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batarella · 3 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 7

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: school’s a bitch, but nothing’s stopping me from having a fuck ton of fun with this series. and with this chapter, I had loads of it.

WORDS: 11,289 (I’m not even sorry) WARNINGS: batarella’s funeral

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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First, it was the light.

You always slept with your curtains drawn, so the light almost never reached your room when you wake up in the early or late hours in the morning. So when you awoke with your eyelids red and bright, like the sun was a foot away from your nose, you knew something was wrong.

Second, the sheets. They were clean, but obviously different from the cottony light comforter you liked to wrap yourself with in the winter. The ones you had around your body right then, on the other hand, was just a thin, white sheet, warm yet not nearly as warm as your quilt.

Then the bed felt off as well. Stiff. Firm. Not at all wrecked like the mess you often left behind even after making your bed, or in your case just draping the blanket over the whole mattress before you went off for the day.

And when you were awake enough to have the rest of your senses snap out of your dreary, groggy vision of a dream that faded as soon as the sting in your temple kicked in, you realized that it was bacon being cooked somewhere within a few meters from where you lied down, warm smoke and all.

Forcing your throbbing eyelids apart, you confirmed that you were, in fact, not in your studio loft.

And you almost had a heart attack when the next thing that graced your line of sight was a large, shirtless man with roughed up dark hair and a pair of gray sweatpants, facing the stove from whence the sweet smell of bacon came.

You didn’t have the sober senses to linger on such eye candy for long, not when you went straight to clutching your clothes, your jeans, your leg, everywhere else. No, they hadn’t been taken off. Not for the whole night, it seems. And you didn’t feel anything funny down there.

Almost jumping off the edge of the bed, Jason spoke. “’Morning, pretty bird.”

Okay. It’s just Jason. At least you did not end up having drunken sex with a stranger and overslept.

And now that that was out of the question, the thoughts, the panic, eventually into this blissful yet brief momentous relief, the horrific migraine came along.

You grabbed a fistful of your hair and leaned over to cover your face with your bent knees.

“I’m assuming that hangover isn’t a good one.”

“I can't believe I stayed the night-“

“Relax. It’s no big deal.”

Seeing with the room so bright definitely didn’t help when you looked up at Jason. “Did I-“

“No, you didn’t do anything regretful, or memorable, and I was the one who insisted you stay over.”

“I remember…” Your palms stuck to your face. “Talking and burritos and Dick and Tim and-ugh…”

“Yeah that’s… basically it.”

“I didn’t tell you anything embarrassing, did I?”

Jason poured his pan of bacon onto a plate. “Define embarrassing.”

“Something you wouldn’t have wanted to hear.”

“If anything, pretty bird, you told me everything I needed to hear. My brothers sure have it bad for you.”

“Fuck,” you murmured. “What did I say?”

“A lot. Dick talking to you right before the wedding. Tim telling you he loved you right after. I told you some stuff, too. Remember those?”

“It’ll probably come back to me. Soon enough.” You swung your legs over the bed and saw that you, unfortunately, only had one.

You exposed yourself to Jason.

So hurriedly you reached for your prosthetic and latched it on at a record five seconds. Fuck, you showed yourself to him. That was the drunken move of the night. You could have said shit all, and it wouldn’t have mattered, yet you just had to take off that stupid robot leg.

You coughed, and it only made that stupid headache throb worse.

“Bottoms up.”

Jason placed a plate of his cooking with a fork for you to take onto the coffee table, then he made his way to you, stretching out his hand. You looked at him and you were sure you looked like some sorry excuse of a human being with your hair up in all directions and your eyes as dead as a rotting corpse’s. But Jason just shrugged, pulled on your shoulder when you didn’t take his hand, and led you to the couch.

You probably would have had something else to say other than a wordless mumble if he’d just made himself look a bit more presentable and not to overly distracting with his brick wall of a chiseled body. You picked at his bacon and forced it down your throat.

“I’m sorry…” you swallowed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

The bacon tasted great.

“I feel pathetic.”

“It sure seemed like you needed a talk.”

“I know -“

“Who else would you have talked to?” He took a bite for himself. “Steph? Cass? Bruce? They don’t know half the shit I do about Dick and Tim. And trust me, you deserved to know the truth.”

Yeah. Dick wanting to chicken out of his wedding to profess his love for you was something you definitely needed to hear.

“Yeah,” you snarled. “But then I got drunk and slept here… and you know I hate being an inconvenience.”

“It’s alright, pretty bird. If anything I had a good time last night.”

Then, so unexpectedly, he placed his arm around you and never have you felt a naked body press so tenderly against yourself that you froze at the contact. Then you looked up at his face, eyes so wide, then he looked back at you and smiled.

You smiled back, slowly easing in.

Your smile. That same smile.

It made Jason lose his, then you saw his throat hitch.

Your lips were flat and practically gone when you looked away, picked up your fork and stuffed your mouth with more bacon so he’d pull his arm off you.

“What did I say before I passed out?”

“About Dick and Tim?” Jason inched himself away and everything felt too cold. “A lot.”

“Was I pathetic?”

“No. I don’t blame you for being so confused.”

Okay. You were many things. Stupid was one of them. But confused wouldn’t exactly be the right thing to define that horrific typhoon devastation that was left of all logical thought. You weren’t confused per se, not when you understood everything with the timing with Dick and the break up with Tim. You knew exactly what went on with either of them, it’s just that you didn’t know how to make all these directions weeded out into this one, straight line so you’d know how to go through the rest of your days as smooth as you possibly could.

“I’m not confused.”

Jason sighed. “When you said you didn’t know if you should even choose, I just assumed.”

Maybe, in a way, you were confused.

But indecisive felt more like it.

“I just don’t want to-“

“Yeah, I know. You don’t want to upset either of them anymore.”

Jason stood up, and slowly, he went over to the fridge for a glass of water. He poured it into a glass, then he gave it to you.

“You called yourself selfish, too. But I don’t think you are. You don’t want to choose between them ‘cuz you want to do what’s best for both of them. Not for you.”

You’ve never seen him look at you like that. And even if he didn’t already look enough like his brothers, he had that same wide-eyed softness that often got to you. That look that made them all look the most beautiful.

He sat next to you again, elbows on his knees.

“My brothers were fucking assholes with what they did, but they’re good people. And they’re lucky, that you’re even considering them to be the one who gets to be with you. They deserve forgiveness. They’ll bend the world for you. I’m sure of it.”

If he wasn’t sitting so close, or watching your face like he wanted to note every detail you had on, you would have taken much longer just to shut your dangling mouth, because all there was right then was silence. Not just with your words, which you didn’t have even one, but that typhoon that raged, that indecisiveness, it was all quiet.

“Thank you…” you swallowed your food. “I showed you my… leg, too… didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” Jason hunched over and grabbed his hair, running his own fingers through his locks. “You don’t have to worry about that, though. But if it means anything, I’m sorry.”

“Why apologize?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t ready to show me, yet.”

You shouldn’t have been biting your lips so much before you’d eventually be tasting your own blood. But that, with that comfort you once had with him last night now this tension that you could pick apart with a needle, you were surprised your palms weren’t bleeding with the way you were digging your nails into them.

“I was ready…”

“Really?”

He was trying to bite back a smile. It was cute.

“Yeah…”

You finished the food, which you probably shouldn’t have done. You should have left before you even took a bite or said anything more than just a sentence.

His eyes were slightly squinted when he looked up at you, head craned down. This bashfulness you don’t often see. Then his brow was up and he was chuckling.

It made you smile back.

Jason stood up and went over to his closet to get a shirt. Finally.

Your bag was already on the couch, and even when you looked like aa troll had thrown up on you, you didn’t look absolutely horrific that people would stop and stare. So after a few brushes down your hair with your own fingers, you went for the door.

“I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Really. It’s all good, pretty bird.”

Jason walked up to you, held out the door, then you stood just outside to pull on your coat.

“Thank you so much, Jay.”

“I swear. Don’t sweat it. Hit me up when you need anything.”

Jason was beautiful.

And he had the kindest heart tucked behind this façade of street and trauma. You swallowed, laughed, then you opened your arms to invite him for a hug. Jason rolled his eyes and let you.

Nose to his shoulder, you ran your hand down his clothed back, and with just one hand he wrapped it around you.

Then you left. Back home. Back to that inevitable loneliness and the thinking you could foresee that was as good in occupying the spaces in your mind as music in the background, which you should probably be resorting to just to have some kind of attempt at peace. When you got to your apartment, the unfinished canvas was staring daggers at you, screaming and demanding your attention away from boys.

You rolled up your sleeves. A shower can wait, after you go through this whole painting that was big enough to be a wall. This will distract you, hopefully. At least your hands will be busy.

A fashion magazine’s editor wanted a piece for her office. You ran frantically about in your studio and picked up your basket full of paint and brushes to use for the piece, which already stained your hands just holding it up. And you set it on the floor. You’ll work on the floor for now. An easel can suck it.

The canvas was right up against the wall and the blank strokes of yellow and blue for the background were practically growling at you to just finish it off, demanding apologies in the form of touch ups and polishes over its now dried up surface.

You started with the biggest brush and violently dried it off, slapped it onto your palette for the mustard yellow you’d concocted, then you swiped that brush over for the background swirling it around the roughed-up edges of the left side to creating this wind-like surface. There were whites, so it looked a lot like wind, and even with it so dark on your palette, it had lightened up the moment it hit the canvas. So light, and soft, like the bickering remnants of sunlight when barely would it pierce through roughened glass.

That, and with your brush smaller and more precise, you drew on with a tone a bit darker the curving lines to signify direction. Then you lightly tapped it on.

You placed more paint onto your own jeans and mixed it with white, over and over with your brush. Sitting cross legged on the floor, you could tell from the sun that it had only just passed noon. Hair up in a mess, you went on with sketching out the sky with an even lighter color, letting the mix play around and form these strips of clouds.

Yellow was safe. Warmth. Something you could rely on and a color so close to your heart, comfort when you hadn’t an idea where to start. The color that was still, calm, light. It was the sun. It was the wind. Often the horizon. The leaves when it was autumn.

You always managed to find a place for yellow in every painting you did, because it calmed you, like a blanket over your shoulders when you were curled up in your couch.

Done. Now onto the right side.

Your brush sinking into a cup of water, you started with a new shade. Cobalt.

Not your usual choice when you painted the sky, but this wasn’t so much of a sky as it was just an abstract excuse of a wall that went with the yellows and all. But it should look good. At least, in your head it did. You swept your brush onto your jeans and didn’t even curse when you got paint onto your shirt, so you rolled your sleeves some more, scratched your chin despite your hand covered in paint and went to town.

The cobalt did look good, but the blending with the yellow was going to take more work. You just went with it, let the pressure control the shades for different parts of the right side and let it splatter a bit, messily enough to look casual and unintentional.

It was yellow that calmed you and blue that brightened up your days when you felt the most… well… blue. When you often felt like anything you destroyed everything you laid your hands on when all you were supposed to do was create, on those days, those days, that you just couldn’t hold back from taking control of the best of you, it was often blue, and all the different shades of it, that gave you the foundation of a brightly lit sky, and you’d go on from there.

When nothing comes to mind, that color was what pushed you to move forward, inspired you, gave your creative juices that needed startup so you’d know where to go on from there and take you on until it all ends. You loved landscapes especially, and what other color was there more than blue. It was the sky. It was the water. It was shared, and most other people loved it as well. But so often did it brighten your work, it was what your eyes would turn to at first glance.

You were done with the background, and only had it been hours since you started. Your arm to your forehead, you backed away and eyed what you’d finished.

A dress. Of course. That, and the woman wearing it. You’d start with the woman for now.

Beautifully tanned skin, almost a dark orange even. You painted her hair and her head was slightly turned to the side. A sharp, small nose. Eyes were shut but soft, watching the ground beside her. Then you went on to outline her slender body, her leg in front of the other, then you placed her hands on her front. They won't be seen with the dress and all, anyway. So that’s what you went. She looked shy, like she was covering herself. And sad.

You wanted her hair flowing over her shoulders and her back, but you needed the dress first. A flowy, fiery statement dress.

A can of red paint was staring at you from all the way across the room, and with it definitely going to contrast against the yellow and blue, you decided for it and stood up, wiping your hands all over your jeans, then you picked up your paint. Barely anything left, but it should be enough for the dress.

You sat back down, mixed it on your palette for the shade you wanted, then you dabbed it lightly over the woman’s breast.

Then you backed up, eyed the whole painting from some distance away.

You weren’t often the one for red, especially not really bright tones that just wouldn’t look natural with your scenery paintings of either the country or the city. You don’t use it often, though it did look exquisitely beautiful when it was fiery and loud and would pop up over anything else painted onto the same plane, and it was beautiful. Mesmerizing. It called for attention and it was romantic and lustful and so awfully did it want your touch.

Not long after, your round tip brush was all over the woman, covering her with a skirt that flowed from one end of the canvas to the other so much like fire, the same ones from your dreams and nightmares. You hated fire, despised it, but it was beautiful. It didn’t spark a trigger or made you flinch. So seldom were you so mesmerized with your own work as you were in the middle of doing it. It was beautiful. Warm like yellow, bright like blue, but red had this sense of danger, darkness that just called out to you. And you just wanted to jump into it.

It was exciting. And its intensity called out to your darkest sides and somehow that intensity was what pulled the whole painting together.

You even gasped when you finished that last stroke, and with that, and the sun so close to setting, you put your brush down.

Your clothes looked like they’d just gone through a washing machine filled with red, blue, and yellow paint instead of detergent, and the rest of you looked no better than if you’d just climbed out of a drainage pipe. You wiped your sweat off your forehead, pulled the canvas off the wall, and set it on an easel.

She looked beautiful. The woman. Sad, but beautiful. You used that last bit of sunlight to look at how it set into the fabric, how it was practically its own world apart from the real one.

And after you decided you were content with it, and with it, ridding you from an otherwise horrible start with a hangover and all, you took a shower, cleaned up, and went to bed.

The next morning, you sent it over to your client, who told you that somehow, the painting told her a story.

A story, it could be.

Though even with the painting telling it, it was clear it was far from ending.

-----

You prayed to the deity above that it was Sunday, the only day you allowed yourself to sleep in now with you having three ongoing clients at that moment. And with the room so freezing, since you left the window open the night before, you’d rather wallow into the depths of your sheets than to pull yourself up from the bed and actually function like a normal human being. You forced just one eye open and openly cursed at how bright it was that day. You pulled on the blankets, right over your head, and forced your eyes shut to let your brain believe it was still well into the night.

But then your phone rang, and now you really wanted to beat yourself up for forgetting to put it on silent and leave it all the way over to the kitchen. You muffled the noise with your pillow but even after long minutes, the ringing just wouldn’t stop.

Throwing the blankets violently off of you, you reached for your phone, eyes adjusting to the light. You rubbed your eyelids open.

‘Dick’ it read on the screen.

Deciding that call wasn’t such a bad start for your day, you set yourself on the little table in front of your fridge and accepted it.

“Hey…” you yawned.

“Mornin’, night owl.” Dick sounded enthusiastic. “Did I wake you up?”

You yawned some more and it made Dick laugh.

“Obviously, you’d know when you call at this hour.”

“Y/N, it’s one in the afternoon.”

“Oh,” you said. “Explains why I’m starving.”

“How are you?”

You stood up from your chair and went over to make yourself a cup of coffee, anything to make that morning, or afternoon, just a bit more bearable. “I’m alright. I sent a new piece over to a client that other day. One of my biggest sales yet.”

“Oh? What of?”

“This one’s funny. And borderline illegal. This guy enrolled in some course over at Arts College needed a boost for his finals and he paid me to do his work for him.”

“Good thing they don’t run plagiarism checks on paintings.”

“Even if that was possible, I made sure to do it the way this guy usually does from a few pictures he’d sent me. He’s not bad. Not too good. But he must have needed that A or else he wouldn’t have paid me almost a thousand dollars for a small piece.”

“A thousand dollars?”

“I know. The guy’s rich.”

“No kidding.”

Dick laughed, and you missed hearing it in person so terribly. You could imagine the dimples that must have been on his cheeks right at that moment, knowing how beautiful they must have looked and you couldn’t even see them.

“I’m really proud of what you’ve done for yourself,” he said. “Just look at you.”

You felt your face all weird and you wanted to look away even when there wasn’t a ghost around you at all. You felt like a straight up moron.

“Thanks,” you coughed. “What about you? How are you?”

“God, you don’t wanna ask,” he grunted. “It’s a mess. Not everyone got along back when I was Robin, but it wasn’t anything as messed up as this. I don’t know what happened while I was out, but they can't keep off of each others’ throats for a second.”

“And you said you’d be home by the time you were done dealing with Deathstroke.”

“As long as that man’s alive, we’re never actually done with dealing with him. And even if he wasn’t almost immortal, we can't do much outside sending him over to Blackgate.”

“Is he in Blackgate?”

“For now.”

You swallowed. “Then what’s keeping you back there?”

Dick shuffled with the phone, and you heard voices. Gar’s, most probably. Dick was making his way out of the room, to a balcony of some sort away from other people, because then it was quiet.

“Everything else.”

Even with just a few sips from you mug, already you were wide awake. Your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you sighed.

“You really are quite the leader…” you said. “I don’t think there’s anyone else out there who can do it like you do.”

Dick snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Look what happened with you being out even for just a few months. It’s amazing, really, how people just listen to you.”

“Yeah… Except when it’s my siblings. It’s like tying bears down with dog leashes.”

“It’s not your fault. No one, not even Darkseid, can make Damian Wayne submit.”

“Almost as if he’s Bruce Wayne’s son.”

You laughed and sat back against your chair.

“Anything interesting happen lately?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t bore you to death.”

“Try me,” you said. “Just let me hear your voice.”

You heard him sigh. You heard him smile. From cheek to cheek. You wanted to see him, but you just calmed.

Then Dick started talking about this incident with Gar and Raven, how one catty little comment turned into this jungle fest between an overpowered demon and a green tiger wrestling it out in the living room. Dick was in the middle of it, of course, but his pleas weren’t nearly enough to calm either of them down.

And even when you were laughing and giving all these fun little remarks that often made him chuckle, it was all too difficult how you had to hold yourself back from spilling the mounds stuck at the back of your throat, everything you wanted to talk to him about, and you couldn’t, can't, say a thing. The things that had to be said, that had been waiting in this old shed stuck at the farthest corner of the earth for days too long. One that you were both too afraid to surface, because you were a coward yourself. What do you even say to him? How do you even begin?

And as Dick went on, the more you just wanted everything lash out of you, even when talking about it through the phone wouldn’t be the best idea.

You needed to look at him in the face, see how he’ll react to all the things you had to pour out of your heart and scream whatever you wanted to scream at him for. Your anger, the frustrations for his cowardice and how he just let Tim have you without so much as a fight or even try to find out who really had your heart, even when you yourself couldn’t even say. And even more did you want to tell him all that despite it not being his fault how the worst enemy there was to your story with Dick was timing.

But you didn’t do any of that and instead, you kept your silence. You pretended that this little conversation of yours was enough to get you through the day to keep all that sinking pit in your stomach at bay and not let anything bother you anymore. Even though, more than anything else at that moment, you desperately just wanted to get back to work without having so much to think about.

Dick finished the story, and by the end, you hadn’t even an idea what he’d said, when all those years you never even missed just one word out of his mouth when he spoke to you.

“What about you?” Dick asked. “Anything interesting happen other than work?”

The only thing interesting that happened lately that wasn’t work was Jason, and the last thing you wanted was to get away from that even when you hadn’t placed a thought on that night since, well, that night. You didn’t want to.

“Not much, really. I’m usually just at home painting.”

“Have you been outside to paint?”

“Just once. I wanted a view of the skyline. I went to the rooftop of the Gotham City Plaza just to paint for a few hours and finished it at home.”

“For a client?”

“No…” you said. “Just for me.”

“That’s so great. I’d take you to this place just an hour away from Jersey. It’s this farmland, but it has this really pretty view of a valley at the far end.”

“Dick, how do you know all these places?” You stuck your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you cleaned up and went over to the sink.

“What places?”

“The ones out of the city. It’s not like you go out on vacation much.”

“Well, I-“ Dick mumbled, and you heard him shuffle his phone over to the other ear and his breath hitched. “I guess… I don’t know. I know you like painting the countryside. I look them up on the internet. Sometimes I ask around. Sometimes, most of the time, really, when I drive from Bludhaven to Gotham, I go through the route near the ocean. That’s where I found that cliff I took you last time.”

His voice was so soft at the end that you could barely even make out his words.

And, once again, you didn’t even have a breath you could take in to calm your throbbing chest.

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“That’s-“ you placed your other hand on the kitchen counter. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Your cheeks were hurting, again, and you wanted to wash yourself with a bucket of cold water.

“Dick,” you croaked. “When are you coming back?”

You knew something was wrong the minute you didn’t hear a word out of him even several seconds after. You heard him walk around. You heard him cough. You could even hear him breathe a lot louder than he usually does, but when all that was from his silence, you knew it won't be for a long time.

“I don’t know…”

Then you heard him breathe faster, like he was running, like he was nervous.

“B-but, if you ask me to come home right now, I will. I’ll be there by tonight. If you need me at all…”

Something was picking at your neck like the knife you had laying around in your kitchen, and you wanted to drive it all the way up so you’d actually have an excuse not to have a response at all. Because you didn’t have one, not when your face felt like exploding from how much you’ve had to hold in.

“Or even if you just say you miss me, I’ll come back. Wait, no, that sounds… wrong. I’m sorry. But you know what I mean.”

You shut your eyes.

You want him home because you wanted to talk about how he’d just changed the course of your whole life in just one single letter and made you doubt all the waterfalls and rivers of feelings you’ve had for him all these years.

“Of course, I miss you. But…” You dipped your head down and faced the bottom of your sink.

“Stay there, Dick. The Titans need you…”

Silence. And you wanted to choke the air out of you when you couldn’t even hear him breathe anymore.

Something echoed from behind Dick, and you heard his muffled voice from his hand blocking the phone’s receiver. You swallowed, looked up at the window just to let the melting snow on the ground outside fill that frightening blank in your head.

You heard Dick clear his throat. “I’m really sorry. I have to go.”

“It’s alright,” you softly sighed. “You going out tonight?”

“No. I’m trying to let the Titans do the work by themselves. I’ll be sitting it out the next few days.”

“Alright, then. Be safe.”

“I will.”

You hung up first, and with that, you turned on the faucet and let the water flow out from the rim of your coffee cup, watching the brown dilute with the water so painfully slow.

Maybe Jason was right, you were confused.

You had to talk to Tim.

Maybe he can change all that.

-----

It probably was a mistake to come all the way to the manor, to talk to someone about things you didn’t even know in the hopes of clearing up a picture you weren’t sure you wanted to see.

But you’ve been holding out on talking to Tim, really talking to him without it turning into some pity fest for the both of you and it was obviously one you both really needed. And, without a doubt, you missed him. The days without even getting to text him was taking its sweet toll on you. You couldn’t be apart from him even if you tried.

Alfred welcomed you in, telling you that Tim was about to wake up anytime soon since he got home from the office at fucking twelve in the afternoon that day because he spent the whole night, and morning, working when even Bruce was telling him to come home. You started to take off your coat, but with it being so empty in the parlor, the fireplace dark and gritty and the walls so silent, it was eerie, you wanted to stay outside.

You went over to the back, through the kitchen where there was a backdoor, then you went outside in the light orange pasture where the snow had melted and the trees and bushes sticking up with just their trunks of wood. There were leaves around, drenched and muddy with the soil, and the grounds were unkept. But it was wonderful to see, nonetheless. You stayed outside at the gardens, grass under your boots, and waited despite the breezing chill.

Not long after, you heard him come up from behind you.

“Y/N.” Tim sounded relieved. “Christ, I was just about to call.”

And it wasn’t even awkward, hesitant, or at all unusual when he rushed to you and pulled you to his chest. You hugged him back immediately, eyes closed, ignored how the last time you saw him you were so close to just breaking down and focused instead that you hadn’t seen your best friend in weeks and none of you had the courage to even call. And already, that void within you felt infinitely better. And you didn’t pull away even after so long. And for such a moment, you pleaded that it wouldn’t end, that you wouldn’t have to pull away and face the realities don’t even want to go into. And after all you’ve been through, being here, being in his arms, it was too good to even be a part of your fantasies, the resort, or a distraction perhaps, of what was really going on.

But it wasn’t like you were revealing some long-forgotten truth that would crush him out of unexpectedness, because he already knew. You just didn’t know what it’s going to be right after.

Eventually, unfortunately, you both pulled away, but not without Tim brushing his thumb across your cheek which made you want to just melt in his arms. His hair was swept back and he looked like he’d just gone out of bed, but his eyes looked absolutely striking against the white of the snow left over on the ground, and the way he looked at you made you want to regret ever looking away from him after the last time, which, frankly, you couldn’t even remember.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out-“

He hushed you down. “It’s alright. How are you?”

Still in his hold around your waist, your faint arms enjoyed themselves resting against his chest.

“I could be better.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You were so close to just blurting out ‘yes’, but that could possibly make him want to pull away, which you didn’t want to happen at all. At least, not for a bit longer. You needed to be held.

But Tim must have known, because he slowly pulled away, and you were in no place to just ask to be held one more when you were about to, possibly, rip his heart out.

You didn’t even have a clue on how he’s going to react.

“Tell me about you first,” you said. “Anything happen lately?”

“No. Nothing at all. I’m at the office when I’m not asleep at home and god, I really need you to make me stop drinking ten cups of coffee everyday because it’s driving me nuts.”

“You did not-“

“Oh, I am. And it’s so boring as well. I swear I’ve been wanting to just call you and have a car sent over so you could hang out with me in the office.”

You smiled and watched how the dark circles under his otherwise bright blue eyes were even more eminent now than even before, which you hadn’t thought to be possible. You straightened his shirt. “You should have called me.”

“Yeah. I know. I should have.” He roughed up his hair and placed his other hand on his hip. He looked tired. “I just thought you needed some time alone.”

Hands in your coat, you pretended that it was the cold that made you want to curl up into a ball and roll away on the ground, but your eyes were on your boots and you breathed out a bit of smoke past your lips because you really did not want to keep staring into his eyes, out of guilt or in awe. “I… I guess I did. But I would have gone to you if you wanted me to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Then call me next time.”

Tim’s adorable smile. It was amazing how quickly it got to you.

“I will.”

You couldn’t possibly hold this for long. You got your hands out of your coat, which didn’t actually need to be housed like that when you had gloves on to protect them, then you licked your lips.

“So… Did you come to talk to me about something?”

“Yeah…”

“We can head inside.”

“No, Tim.”

It won't be long. It shouldn’t have to be long. You’ll stay here, outside, so this agony wouldn’t have to last and you’d have an excuse to cut to the chase. He didn’t deserve to stand out here while you waltz around in circles because of your cowardice.

“It’s about Dick.”

The way his face fell.

And as much as you wanted to look away before it got to you, you had to face him now.

“What about him?”

“About two weeks ago,” you said. “That day I left the manor.”

The day you last spoke to each other.

Tim listened intently, stepped closer to you, almost as if he already knew where this was going.

“Dick and I… kissed.” Fuck, you wanted to cut open your mouth saying all this to Tim. “Then when I got home, he left me a letter telling me everything.”

“Everything?”

You saw his neck tighten, even with his collar covering most of it. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.”

His face, what you thought to have been anger slowly building up when you first mentioned Dick’s name, all dropped into this soft, unmoving silence. Tim looked away from you, watching the empty branches stay still as if they were so much more interesting than having to look at you in the eye.

“That’s, uhm,” he whispered, voice harsh and forced. “That’s great.”

It didn’t sound so great when he said it that way.

“Are you… together now?”

“No. We haven’t exactly talked about it since then.”

He nodded, pulling on his hair a bit too hard when he ran it across his scalp.

“Tim, you knew about him, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “He wasn’t exactly doing much to hide it.”

Now, he looked mad. He turned away from you, walking down to the gardens further away from the manor, where the others might hear. You walked with him, stayed by his side. He spoke so softly, yet you knew it came straight from his darkest thoughts too painful to bring up.

“I always knew. Back when we were together. He didn’t try to get too close to you back then, but I just… had a hunch, you know? I think every boyfriend can tell when other guys try to get too close with their girl.”

“Tim, I swear, I didn’t feel anything for him at all back then-“

“I know, I know.” His sad smile broke you. “A part of me was always afraid he’d just steal you away from me, but I knew he cared about you a lot. When I…” he bit his lip. “When we broke up, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Dick didn’t know if I was fine with him going to you so soon, but I knew you’d feel better if he was there for you, and I knew he wanted to be there for you, too, so I sent him.”

Just when you thought none of this could possibly get worse.

“You sent Dick?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No…” you said. “Don’t be sorry.”

You stepped on a melted puddle and almost slipped on the mud. Tim held your shoulder, pulled you up, then kept his hand on the small of your back. You let him.

“It was the right thing to do. You were okay. It was my fa-“ He was choking on his own words by then. “I had it coming, after how I left you…”

“Dick had Kori then,” you said, and that only made Tim snort.

“I was honestly surprised he didn’t leave Kori the moment he saw you needed him. Idiot even made it through a wedding.”

“He thought I was still in love with you.”

That’s when he stopped walking right in front of you so you’d stop, too. You looked up at him, wide eyed, and somehow you couldn’t tell if it was hope or horror staring back at you from his eyes.

“Are you?”

You closed your eyes, and wished he’d instead asked if you loved him and not if you were in love with him. Because if there was anything this experience taught you, it was that it made a hell lot of a difference.

“I’m sorry, I just…” he shook his head. “Y/N, why are you even here?”

You wanted to cry. He wanted to cry even more. His voice broke and with how his uneasy shoulders were shrugging, you didn’t know if pulling him close would be the right thing to do.

“I thought I’d talk to you about this-“

“And I told you we were over…”

If he were someone else you would have slammed your fist up in his gut.

“Are you-“

“Be with Dick,” he said. “Please. Go to him now and be with him. I’ll be okay. Is that what you came here for? To make sure I’ll be okay with it?”

“I-“ you swallowed. “No, it’s not just that.”

Mouth parted, watching your face, possibly to see how your eyes were moving and your lips were shaking for any signs of lying or whatever it was detectives do to read faces. And Tim was smart. You didn’t have to tell him any more.

And when it came to him, he backed away. He looked like he’d just seen his own murder.

“Y/N, I can't believe you're-“

“You said you knew I loved you.”

“Listen,” he growled. He was angry now. Tim barely gets angry. “I can barely even live with myself after what I’d done to you. Why should you?”

Tim held your shoulders and squeezed them so tight, you couldn’t do much else but stare up at him so breathlessly. “I hurt you and you should have gotten rid of me the moment I walked out your door. You’re supposed to hate me, Y/N.”

“Is that what you really think?” you breathed.

He laughed, raised his arms up in disbelief. “I love you. For Christ’s sake, I love you so much and it’s going to kill me when I see you with someone else. Believe me. But this is what I get. I left you, and I hurt you.”

You tried holding his face, but he wouldn’t let you.

“You’re not even supposed to let me be your friend anymore. And here you are. You keep coming back. You’re not supposed to keep coming back. Are you actually choosing between me and Dick?”

Not a tear down your face, even when you thought you’d be breaking down by now. You were without breath and still not even your own body was processing all this the way it should already be and not be stuck in utter disbelief when clearly this was all happening.

“You are…” Tim whispered. He was shaking his head, and you just felt ashamed of yourself. “I can't believe this… You should be with Dick right now…”

“I can't.”

“That night we kissed.” He stepped back closer to you. “Christmas Eve. You told me you couldn’t handle being with me anymore because of what happened.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m over you,” You didn’t realize you sounded angry. “You don’t think I hate myself for that?”

“Y/N, just be with him. You can't keep torturing yourself like this.”

“It’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?”

None of you were screaming. None of you could scream. Not at each other. Not even when you were supposed to.

“I can't forget what I did…”

“You’re not just talking about our breakup, are you?”

Tim’s mouth stopped trembling. His voice didn’t crack. He took a step back, never breaking away from your stare. Then you saw how he flattened his lips, biting them behind his mouth.

“Tim…” you swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault-“

“Stop it.”

His jaw clenched, hands crushing each other with his fingers locked. His eyes were on the ground.

“It’s true-“

“Y/N,” he croaked. “It was my fault.”

“It’s-“

No longer did he look so vulnerable. His forehead was creased up the way it did when he was firm. He stared at you so soullessly and so exhausted.

“If it weren’t for what I did that night, you wouldn’t have to worry about going out in the summer wearing shorts or getting to join the rest of the family in a pool party or anything at all. All this is because of me. We both know it’s true.”

You should have said something.

Anything.

But he wasn’t letting you.

His eyes darted to your hidden prosthetic and immediately he looked away. But you caught that glance. You always caught glances.

“I love you, Y/N. But choose Dick. Please. I saw how happy he makes you, and I’ll be damned if I held you back from even that. Just forget about us, Y/N. Please.”

From behind him, you could see Alfred waiting for you both by the library windows. Tim turned around, nodded, then couldn’t even look at you in the eye.

His plea was what broke you. It didn’t sound like a plea you could reason with.

Tim didn’t walk away this time. Instead, he waited for you to leave first. And when you did, with him trailing behind, you fought all the demons left within to not look back. You went straight to the foyer, to the door. Not even a minute after, you were out of the manor.

-----

A call wasn’t what you needed. Not even close.

But it had been days, and wallowing in your own sadness wasn’t exactly doing you any good.

And now, after what happened with Tim, it shouldn’t have to mean you’ll run to Dick just because you were freed from the confines of a choice.

You still had to decide whether you wanted to be with Dick or not. To stay alone or be with the man who’d done nothing but love you from afar, never failing to make sure you were smiling.

And with that, after you’d spent the past few days dwelling on what’d happened, you picked up your phone, sat on the little nook by the window in your studio, then called Dick.

He didn’t answer.

It was still well into the evening. You’ll wait it out.

An hour later, still no answer.

Three, four more hours. At twelve am, having to wake yourself up from dozing off, your own fault after days of having absolutely no sleep, was exhausting. You kept staring out the window and hoped to whoever was watching you from above, ancestors or a god or whatever there was, that Dick was at least still alive. It should be a crime for vigilantes to not answer their phone in the middle of the night.

Then, at one am that night, Dick finally called you back.

“Hey…” you forced yourself to sound awake.

“Hey.”

You heard him walking. He didn’t sound injured, or even tired at all. “I’m so sorry I missed your calls.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why are you still awake?”

You laid back against the wall. “I was waiting for you.”

He snickered. You heard a door open and close behind him, and he must have crashed into bed right then because you heard bed springs from his weight.

“Where were you tonight?”

“With the Titans. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Your head was against the window’s glass and you watched the snow almost completely melt on the roads in front of you. “You poor thing. You sound exhausted.”

“I’m alone now…” You rolled your eyes at his tone. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” you lied.

“What did you wanna talk to me about?”

That made you smile. His voice. His tone. Already it made things a lot more bearable.

“I just… thought you should know. I talked to Tim the other day…”

He didn’t sound like you had to say anything more for him to understand. You heard him breathe louder, heavier.

“What did he say?”

“Well… He said I should be with you…”

“He did?”

“Yeah…”

Then there was even more silence. You should have thought about this a lot more.

“I was going to ask when you’re coming home but it sounds like the Titans need you a lot more than I do.”

He chuckled. “Trust me, I want to go home more than anything.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“You know what…” he breathed.

The glass was freezing being pressed up against your skin, but you just let it. It didn’t even bother you.

“Dick…” Your finger traced the glass. “We haven’t exactly talked about… what happened.”

“I just… I thought talking about it over the phone makes it even more… I don’t know… cowardly.”

“It’s been weeks.”

“I know...”

You threw your head back, up against the wall, then you closed your eyes. You let the cold seep in all the way down your toes. You let it calm you.

“I’m sorry if it was too much…”

“It wasn’t.”

“I was-“ He was a nervous wreck. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, or that I forced my feelings down your throat. I hope I didn’t upset you…”

You couldn’t say it didn’t upset you. “It’s fine…”

“Y/N… You don’t have to do anything about it. I swear. We can just go on like nothing happened.”

Dick let out an agonizingly long sigh, then you heard his head fall to a pillow.

“That’s going to be hard…”

“I know… I don’t even know what to say to you when I come back…”

“You can say it to me now… if it makes things easier.”

Then there was silence.

Nothing at all. Not even the sheets moving. You could have sworn he was cut out for a minute. But then, when you heard him take a breath, then clear his throat, you just closed your eyes and hoped nothing he’d say would break you any further.

“I love you, Y/N…”

And despite the hurt, with everything else that went on, you let those three words be the only thing in your own little bubble of a universe. You smiled. You were never going to forget the way he said it so softly.

Then he was laughing. “I love you…” he said again. “God, it feels good to say that…”

You smiled so much; your face started to hurt.

“I read your letter like… fifty times…” you snorted.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a good thing.”

He giggled. You’ve never heard him giggle before. It was the most adorable thing you’ve ever heard.

“I love you. I meant everything I wrote. Everything.”

Your head met your palm, and you had to stop yourself before this was going to get the better of you.

“If it means I have to wait longer for you to sort things out, I will. Take as long as you need, and we… I can take this as slow as you want. Whatever you're comfortable with. I just don’t want to rush you into anything…”

Maybe, in a way, this was the right choice. He could be the right choice. And it’ll take a while to prove that, but it was a start.

“Dick, I-“

From his end of the phone, you heard a door swing open, then there was his phone shuffling in his hand, then all the other noises were incoherent and muffled. Voices. There was more than one.

And Dick’s hand was shaking because you managed to pick out a few of them.

“………… thank you……… Dick……”

“……………alright………”

“………. You………. sure?.........”

“………. Yeah……..”

“…….good….. talk……… understand……”

“thanks………….. rest up……..”

No. Not a few. Just one other voice. A sweet, melodic voice, much like singing.

You never thought you could feel losing a smile so quickly, your chest being pulled all the way down to the earth’s core.

The door closed, then it was Dick’s voice again.

“Hey… sorry-“

“Dick,” you croaked. “Where did you say you were tonight again?”

You heard how confused he was. “I was… the Titans…”

“You were with Kori, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“You said you were gonna sit it out the next few nights. You weren’t out on patrol with the Titans. You were in the tower with Kori. Alone. Weren’t you?”

“Y/N, I know that sounds bad, but it’s not what you think-“

“What were you talking about?”

“Y/N… We just talked…”

“About what?”

“I told you I had to come talk to her about what happened. The wedding. She deserves some closure-“

“It’s been weeks, Dick. And you spent what, five hours talking to her just tonight?”

“You know it’s not that easy.” His mouth sounded trembling. “But that doesn’t mean anything happened. Kori and I are friends.”

“I find it hard to believe that you could be friends with someone you almost married. Why didn’t you tell me you were with her tonight? After I told you I waited for you?”

“I didn’t- I don’t know… Y/N, it’s not like you don’t talk to Tim…”

“Then why did you tell me you were with the Titans?” You scoffed. “At least I don’t lie to you when I talk to Tim.”

“I wasn’t… We were at the control room alone to watch them from the cams. I didn’t think I was… I promise you, nothing happened.”

“It isn’t about that, Dick. It would have been fine if you’d just told me about it. Now I can't stop thinking about what you tried to hide from me. I know you. You're honest until you think the truth hurts a lot worse than a lie.”

It’s funny how quickly that high you went through just two minutes ago could blow over so quickly and leave you down at the bottom of an infernal pit you couldn’t climb out of, because that’s where you were right then. You were tired. You didn’t want to go through any of this. You weren’t even surprised, and that was what hurt the most. And even more so wouldn’t you be surprised if at any of those days he’d spent in that tower, they’d slept together.

“I don’t even know what I’m so upset about,” you sighed. “You don’t have to promise me anything, Dick. We’re not together. Stay there. Take as long as you like.”

You hung up on the phone.

You were done thinking.

You were done sulking.

You were done dwelling over those two boys and let them take so much control over you that barely could you even take control over yourself.

You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

You wouldn’t let the thoughts take over, at least, just for that night. There was no darkness, nor light.

There was just… nothing.

And for four whole weeks, it was just that.

Nothing.

-----

The world was kind enough to give you four weeks after that to prepare for what was possibly the worst fucking holiday there could possibly exist. And it wasn’t always so bad, not when at one point, you had a boyfriend who spoiled you with everything you could possibly wish for, and even after that, you woke up with a perfectly wrapped gift waiting for you at your doorstep full of art supplies. So not at all was Valentine’s day the absolute worse. Not always.

Just this year, you dreaded it. You woke up and already you wanted to sleep through the whole day if you could, which you did. If not for getting up to prepare yourself a lunch and eventually an early dinner, you managed to successfully sleep through the most horrific day of the year.

Eventually, it took its toll on you, because your head was throbbing by the time it was eight o’ clock that night.

When you heard the bell outside your door ring, you took it as an excuse to actually get up and at least be a human being for the day. You strapped on your leg and walked to the door. The bell rang again, and you screamed “Coming!”

Which you probably shouldn’t have done. You really were out of your own head that day, because there could only be two people outside waiting for you on Valentine’s day and neither of them you wanted to see possibly for the next few years.

Frozen, ever so slowly moving, you peeked through the eyehole.

Then that ice that froze you into the ground broke apart and you groaned when you saw it was just Jason with a shit-eating grin staring back at you at the peephole.

You opened the door.

“Happy Valentine’s day, pretty bird.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t want to be mean or unwelcoming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning and rolling your eyes all over the ceiling as you swung the door wide open. Jason, knowing exactly what went on, just snickered and took off his coat.

“You brought booze?”

“I brought booze.”

Two bottles. He held them up and that same shit-eating grin still hadn’t left his face. You shut the door behind you and went with him to the kitchen.

He opened one for you and you went through a quarter of the whole thing in one go.

“Woah, woah, slow down there.”

“You know what you got yourself into coming here on Valentine’s day. You come to mock me?”

He opened his own bottle and drank. “No. Maybe. But I thought it’d be better than being alone after four whole weeks of you practically disappearing from the face of the earth.”

“So I changed my number,” you shrugged. “You do it all the time.”

“Yeah, except Bruce doesn’t exactly want to pry on you like he does with me. And with Tim and Dick laying low, I thought I’d take one for the team.”

“Take one for the team?” You scoffed. “What are you, some goat they sacrificed?”

“Come on, don’t see it that way. We’re all worried about you.”

“If you wanted to know how I was, your whole family of vigilantes could just easily follow me around the whole of Gotham.”

“I know, but we wanted to know how you really were.”

You took a long, much needed swig, then something pulled you to the floor. You sat on the edge of your bed.

Then you slipped, your ass landing on the floor. You laid your back against the bed frame and sighed with the bottle of booze in your hand.

“Fine. I lied. No one sent me here. I just thought I’d come by today. I know how much this day probably took its toll on you.”

“Believe me, it did,” you drank some more. Jason walked over and sat right beside you on the floor. “I haven’t gotten out of bed until you came.”

Jason chortled. “I don’t blame you. I’m not exactly a fan of heart’s day, either.”

“Really?”

“Nah. Not one gift. Never sent anything to anyone.”

“Not even to Rose?”

Jason took a swig at that. “We spent Valentine’s massacring an entire ship’s worth of goons.”

“Romantic.”

“Better than some date serving this capitalist excuse to consume.”

“You’re too cynical for your own good.”

“And you’re not cynical when you probably should be.”

“I am,” you drank. “In a way.”

Your empty bottle was on the ground, and you looked up at the ceiling. You were there an hour, maybe more. Jason let himself get drunk as well and laid his elbows on the bed since he was tall enough.

“This probably isn’t what you want to talk about,” he burped. “But I’m assuming what happened with Tim and Dick wasn’t what you expected.”

“I hate them,” you growled. “God, I fucking hate them both.”

“Shit. How bad was it?”

“Those two assholes must have thought I was dead after how much I ignored their calls, texts, emails, everything.”

“It’s been four weeks. They probably found out by now that you’re… well… alive.”

“I can't believe their own kindness and selflessness brought this out. Tim wants nothing to do with me and Dick’s having the time of his life in California with his perfect would-have-been wife.”

“That bad, huh?”

Your bottle tipped over on the floor and you didn’t pick it up. “I hope you don’t hate me for wanting to murder both your brothers.”

“Don’t worry,” Jason laughed. “I’m not exactly far off from your loathing for those two nutjobs.”

You raised a brow. “Something happen?”

“They told on Bruce, and he practically disowned me that last time we went on patrol. I crossed the line, or whatever it is they like to call it. I haven’t seen them in weeks. Haven’t called them either. They say they want me on the family and they pull shit like that ‘cuz apparently the consequences will help.”

“Makes two of us.”

“Exactly why I’m here.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you were surprised you were still sober after all that when you didn’t exactly feel like throwing up just yet. You groaned, head against the mattress.

And with that, you turned over to face him, who had the same, exhausted look on his face. Eyes closed. Arms up on the bed. Really veiny looking arms that made his shirt pull up and tighten around his chest.

“You don’t have to choose, you know…”

“I know. But it doesn’t help how-“

“You want to choose.”

You wanted to drive that bottle down your throat at that question.

“I want to. I don’t want to. You know I can't answer that.”

“And they’re lucky you can’t.”

Your head against your sheets, you watched him face you in turn. He was so close to you right then. You could smell his breath. You could feel his breath. And it was there. That beauty. The one that understood so much about you that you hadn’t understood yourself.

“You don’t have to choose if you don’t want to…” he whispered. “Fuck them. You’ve been hurt too much. You don’t have to get hurt any more. Choose to not get hurt.”

Eyes on him, quietly lingering on every scar on his skin.

If there was one thing that separated Jason from his brothers, it was his scars. The ones that littered his face. They had the same hair. Same blue eyes.

But Jason had marks on his eyebrow, his cheek, his lips. And he was so beautiful because of those.

“You understand…” you breathed against his mouth.

Jason’s eyes were on yours, but you saw how they darted over to your lips.

“I understand hurting myself… for others…”

His arm, it found its way past your head. And you knew because you felt his fingers sneak onto your hair behind you. You bit your lip, turned your torso so you could face him better.

“I can't blame them…” He started playing with your hair. “If I was in love with you, I’d be as god-awfully stupid as they are, no doubt.”

That made you laugh. “Thank you, then. For not being in love with me.”

“You're welcome.”

Oh God, the way he said that. His low, breathy, husky voice. It made you fucking vibrate and your hair starting sticking out the back of your neck. And then, all you could see, all you could feel, was how close he was to you. He was the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. It might have been the booze, which you doubted. Because you felt so lightheaded and all the pain was just sitting there and all you wanted was just some kind of release.

Jason’s eyes, as obvious as they were, couldn’t keep darting down your shirt, as well. And you realized you weren’t even wearing a bra.

It made you stick your chest out even further, so you’d watch him watch you.

Booze breath against booze breath. Your lips met so sloppily and messily, and only for the shortest, briefest moment, because Jason was already making his way down your jaw, your neck, biting onto your skin.

There. The blur. That silent, ringing noise. Jason’s tongue lapped over the skin on your collar bone and everything that went on in your head for the past few months were just thrown out the window that very instant. His hands were on you. All over you.

And finally, the body you’ve lusted after for so many years¸ the body you’ve only gotten to see and drool over and fantasize on nights when you were lonely and all those days of wanting to touch every part, every ripple of his chest when you see him fresh from the gym. You practically ripped his shirt off and your hands couldn’t stop for a second ravishing every bit of his skin. And it was just as good as you’ve always longed and imagined.

Jason squeezed onto your hip, and with how he touched you, you thought maybe he’d felt the same. It hurt to pull away, but Jason was holding you, hoisting you up on the bed, then you were kneeling on the mattress, his hands on your waist just begging for you to be against him so close. You were there for so long, watching, touching, enjoying his body just as he did with yours. He held your face so gently and kissed you.

You held his arms, barely being able to hold them with how large they were compared to yours. And even with the light so dim, this orange, unintentionally beautiful dim, you took off your shirt. And for a second, just for a second, he watched how your breasts looked being held in his hands.

Everything was moving way too fast but you couldn’t have wanted it any other way. None of this needed a build-up, or a slow burning of a wick. Anything more, any longer and it would actually have to mean something, and with that, it brought hurt. It wasn’t a bomb that needed days just to explode. It just needed to happen, at least for just that moment.

You moaned, but he kissed you before you could cry out anything more. Lips first, then it didn’t take long for him to trail down to your nipples. Your arms were around his neck and you pulled him back up, kissing him because you just needed it. This sweet, all too sweet release.

“Wait…” Jason whispered. He held your wrists, but he didn’t pull them away. He looked at you and his forehead was all creased up.

“This your first time?”

You nodded, swallowed, then hoped it wouldn’t drive him away.

“Are you sure you want this?”

You kissed him in response.

Then he pushed you onto bed.

------

A/N: WHERE MY TEAM JAY BABIES AT

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

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