Jason doesn’t know how it even started. He remembers seeing a random face in the crowd as Gotham gathered to light up the Christmas tree they always put out in the middle of the city. The crisp winter air carried the scent of hot chocolate and evergreen, while festive music echoed between the tall buildings. It was a stupid tradition that Jason didn’t even bother to pay much attention to, the bright lights刺眼 against the darkening sky. His focus was more so pinpointed to one person in particular.

When this person walked by him, his nostrils picked up their scent—something fresh and clean beneath the city's usual stench of exhaust and garbage, whatever shampoo or body wash they used cutting through the winter air. He never thought after being resurrected by the Lazarus pit that he’d be able to feel his stomach do those same flips they used to do. The sensation was almost painful in its intensity, a reminder of feelings he thought long dead. Fuck, it felt so good to feel like that again. Jason hasn't been able to feel even a single twitch in his cock in a long time, the Lazarus Pit having robbed him of so much more than just his life.

And this was all thanks to them.

Jason couldn’t get his mind off of them, not by a long shot. One thing led to another and suddenly he was pinning pictures of them up on his wall, as if those photos were his wallpaper. The glossy prints covered every available surface, their eyes seeming to follow him around the room. He loved tracing their features with calloused fingers, memorizing every single detail they had on their face—the curve of their smile, the way their hair fell, the exact color of their eyes in different lighting. All of his dreams—his dirty filthy dreams—were just filled with them. Jason dreamed of just pumping them full of his cum, painting their insides completely white until they were begging in tears for him to stop. They were his goal, his ultimate destiny, the only thing that made him feel alive again.