smooth material of his cape. 

His lips quirked up slightly, his tongue poking out and covering his teeth. His eyes sparkled in the reflection of the moon. “I love you, Honey, even if you couldn’t wait two seconds for me to say it first.” 

A small, apologetic smile spread across your face. Fire spread up your spine and into the tips of your ears. You were still feeling overwhelmed from the events of the past week. You thought seeing Clark would quell your anxieties, and soothe the claws scratching inside your throat, but it didn’t. He noticed instantly, of course he did. He could smell the distress mixed in with your natural scent. 

Both his palms rested on your cheeks, holding your head in place. His forehead pressed against yours. Unmistakable, final. “I am going to say this once, okay? I’m not upset with you in any way, I love you.”

Your eyes fluttered in acknowledgment. You could feel the sincerity in his words finding home in the grooves of your sulcus. The space between your bodies had been charged with an electric current, magnetic force field that neither of you could resist. 

“I’d also really like to kiss you now, if that is okay with you,” he whispered softly, his chin angling towards you with physical restraint. His nose brushed against yours and traced along your cheek. “Please.”

He could sense your answer before you told him. You released a slight hitch of a breath, so miniscule that your own body may not have been able to perceive it if you weren’t paying attention, and a barely perceptible nod of consent. Yes. Yes, you wanted that too. 

“Say it,” he murmured softly, hovering his lips over yours. His gaze was zeroed on the part of your lips, every line that made up the shape of them burned into his mind. 

“Yes-”

His lips meeting yours felt like getting tossed into the wall again. You had dreamed of this moment, the taste, the feel – it exceeded any fantasy you had curated. You leaned closer to him, your lips moving against his with gentle familiarity. The rhythm was natural, as if you two had done this a thousand times before. Your arms locked around his neck, leaning your weight into his chest from where you were settled on his thigh. The cold plastic of the balcony chair pressed a line into the bottom of your back, though the tender pain of the earlier bruising barely registered in your mind. 

Clark licked into your mouth, his fingers slipping into the back of your hair and angling your head back. Your taste settled into his tongue, burrowing into a molecular level and binding to his own. He was addicted. Hooked. 

You pulled away first, leaving millimeters of space between your mouths. He didn’t give you a moment to react before he was up and moving inside to your bedroom. His lips found yours again, pressing your back into the bed. His weight grounding on top of you, the only thing that could keep you breathing in this moment. You both moved against each other with a fervor, the sparks between you crackling into explosions. You whined breathlessly into his parted lips, the words you wanted to say died in your throat with a bite to his lower lip. His fingers intertwined with yours and pressed them above your head. 

“I want you, and I want this. But I want to do it right. If you want me to stop right now, I will. Otherwise, I’d really like to keep going, Honey,” His tone was steady, not a breath out of place, unlike your own. His words were ragged like rocks corroded against a cliff. They cut sharply through the pleasure induced fog that he caused in your mind with a simple kiss. 

You nodded frantically, angling your head back up to meet his lips again. Clark met you halfway, his kisses turning demanding and claiming. It was messy, wet – his spit dribbling down your lip and to your chin from the force of his kiss. 

His lips trailed down your jaw and towards your neck, pressing soft and insistent kisses over the smooth expanse of skin. His hands let go of yours, sliding down your arms. One arm curled around your lower back, holding you up to him. His other hand slipped under your hoodie, his fingers settling in between the intercostal spaces of your ribs. You had always wondered what his hair would feel like between your fingers – what noises he would make, how they would feel when you tugged them. 

You gripped onto the hairs on the base of his neck with a soft tug, and a rough groan erupted low in his throat. “You can’t do that,” his voice was torn with desire. Despite Clark’s usually lightly disheveled appearance, you had never seen it to this extent – his blue eyes, so crystalline, were blown out and unfocused; his lips were red and puffy with indentations where your teeth had bitten for a taste. 

His hand slid up under your sweater to cup your breast, another groan ripping out from his throat. Your skin was a canvas, one he wanted to explore and mark. Every dip, every mark was catalogued in his mind – saved in a file that he made sure he would memorize forever. His head dropped against your collarbone as he bit down slightly on the skin. “You’re killing me, Honey.”

He sat up, his hands sliding your hoodie up and over your head. His eyes focused on your chest, burning with need and restraint. His mouth came down and sealed over your nipple, sucking and biting. His free hand came up and cupped your other breast, rolling the bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your back arched to meet his mouth with a soft whine. The sensation of Clark’s mouth was instant, relentless. Despite the voracity of his movements, the effort of restraint was visible in his muscles. The tension in his back coiled tight as he fought his biology to remain gentle. 

His mouth pressed wet kisses between your breasts before biting down softly on the fat of your other breast. He was starving. His spit was shining across your skin like a claim, a mark without blemishing your skin. 

“Beautiful, so beautiful, wow-” his words were mumbled into your skin and he explored your torso with his mouth. He marked his path down your stomach and to your hips. His fingers left a blazing trail as they hooked around the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. 

Your hands instantly wrapped around his, halting him. “Wait-”

Clark froze, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. Specks of uncertainty broke through the rage of desire that clouded the blues of his eyes. “What is it, Baby?” 

You sucked in a soft breath, your fingers curled again in the collar of his Superman suit. Your voice was soft, almost shy. “I don’t want to be the only one exposed… makes me feel uncomfortable,”

He sat up immediately, grabbing your fingers and pressing them into the notch on the smooth kevlar of his suit. Your fingers pressed onto the hidden notch, the soft click echoing in the space between your bodies. The material deflated off his body, slowly pooling down his arms and around his waist. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his skin. He was akin to a marble statue. Strong, smooth, breathtaking. He remained still, using barely a fraction of his strength to hover above you – enough to remain close without suffocating you. Your hands gently rested on the front of his shoulders, feeling the hardened chord of muscles. Kryptonian muscles, Kryptonian biology. His power thrummed through your fingers, a measure that you were unable to comprehend. 

You could see it now, how Clark Kent was Superman. How your Clark harboured a strength that he made look so gentle, but could be destructive – catastrophic. Yet, he never used his strength for what it was intended for. He never brought intentional destruction to Earth.

Your fingers met the fabric of the suit that pooled around his waist and slid it down with his assistance. The fabric hit the floor beside your bed with a soft thud – finalizing the moment that the two of you were about to share. He was bare, save for his boxers, in all his Kryptonian glory. He settled back between your thighs, pushing his hips into yours. 

That was when you felt it – every ridge of hardness that was between his legs, the size that took your breath away, even with the layers of clothing still separating you two. You pulled him back down, pressing your chests together again as you smashed your lips back into his. 

The kiss was desperate, full of apology and promise for what was to come. Clark’s fingers found your waistband again, ripping off your bottoms and your panties in one go without breaking the kiss. The shred of fabric went unnoticed in your ears. The taste of his tongue was dizzying, consuming. Your mind was black, a dark void of mass that was drowning in anxieties from the past week. Clark was the light that cut through that void, dissipating the smoke with each kiss and flick of his tongue against your skin. 

His hands rested on the inside of your thighs, pushing your legs apart and settling his stomach against the bed. His hand trailed through your slick folds, gathering the wetness on the tips of his fingers. A low groan rumbling in this throat. Your legs jumped, a soft squeak exiting your own mouth at the same time.

“Clark!” you panted softly, your fingers digging into his biceps where they rested on your thighs. 

“This all for me, Honey? I haven’t even touched you yet,” his voice was rough as he thumbed circles over your clit. His hand held your thigh to the side, keeping your leg from shaking under the pressure of his circling thumb. 

“Oh, fuck, Clark, please,”

“What did I tell you earlier about your language,” he growled out softly, his finger slipping inside easily into your heat. He met your gaze, tearing his focus away from where his finger was plunging deep inside of you.  His eyes were feral, gone was any trace of the soft Clark you knew. 

Before you could respond, his finger began to move slowly, working you open. His finger alone, felt like too much, a steady pressure that you had never experienced with anyone else before. He added another one, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a wet schlup. He pumped his fingers steadily, curling his fingers until he found the spot he was looking for. 

“Fu-”

He cut you off with his own mouth before you could finish, scissoring his fingers into that spot with viscous precision. Your legs shook under his hold as you whined into his mouth. It was consuming, your body was on fire. His thumb circled your clit again, the pace of his fingers never faltering. Heat curled up your stomach and through your spine. 

“I’m, Clark, I think I’m-” you could barely mumble into his mouth. He was devouring you, sucking the words from your throat before you could get the chance to speak them. “Let go for me, give it to me,” he whispered into your panting mouth, his arm resting beside your head. His thumb swiped you one more time before your body tensed with your release. Your eyes rolled back and your muscles locked up, a soft cry ripping from your throat as your legs threatened to close. His fingers slowed down, helping you ride out your pleasure. 

“That’s it, Darling, so good for me, yeah?” Clark murmured roughly, slowly sliding his fingers from you. His gaze darkened further at the slick coating his fingers. You propped yourself on your elbows and followed his gaze. He wiped his fingers over your folds before leaning back down and sealing his lips around your clit. 

You let out a shriek, falling back as your hands gripped his hair. “Clark!” your hips shifted away from his mouth. His hands wrapped around your hips and held you to his mouth. He was ruthless, his tongue licking every trace of your release before dipping inside your entrance. You let out another cry at the sensitivity, another release ready to snap from you like a rubber band. He continued to lick at your walls, his nose bumping into your sensitive clit. Your hands pulled at his curls again, attempting to push his head away, though your hips ground closer to his mouth. 

The pressure built up steadily once more, your movements faltering. It only encouraged Clark further. He licked up through your folds again before wrapping around your puffy clit. All it took was one suck before your body convulsed again with release. You grabbed the pillow and pressed it over your face, choking on your moans. 

“Holy shit, Clark, so good, I can’t,” your voice cut off with another high moan. He didn’t stop. His lips remained suctioned around your nub, continuing to lick circled around it with his tongue. One of his arms settled across your stomach, pinning your hips down in place. His other fingers prodded against your entrance again as your muscles jumped. 

“Too much, Clark-”

“One more, Baby, please, you can do it, yeah? I need it, please, you can give me one more,” he praised softly, pressed suctioning kisses over your clit and down your slit. His fingers found your spot inside of you again, vibrating with unparalleled strength. You clenched tightly around him as he groaned deeply, rumbling deep in his chest. 

“She’s doing so good for me, so good, I can feel it, Honey, you’re almost there,” you could barely hear him over the loud squelching of your wet slick sliding with his fingers. He kissed back up your body until he met your lips again, his thumb meeting your wet clit once again. You let out a soft cry into his mouth, tensing around his fingers. The taste of your release entered your own mouth, Clark’s soft groan rumbling down your throat. Your face contorted slightly, struggling to keep up the pace of his mouth. 

“I can’t, Clark, please, I can’t,” you choked out into his mouth, your hand wrapping around his wrist weakly. Your muscles were gelatin, your legs were tingling with the force of keeping them spread. His fingers slowed down and gave you some relief from his onslaught. 

“It’s okay, did so good for me, so good, I’m sorry. You taste so good, feel even better,” Clark pressed apology kisses to your lips and over your face. He pulled his fingers from your heat and brought them up to his mouth, licking them clean. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to your lips, softer and full of love. 

That was how you remained for a few moments as you caught your breath – holding onto him gently as your lips moved gently in sync. His lips, though unspeaking, pressed the depth of his love into your mouth. The words, hidden in the bubble of his spit, settled between your teeth and tattooed into your cheek. I love you. 

Once your heart rate had calmed down, your fingers slid down to his boxers, moving to pull them down. Clark pulled back slightly, blinking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Hey, we don’t have to go further. That was a lot,”

“I want to. I promise, I want to,” you pressed your lips back to his, hoping it would convey the desire behind your words. You wanted this, you knew you did. Your fingers curled around the band of his boxers again, slowly pulling them down. 

He let out a soft breath, reaching down and ripping the fabric away from his body. You blinked down at the shreds of fabric beside you on the bed, before up at him again in shock. 

You didn’t have a chance to respond before your eyes landed on the hardness between his legs. 

“O-oh,” you gulped softly. It was huge. Every ridge, every vein protruded against the smooth skin of his cock. You could see the prominent vein running up the side, the feature distinguishing his appendage as Kryptonian biology and unattainable of regular men. Drool pooled in your mouth at the sight and practically spilled down the corners of your lips, you wanted to taste it. You wanted to dip your tongue into each crevice and feel the silky skin weighing on your tongue. 

“Need you, Darling,” his rough words broke you out of your daze, his hand reaching down to gather some of your slick from your folds on his fingers before spreading it around his tip. He stroked himself twice before leaning down to meet your lips softly. “You can take it, right? Gonna be my good girl and take it?” 

The head of his cock gently slid through your folds as he whispered the words into your mouth. They destroyed you, forcing themselves down your throat and settled into your heart. Yes. Yes, you would take it. You could take it. 

“Please, Clark, want it, please,” you babbled softly, your nails digging into the back of his shoulders. 

“Relax for me, need you to relax,” he whispered soothingly into your temple. His tip gently nudged at your entrance, preparing you for him to take him. 

Clark pushed his tip in, immediately stilling when you tensed. A soft, strangled noise caught low in your throat at the sudden pressure. He let out a groan of his own, his eyes squeezing shut momentarily. His arm bracketed your head, while the other ran through your hair. “Shh, relax for me, baby, you’re doing so well,”

He gently kissed you again in an attempt to distract you. His other finger came down, gently rubbing over your clit to relax your muscles. “I love you, Honey, you feel perfect.” 

Your ears were full of cotton, your head was underwater, you could barely breathe through the sensation of him inside you. He pushed in a little further, your breath choking again from the force of the pressure. Your teeth sunk into the skin of his shoulder – though barely due to his impenetrable skin. 

“Is that all of it?” your voice was weak and breathless, pressing your eyes into his shoulder. 

He chuckled into your temple, “Honey, I’m barely even halfway,” 

“What the fuck, Clark?” you bit out through a soft whine. You adjusted your hips to make room for him. Clark got the hint and grabbed your previously discarded pillow, situating it under your bottom. The movement caused him to slide in deeper, your legs trembling at the sensation. 

He began to move his hips softly, pulling out before sliding back in half way. Your head tipped back, your mouth dropping open. He took that opportunity to mouth at your neck, gently biting down on the spot at the base of your neck. 

He continued to push his hips into yours, sliding in further inch by inch until he was flush against you. Your fingers gripped into the bedsheets beside your head, your knuckles white from the force. 

“You’re… gosh, so tight,” his words were strangled against your skin. His muscles were coiled with restraint, more restraint than you had ever seen from Clark, or Superman. He looked as though he was a second away from unraveling, “relax for me, or else I won’t be able to last,”

You attempted to breathe, forcing your muscles to relax. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him into you. “Move, please, I want it hard,”

He didn’t respond, the force of his thrust was enough verbalization alone. The air was punched out of your lungs, he was so deep inside of you. His tip hit your cervix, rubbing against that spot that had your vision fading out. He was everywhere, inescapable, the pressure of him molding your walls. 

Your walls sucked him in greedily, clamping down as if you needed him. Clark’s thrusts were calculated, brutal, methodical. “Look at her, sucking me in, she’s so tight,” he grunted. 

His grip shifted on your hips, angling them further to slide deeper. The sound of his hips slapping against yours filled the air, along with the wet squelch of your juices mixing with his. 

“Please, Clark, please, please, please,” you pleaded, though you did not know what you were begging for. Your eyes were unfocused, drunk off the feeling. Your lashes fluttered against your wet cheeks, your skin sliding against his from the thin layer of sweat coating your bodies. The pressure of his thrusts increased, the spongy head of his tip hitting your spot every time. 

“Look at me, wanna see you when you come again. Come on, Honey, show me those pretty eyes,” he whispered softly, grabbing your chin with his free hand to hold your gaze. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the pleasure coursing your body was overwhelmingly debilitating. 

His hips slowed down, pressing right to the hilt inside of you. “Open your eyes, pretty girl, ‘m not moving until you look at me,”

His voice was commanding, grinding softly into you instead. Your fingers dug into his back, attempting to hook your nails into the skin. Clark let out a rough chuckle, his free hand gathering your arms and pinning them above your head. 

“Look at you, ruined for me. This all mine, Baby? Look so pretty like this,” he punctuated his words as he grinded his hips hard against yours, pushing himself as far as he could go. 

You let out a strangled whine, forcing your eyes open. Your legs shook with the exertion it took to keep your legs open for him. You gazed into his eyes as best as you could. 

He pulled his hips back again until his tip was the only thing inside of you, before slamming his hips forward again. He let out a deep groan. His hips found an unforgiving pace, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Hmmmm, yeah,” his thrusts were unforgiving, spiraling out of control. His heartbeat, usually calm and steady, was erratic and pumping against your chest. Your hearts playing a steady dance, one beat after the other, a perfect steady rhythm shared between you two. He was breathless, panting, every sound that left his lips went straight into your core, building your own pleasure. The ache in your muscles was a distant pain from the haze you felt. 

“Gosh, Honey, I can’t, I need to, you’re so good, I can't–” he slammed his lips back into yours as his finger came down to rub at your clit again. His thumb stroked tight, deliberate circles as he bit at your neck. 

“One more for me, baby, you can do it. I’m gonna come too, same time,” he begged softly as he trailed kisses back up to your mouth. You had been teetering on the edge with every punch of his head to your spot. The pressure was a steady build up, crawling up your spine with every hit. 

“Clark, FU-” you practically scream, your muscles tightening as your walls sucked him in tightly. He cut off your expletive with his own mouth, overpowering your breath with his own groan. You held him in you as far as he could go, feeling the warmth of his cum filling you. Clark continued to shake with release for several seconds, thick spurts of cum dripping between you. 

“S-so much,” your words were barely above a breath, gasping softly as he grinded his hips into you to emphasize your words. 

“I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, pressing one, two, three kisses to your swollen lips. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft grind of his hips. He slowly pulled out, the release of pressure an uncomfortable loss for you. 

His fingers came down and trailed through his cum and spread it through your folds, “Beautiful,” he pressed a thick glob back inside, snickering softly at your whine of sensitivity. Your hand, weakened by exhaustion, came up to hit him. 

With the speed only capable of Superman, he had you cleaned with precise gentleness. He dressed you back in your sleep shirt and a pair of underwear, careful not to disrupt the ache in your muscles. Clark settled back beside you, laying you down on his chest. His fingers trailed through your hair as he listened to your heartbeat slow to a relaxed pace. peaceful. Comfortable. Safe. 

“I love you too, Clark,” you whispered into his chest, finally having the strength. He knew you weren’t sleeping from the sound of your breathing, but he had not expected you to respond. Clark’s arms pulled you closer, attempting to fuse your bodies together. “Go to sleep, I’m not going anywhere,”

The two of you remained there, hearts beating in sync, breaths twisting in harmony – the same rhythm you two had danced in for months now, but had been too scared to face. Maybe Clark reading your journal hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

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

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

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

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

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

jason todd. the son of bruce wayne. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your answer came a week later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you smiled at the sight.

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

                   ‿‿‿‿

the shift was subtle. 

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

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

this time, however, this time was different. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but then, your relationship changed again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"then it's a homicide,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the haunting red. vibrant and angry. like blood. 

                   ‿‿‿‿

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

you missed him. 

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

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

you wanted answers. you deserved answers. 

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

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

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

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

everything was not fine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i trust you,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"just you?" 

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

"you said it wasn't batman," 

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

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

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

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

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

he was just jason. 

your jason. 

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

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

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

he had spent so long between your thighs, working you up, but not letting you fall over the edge until he was ready to. and when he finally let you, you swore you blacked out. 

his attention was too persistent for something that was casual. 

what started as a quick release, a way for the two of you to release some tension and find temporary comfort in each other slowly began to get muddled. 

dick was your friend first, your best friend. . 

then, he became a friend that occasionally left you boneless and unable to walk for hours until your legs stopped shaking. 

dick's lip met yours in a desperate, messy kiss, tongue sliding past your teeth and swallowing your heavy pants. his hand cupped your cheek, holding your face against his. 

his hair was slicked to his forehead, wet from the exertion of his desperation. 

he was fucking you with a new level of fervor, one that punched every breath out of your lungs with each thrust. one of your hands clawed into the back of his hair, pulling the dark, silky strands between your fingers; the other ran down his back, leaving angry marks in their streak. 

dick groaned into your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip.

"dick, i can't—" you practically whined, your legs falling open even wider, causing the angle of dick's hips to change. he slid in impossibly further, tilting up and kissing your cervix harder than he was before. 

"fuck, fuck — sweetheart — i know, i'm sorry, i need—" he panted back, his voice cracking with delirium. he kept his weight blanketed over you, pressing you further and further into the mattress. the headboard slammed against the wall with loud thumps. 

dick propped himself up on one arm suddenly, stilling his hips at the hilt and gazing down at you. his chest heaved as his half-lidded eyes roved over your dishevelled form. a hit of a smirk graced his lips as he slowly began to grind his hips into yours. slow, deep strokes, inescapable. 

the tip of his finger trailed a path down from your chest, over the curve of your stomach and down your clit. he pushed up the hood, thumb pressing into the jumping muscle. your thighs threatened to close around him, but were stopped by the force of his palm slapping down to keep them open. 

"gimme another, please, baby?" his gravelly voice rang out, thumb circling quick strokes around your clit. he slid out until just his tip remained in you before slamming forward as hard as he could. 

his head dipped forward as your walls sucked him in, warm, wet, inviting. his mind was fuzzy with pleasure, drunk off you. his heart began to sing with a chorus that he had no right to vocalize. a song made up of heart-shaped notes that rang in his head whenever he was in your presence

you let out a soft choke, a sign of your impending release, a sign that dick was all too familiar with. he knew everything that made you tick, which parts of you were most sensitive. he knew how to have your legs shaking around him within a matter of minutes, and where to touch you so that he could keep you going for hours. 

he knew you inside and out. 

your neck snapped back with the force of your release, your eyes shutting, nails digging into his thighs to ground yourself. 

he let his weight fall back on top of you, pushing your knees up near your chest to slid back in as deep as he could go. "yeah, fuck, fuck, yes, baby, holy shit," he babbled into your neck, "feel so fucking good for me, taking me so well. my perfect girl." 

he could feel his own release building. white, hot pleasure that had his eyes rolling back as his head fell into your neck. 

"fuck, i love you—" he grunted into your ear as his hips hits yours one last time. the muscles in dick's back convulsed as warm, thick ropes painted your insides. 

you froze in your spot, your body tensing slightly. he, however, was still in a daze.

"fuckin' hell, i love you, my sweet girl, always so fuckin' good for me," he continued, bordering a whine as he thrusted again for good measure. 

"w-what?" you choked out, the tips of your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

he what?

you had known your 'relationship' with dick had teetered the edge of casual for a while now — though it was a fact that you had been actively attempting to ignore. you were sure he hadn't felt anything for you, given the fact that he was the one who had laid down the rules of your little agreement. 

'this is just sex. we're still friends. except i'll suck your soul out of—'

you smacked him upside the head before he could finish his sentence. 

just like you were about to do now. 

because he admitted his love to you during sex?

you felt the moment dick had realized his own words as well. the way his shoulders tensed, arms freezing in place beside your head. his thumb halted in place on your temple, halfway through it's course of rubbing soothing circles into the hairs that lay beside your ear. 

he lifted his head slowly, wide and stormy eyes piercing into yours. his throat bobbed over the words again. 

both of you gazed at each other silently, painfully aware of every point of contact between you — of the hairs on his chest that tickled the skin of your stomach, of his once softening cock that was slowly starting to harden inside of you again, of his hand that was gripping your bicep tightly and keeping you tethered to him. 

"fuck it, yeah, i said it. i love you. cause i do. i love you," he stated again, unflinching. though, you could sense the hint of anxiety peeking through his adrenaline-filled confession. you could see the way his eyes were beginning to glaze over in defence. "i love everything about you. i love your smile. i love that freckle that you think i've never noticed but i have, of course i have, how could i not. i love—" 

"i love you too," you whispered back, cutting off his rambling. short. simple. you did. you had for a while now. it was hard not to. you would have time to give him shit for the timing of his confession later. 

"yeah?" a mischievous grin spread across his face, eyes beginning to glint with his usual confidence. "you love me?"

he leaned down, pecking your lips, once, twice, before trailing down your jaw. 

"knew you wouldn't be able to resist all this," he mumbled into your neck, sucking on the spot just below your ear. 

"you said it to me first—" you began to protest, but cut yourself off with a sharp gasp as he thrusted his hips against yours again. he trailed his lips back up to your mouth, kissing you deeply. slowly. pouring the words he had struggled to say for so long into your mouth.

"tell me again," he whispered softly against your lips, thumb gently stroking your jaw. he slowly began to grind against you again, enjoying the closeness of his tip rubbing against that spongy spot inside you. 

"i — shit— love you, dick," you whispered back, lips falling open against his. 

"i love you too, sweetheart,"

an: no one ask me if I like this, i never feel confident in my smut writing abilities. but this req sparked smt in me and I write this in lit 30 mins. typing at the speed of fucking light fr. listened to: persian rugs by partynextdoor while writing btw