summary: your soulmate has ghosted you? time to become an international terrorist.
wc: 5.3k
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Questions used: 10. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?
---
The first day you thought he was just napping.
By day three, you stop checking the window every time headlights pass your apartment building.
By day five, you start doing it again.
Jason should have been back by now.
Because logically, Jason being gone longer than expected is not unusual. Vigilante adjacent mercenary work probably does not operate on clean scheduling. There are explosions involved. International airspace violations.
Still.
A week feels strange.
The apartment feels wrong too.
His stupid boots are not by the door. His jacket is not slung over the couch. Nobody is stealing bites of cookie dough directly from the mixing bowl while claiming it’s “quality control.”
The reading nook sits empty. Fatson Todd has somehow migrated into Jason’s usual corner like he’s inheriting territory.
You stare at him suspiciously while curled beneath a blanket.
“This is bad, right?” you ask the plushie.
Fatson Todd offers no useful insights.
Which had not actually answered anything.
Next, you texted his family. Unfortunately, all they had to say is that Jason is fine. Dumb, but fine. Apparently he threatened them with bodily harm if they gave you any details.
After that, you waited. Because Jason had a key.
And the thing about Jason was that he appeared in places unexpectedly all the time now. Fire escapes. Balconies. Your couch at two in the morning claiming he “was in the area.”
So naturally, you kept expecting to hear the lock click.
You figured eventually he’d appear in your apartment like nothing is wrong. You even rehearsed your response. Or variations of responses depending on how mad you want to act.
Cool and casual:
oh wow look who remembered i exist
Maybe slightly emotional:
i was worried, idiot
Possibly dramatic:
i almost filed a missing persons report with batman
But the lock stayed still. The apartment stayed quiet.
By day six, desperation won and you decided to try the old faithful. You dragged your cooler down to Crime Alley with enough cookies to feed a small militia and left a note tucked beneath the lid.
for jason <3 pls stop acting mysterious and text me back
It had felt solid at the time.
Romantic, even.
Unfortunately, when you returned the next morning, five homeless men had somehow picked the cooler lock and were happily eating chocolate chunk on the curb.
One of them waved. “Those peanut-free?”
You blinked.
“…yes?”
“Oh good,” another said around a mouthful of cookie. “Frank’s allergic.”
So now this was your life. You got bullied by five homeless men and volunteered to bake them cookies weekly. You stared darkly at the tray of fresh snickerdoodles sliding into the oven.
That is when an idea struck you. If being nice and baking cookies doesn't wrok… you will have to get Jason’s attention some other way.
You have to become a criminal.
—
Post your latest cookie drop off (Anthony loved the snickerdoodle but asked if you can add caramel next time), you are contemplating your life of crime as you walk home.
You needed to do something dramatic enough to get the Red Hood’s attention. Preferably not dangerous-dangerous. Just a little concerning.
A little criminal.
You chew on your lip thoughtfully while waiting at a crosswalk.
What crimes even existed?
Grand larceny?
Absolutely not. You did not have the upper body strength for grand anything.
Auto theft?
You pause.
“…I don’t even have my full license yet,” you mutter to yourself.
Also Gotham cars probably exploded when hotwired wrong. That felt like important information.
Arson was obviously out.
Tax fraud sounded boring.
Blackmail required confidence.
You pass a tagged wall.
Graffiti, though…
Now there was something with flair.
Low stakes.
Artistic.
Very Gotham.
Batman probably saw graffiti constantly.
The Red Hood definitely did. And it is enough a crime where people intervene but criminals don't get arrested.
A tiny spark of determination settles in your chest.
Yes, this could work. You nod to yourself decisively and step off the curb—
A horn blares beside you.
You freeze mid-step.
The walk signal is still red.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
You just jaywalked.
Your heart launches directly into your throat while a taxi speeds past, the driver glaring at you through the windshield.
For one horrifying second, genuine panic grips you.
This was it.
Your descent into criminality.
First jaywalking.
Then graffiti.
Then somehow you’d end up with a rogues gallery nickname like the baker or something and several unresolved issues with Batman.
You stand there for a moment, breathing hard.
Then slowly you push the panic down.
You needed to get used to this feeling now.
The adrenaline.
The danger.
The lawlessness.
This was your life now.
You were living a life of crime.
Baby steps.
—
CRIME ATTEMPT #1
—
The spray paint situation is your first obstacle.
“This is criminal discrimination,” you mutter under your breath while standing in the Michael’s craft aisle at eight thirty at night.
Apparently Michael’s Arts & Crafts did not cater to aspiring vigilante bait.
You pick up the glitter silver can with deep resentment.
“…Fine,” you whisper. “We adapt.”
Ten minutes later, you are speed-walking through Gotham with a tote bag full of craft-store spray paint feeling profoundly unqualified for organized crime.
The December cold bites instantly through your coat. Wind whips down the alleyways hard enough to sting your eyes, but you keep going, scarf pulled high over the lower half of your face like the world’s least threatening supervillain.
Honestly, you look less like a criminal and more like someone about to lose a fight with seasonal allergies.
Still.
Commitment mattered.
You finally find the wall near Crime Alley by complete accident.
Tall brick.
Mostly empty.
A battered NO TRESPASSING sign hanging crooked nearby.
Your pulse spikes immediately.
Perfect.
This was exactly the kind of place vigilantes probably monitored.
The Red Hood would absolutely investigate suspicious graffiti activity here.
You glance around nervously before ducking into the alley, boots crunching against thin patches of snow.
Time to become mysterious.
You pull the silver spray can from your tote bag with trembling fingers. The little metal ball inside rattles ominously. Your breath fogs through the scarf while you stare at the blank brick wall.
Then you realize something horrifying.
You never actually planned what to paint.
“Oh no,” you whisper.
Your brain immediately empties itself.
What did criminals even paint?
Threats?
Symbols?
Cryptic warnings?
You panic instantly.
The spray can hisses accidentally when your finger jerks.
Twenty minutes later, the alley is covered in glittering silver and blue snowflakes.
The glitter paint catches the alley light beautifully, sparkling softly against the dark brick while snow falls around you in lazy white drifts.
You step back slowly, breathing hard through the scarf.
“…Wait.”
It’s actually kind of cute.
Not intimidating.
Not remotely criminal.
But cute.
The problem is that now you’ve committed to the bit.
So you shove your hands into your coat pockets and linger awkwardly near the alley entrance waiting to be arrested.
Or confronted dramatically.
Or at minimum mildly questioned.
This was still Gotham.
Surely suspicious alley graffiti would trigger SOME kind of vigilante response.
You wait ten minutes.
Nothing.
Fifteen.
Still nothing.
A stray cat walks past and ignores you completely.
“Oh, come on,” you mutter.
By twenty minutes, your toes have gone numb.
The Red Hood does not appear from the shadows.
Batman does not descend dramatically from a gargoyle.
Nobody even yells at you.
Eventually you trudge home offended.
Honestly?
Rude.
You committed crimes for him.
The least he could do was acknowledge them.
—
The next morning, Gotham Instagram discovers the alley.
You learn this while eating cereal in your pajamas and scrolling half-asleep through your phone.
@gotham.city.aesthetic: ❄️ whoever made the snowflake alley downtown… i owe you my life actually
Attached is a professionally edited reel of your graffiti set to melancholy indie music.
You sit bolt upright.
“What.”
More notifications flood in.
People are taking photos there.
Someone proposed there apparently.
A local influencer called it: “a symbol of fragile beauty surviving gotham’s darkness 🥺”
There is now a location tag called:
#snowflakealley
You stare at your screen in horror.
This was not the intended outcome.
This was supposed to summon Jason Todd.
Not accidentally improve Gotham morale.
—-
CRIME ATTEMPT #2
—-
Mugging, you decide, is probably the fastest way to get the Red Hood’s attention.
Vigilantes loved muggings. That’s how Jason and you met after all.
Which means all you have to do is create one tiny robbery scenario where you steal from a sweet grandma and Jason will practically materialize from the shadows himself.
Perfect.
Unfortunately, Crime Alley at nine p.m. contains absolutely no muggable people.
This city was unbelievable.
Where were the old ladies with purses?
Where were the businessmen carrying suspiciously robbable briefcases?
You specifically picked nine p.m. because movies suggested that was prime mugging time.
Instead Gotham apparently believed in bedtime.
A taxi splashes through a puddle nearby.
You sigh dramatically into your scarf.
Maybe you needed to think bigger.
Big risks equaled big rewards.
That was probably what criminals said.
Your eyes narrow on the next pedestrian approaching down the sidewalk.
Not an old lady.vBut non-threatening.
Average height.
Beanie.
Holding grocery bags.
You could absolutely rob that man.
Probably.
Your pulse immediately skyrockets as you step into his path.
The poor guy startles hard enough to almost drop his groceries.
“HEY,” you blurt.
Excellent opening.
Very criminal.
The man blinks at you cautiously.
“…Hi?”
Okay.
Commit.
You square your shoulders and point at him dramatically.
“Hand over your money.”
Silence.
A car alarm chirps somewhere in the distance.
The man stares at you for a long moment. “Are you lost?” he says.
You panic slightly.
Stay focused.
You lower your voice another octave, which unfortunately just makes you sound congested.
“Give me money.”
The man’s expression shifts instantly from confused to deeply concerned.
“I mean…” He adjusts the grocery bags awkwardly. “I can buy you a bus ticket if you need help?”
You stare at him.
“No,” you say carefully. “This is a robbery.”
The man goes pale. “Oh my god.”
Finally.
Recognition.
Fear.
Respect.
“You’re being robbed?”
“What?”
His gaze darts around the alley frantically. “Did somebody take your wallet? Are they still here?”
“No! I’m robbing YOU.”
Then his entire expression softens in a way that immediately offends you.
He lowers his grocery bags carefully onto the pavement like he’s approaching a frightened animal.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says cautiously. “Can I call someone for you?”
You stare at him.
“What.”
“A friend? Your parents? Somebody who can pick you up?”
“I’m committing a CRIME.”
“You seem overwhelmed.”
“I’m threatening you!”
Before you can recover, headlights suddenly sweep across the alley.
A police cruiser rolls slowly past the entrance.
The man’s eyes widen immediately. “Oh thank god.”
“No no no no—”
The cruiser stops.
A cop steps out, one hand already resting near his belt while he looks between the two of you.
The man points directly at you.
“This poor girl needs help.”
You actually recoil. “WHAT.”
The officer’s expression shifts instantly into concern.
“Miss?” he asks carefully. “Are you alright?”
“I’m robbing him.”
The cop blinks once.
The man gives him a deeply sympathetic look. “I think she’s having some kind of episode.”
“I AM ACTIVELY THREATENING YOU.”
“You’re shivering pretty badly,” the officer notes gently.
“That’s because crime is stressful!”
Ten minutes later, you are sitting in the back of the police cruiser wrapped in an emergency blanket while the officer gives you hotline numbers and tells you that “vigilante-adjacent emotional situations” are more common than people think.
—-
By late Christmas eve, you are officially out of ideas.
Crime has failed you.
The Gotham Police Department had gently encouraged therapy.
And Jason Todd was still ignoring every single attempt you made to reach him.
Which meant you were now curled sideways in his armchair in the reading nook at one in the morning feeling deeply, catastrophically pathetic.
Fatson Todd is tucked beneath one arm like emotional support artillery while snow taps softly against the apartment windows.
Your chest aches.
Maybe honesty really is the best policy.
No more crimes.
No more emotional terrorism.
No more failed muggings.
Just try talking to him.
You open Twitter for the first time in years because it’s probably the only place where he hasn’t blocked you yet. You smile when you see the handle. @boomeringue. It used to be the username you used for everything from twitter to club penguin.
You try to keep it brief. You don’t want to seem overbearing:
@redhood city square. christmas eve. 8pm.
You stare at the tweet for a long moment before hitting post.
Hopefully, by some miracle, he’ll see it and you can finally talk.
—
Wayne Manor is miserable on Christmas Eve.
The tree is lit.
The garlands are up.
There’s music playing softly somewhere down the hall.
And yet the entire manor somehow feels like somebody kicked a puppy directly into the holiday spirit.
Jason is sitting in the armchair nearest the fire looking like human seasonal depression in a leather jacket. Which means everyone else is suffering too.
Dick breaks first. “This sucks,” he announces.
Nobody disagrees.
Even Alfred pauses briefly while serving dessert.
“Master Richard,” he says diplomatically.
“No offence, Alfred,” Dick says immediately, “but if she was here we’d have chocolate mousse right now instead of fruitcake.”
“None taken, sir.”
Tim pokes at his slice with visible despair. “She would’ve decorated the cookies.”
“She would’ve made hot chocolate,” Steph mourns.
“She would have laughed at my joke about superman and mistletoe," Duke adds quietly.
Damian scowls down at his tea. “Todd has ruined morale.”
Jason doesn’t look up from the glass in his hand.
“Can all of you shut up.”
“No,” Dick says instantly. “This is weird. You’re weird.”
Jason’s jaw tightens.
For the last week he has been moody, snappy, and Cass once caught him sobbing to All too Well on his bike.
Which, in fairness, narrows his behavior down very little.
Steph finally snaps.
“Okay, I’m saying it,” she declares. “Go apologize to your girlfriend.”
Jason’s expression hardens instantly.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh my god,” Tim mutters.
“And she’s not my soulmate,” Jason says flatly. “Drop it.”
Silence falls across the room.
Even Alfred stops moving for half a second.
Dick stares at him. “Jason.”
“I mean it.”
Something ugly twists briefly across Jason’s face before disappearing behind that familiar hard expression again.
“We got confused,” he says shortly. “That’s all.”
Nobody responds immediately because that explanation makes absolutely no sense and noody believes it.
And because Bruce, unfortunately, now looks like he wants to have a father-son conversation.
Before that catastrophe can occur—
Ping
Barbara’s laptop lights up on the coffee table.
Everyone turns automatically.
Barbara frowns down at the incoming alert. “That’s weird.”
“What?” Duke asks.
She opens the file.
Then immediately straightens.
“Oh, that’s bad timing.”
The room shifts instantly.
Jason sits forward slightly.
Bruce is already on his feet.
Barbara answers the incoming GCPD call on speaker. “Oracle.”
“We’ve got a flagged threat tied to tonight’s Christmas market,” a dispatcher says quickly. “Cybercrimes escalated it to major incidents.”
Barbara’s eyes skim rapidly across the report.
The dispatcher lowers his voice ominously.
“We think the suspect may be operating under the alias Eringue.”
Silence.
“Potential extremist,” the dispatcher continues confidently. “Possibly foreign.”
Bruce’s expression sharpens immediately. “What’s the threat level?”
“Potential bombing,” Barbara says grimly. “Christmas Eve market. High civilian density.”
That gets everyone moving instantly.
Finally,
Action.
Dick stands so fast he nearly knocks over the fruitcake.
Duke’s already reaching for comms.
Tim peers over Babs’ shoulder for the report.
Damian actually looks excited for the first time all evening.
“The mayor doesn’t want the festivities disrupted publicly,” she says. “So GCPD’s sending bomb squads in plainclothes while we establish perimeter positions.”
Bruce nods once. “Assignments.”
“Nightwing and Spoiler cover east exits. Robin with Red Robin on rooftop surveillance. Signal monitors crowd movement.” Barbara pulls up the city map. “Red Hood takes the central market.”
Across the city, entirely unaware you had accidentally triggered Gotham’s anti-terror response, you were standing in a flower shop holding two bouquets with increasing distress.
“Do these look too breakup-y?” you asked nervously.
The cashier blinked. “The… roses?”
“No, roses are romantic.” You frowned down at the white lilies in your other hand. “The lilies feel profound.”
Outside, Gotham police quietly established a bomb perimeter around the Christmas market.
You picked carnations.
—
The Gotham Christmas market is operating under active anti-terror surveillance.
Fortunately, none of the civilians know that.
Families drift between vendor stalls beneath glowing string lights while Christmas music crackles softly through overhead speakers. Kids clutch cups of hot chocolate with mittened hands. Someone nearby is aggressively roasting chestnuts.
Meanwhile every available vigilante in Gotham is perched somewhere overhead waiting for a potential bombing.
“East side clear,” Nightwing says through comms.
“Couple arguing near the skating rink,” Spoiler adds. “The boyfriend definitely cheated but probably not terrorism related.”
Robin crouches at the edge of a rooftop overlooking the market, cape snapping sharply in the winter wind.
“A man near the fountain has been pacing for seven minutes,” Damian reports.
Red Robin glances down at his scanner. “He’s waiting for his wife. Elevated heart rate but no weapon signatures.”
“Disappointing,” Damian mutters.
Below them, plainclothes bomb squad officers weave carefully through the crowd pretending to browse holiday stalls.
Oracle’s voice cuts cleanly through the comm network.
“Reminder: the mayor's office does not want panic. Keep movement controlled unless we confirm a threat.”
Jason stands on a roof closest to the square with his helmet on, arms crossed tightly over his chest while snow drifts slowly onto his jacket.
“West perimeter,” Signal says suddenly. “Guy in the green parka keeps touching his pockets.”
Jason’s attention snaps over immediately.
The man pulls out:
“A candy cane,” Nightwing sighs.
“Oh come ON,” Steph groans.
A child drops hot chocolate nearby. Jason flinches instinctively at the sound hitting pavement.
Oracle’s voice crackles suddenly through the comms.
“Hold.”
Every channel goes quiet instantly.
Barbara’s typing echoes faintly in the background before she says:
“Red Hood.”
Jason straightens automatically. “What.”
“Your soulmate just entered through the west gate. I see it on camera three.”
Silence detonates across the network.
Every Bat immediately turns toward the west entrance.
Jason’s stomach drops hard enough to hurt.
“No,” he says instantly.
And then he sees you.
Winter coat.
Scarf.
Flowers tucked carefully against your chest.
Flowers?
Nightwing squints through binoculars from the rooftop.
“…Is she on a date?”
Jason’s grip tightens so hard around his gun holster it creaks.
Spoiler gasps dramatically. “OH MY GOD SHE’S ON A DATE.”
“She brought flowers,” Duke says weakly.
“Perhaps she finally located a man with emotional intelligence,” Damian offers.
Jason genuinely considers violence.
Not because you’re on a date.
You should be on a date.
You should move on from this entire disaster and find someone normal and alive and uncomplicated who doesn’t vanish for two weeks because he’s too damaged to process affection correctly.
Still. It's been two weeks.. Did you move on that quick?
The sight of those flowers in your hands makes something ugly twist low in his chest.
Dick’s voice softens slightly. “Jay…”
“She deserves better,” Jason says flatly before anyone can say it first.
The words land heavily across the comms.
For one brief second, nobody jokes. Then Oracle cuts through the silence sharply.
“Can you people be serious for ONE second?”
Barbara sounds genuinely appalled.
“There is an active potential bomb threat at this location,” she snaps. “And his soulmate is standing in the middle of it.”
Jason freezes.
Right.
The threat.
Your flowers suddenly stop looking romantic and start looking terrifyingly vulnerable.
Oracle’s voice hardens instantly into mission mode.
“Red Hood, get her out of there now.”
Jason moves before anyone can say another word.
“One minute,” Batman says sharply through comms.
Jason ignores him completely.
The rooftop door slams hard enough behind him to rattle the stairwell as he tears downward three steps at a time. Snow and cold air still cling to his armor while Oracle continues talking in his ear about evacuation routes and threat containment.
He barely hears her.
All he can think about is you standing in the middle of a potential bombing with flowers in your hands.
Idiot.
His idiot.
Jason yanks the helmet off halfway down the stairs and shoves it into an abandoned maintenance cabinet without slowing. Next go the guns. Holstered beneath his jacket where civilians won’t see them.
By the time he hits street level, he barely looks like Red Hood at all.
Just Jason.
Just a man sprinting through Gotham Christmas crowds with panic clawing up his throat.
He spots you near the center fountain immediately.
You’re standing on your toes slightly, scanning the market crowd with your bouquet tucked against your chest. When he shouts your name. Your head snaps toward him instantly.
Your entire face lights up.
Relief crashes across your expression so openly and immediately it almost stops him in his tracks.
“Jason!”
You hurry toward him through the crowd, smiling so brightly it physically hurts to look at after two weeks of silence.
Jason reaches you and immediately grabs your hand.
“We need to go,” he says.
“What?”
“There’s a threat. C’mon.”
He starts pulling you quickly through the market crowd toward the nearest exit, grip tight around your wrist while his eyes scan rooftops and civilians automatically.
Behind him, Oracle is feeding him updates through comms.
“No suspicious movement near the north barricade—”
“Bomb squad entering west side—”
“Red Hood, keep moving.”
You stumble slightly trying to keep up.
“Jason, wait”
“No time.”
“What do you MEAN no time??”
“There’s a potential attack here.”
Your eyes widen instantly.
“Oh my god.”
“Exactly.”
Jason keeps moving, pulse pounding violently now.
If something goes off before he gets you clear—
“Jason,” you say again, tugging against his hand this time. “Wait, hold on.”
“We are literally not holding on.”
“No, listen to me first!”
Jason finally slows just enough to look back at you.
You stare up at him, confused now.
“…Did you get my message?”
Jason pauses.
The crowd noise dulls strangely around him.
“…What message?”
“The tweet,” you repeat slowly. “I asked you to meet me here at 8”
Jason stares.
Snow drifts lazily between the market lights while Gotham continues bustling around you completely oblivious to the active anti-terror operation currently unfolding in the background.
“You…” Jason says faintly. “You sent that?”
“Yes?” Your eyebrows knit together. “Why else would you be here?”
Oh my god.
Behind Jason, somewhere across the rooftops, half the Batfamily is currently preparing for a bombing because of a twitter account you made when you were 12.
You keep talking before he can process that information.
You shift awkwardly beneath his silence.
“…Okay, well now I feel stupid,” you mutter. “But you blocked my number, which was honestly insane behavior by the way, and nobody would tell me where you lived, and I even tried the cookie cooler thing again but homeless people stole them—”
Jason actually stops breathing for a second.
“Who?.”
“That’s not important.” You wave it off immediately. “The point is I had to escalate.” You sound genuinely defensive about this.
Jason’s eyes sting suddenly. There is no threat. For a moment when he saw you standing there, he was terrified. All his neurons fired with a single message of get her out.
He pulls you into him so suddenly you gasp.
The bouquet crushes awkwardly between your coats while his arms lock around you hard enough to almost lift you off the ground. Jason buries his face against your hair immediately like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.
His shoulders shake once.
“Oh,” you say softly.
His breath catches sharply against your temple.
“I missed you.” You keep talking. “I almost became a criminal.”
“Almost?”
“I jaywalked.”
“…Oh my god.”
“And then I did graffiti but it accidentally became an Instagram spot instead of a threat to society.”
You keep ranting on but Jason is barely hanging onto your words because a realization washes over him like warm water. You came here for him.
Not because fate told you to.
Not because a timer forced you to.
But because he disappeared and you refused to let him go quietly.
Your voice keeps tumbling out in nervous little bursts.
“And then the mugging thing didn’t work either—”
“The WHAT.”
“Again, not important.”
Jason’s chest cracks open.
Because suddenly he sees it.
Not a mistake.
Not confusion.
Not some dead soulmate’s empty place he accidentally crawled into.
You.
Choosing him over and over again anyway.
All his life Jason had wanted one impossible thing: Someone who would fight for him back.
Willis didn’t.
Catherine couldn’t.
Bruce loved him, yes, but even that love always came tangled in grief and rules and distance.
But you committed crimes for him.
Badly.
Terribly.
Emotionally.
But still. His shoulders shake once before he can stop them.
He is such an idiot. He was so scared that he wasn't your soulmate that he failed to consider that you are exactly what he needed. Someone who’ll fight for him. Of course the universe gave him you.
You’re still talking softly against his chest.
“…and honestly the graffiti turned out kind of nice actually—”
Jason laughs once.
You pull back just enough to look at him properly and see that his eyes are wet.
Your entire expression crumples instantly.
“Oh my god,” you whisper. “Jason.”
He looks wrecked. Like he’s been holding himself together by force for weeks and finally ran out of strength.
“I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
And that’s when you realize.
He thought you were really angry.
“Oh no no no,” you say immediately, grabbing his jacket. “Wait, Jason, it’s okay. I’m not really mad, you’re here now!”
That undoes him completely.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, like the words aren’t enough but he has nothing else to offer. “God, I’m so sorry.”
Then quieter.
Smaller somehow.
“I thought…” His jaw tightens painfully. “I thought I was ruining your life.”
Your face falls instantly.
“What are you talking about?”
“The bracelet broke,” he blurts suddenly. “And your timer stopped before we met and I just—I thought maybe your real soulmate died and we got it wrong somehow and you deserved someone better than—”
You cover his mouth with your hand. “Do not finish that sentence, Jason. That is the dumbest thing I have ever hear”
He laughs into your palm before gently removing it. “I love you so much.”
Your breath catches sharply enough that Jason’s expression immediately shifts into panic like maybe he said too much..
So you kiss him.
Immediately.
One hand grab his face at once as you pull him down into you, flowers crushed hopelessly between your coats while Jason makes this startled sound against your mouth before kissing you back like he’s starving for it.
Jason’s hands slide into your hair while your fingers curl tight into the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer every single time he tries to breathe. The cold air disappears beneath the warmth of him entirely. Snow melts against your cheeks. Christmas music hums faintly somewhere behind you but it feels very far away now.
All you can process is Jason.
Jason kissing you back like he means it.
Like he’s relieved.
Like he’s still a little afraid this might disappear if he stops.
Around the square, Gotham’s vigilantes are collectively witnessing far more intimacy than anybody signed up for tonight.
Then Jason’s comm crackles violently in his ear.
“HELLO?” Oracle snaps. “Potential bomb threat? Massive public gathering? Ringing any bells??”
Jason breaks away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard.
His eyes are still half-lidded when he presses a hand to the comm.
“There’s no threat,” he says hoarsely.
“…What.”
Jason glances down at you.
At your flushed cheeks.
Your crushed flowers.
The fact that you are very obviously not an international terrorist.
His mouth twitches helplessly.
“Go home,” he tells Barbara simply.
He kisses you again.
The bouquet finally slips from your hands somewhere between kisses.
Flowers scatter across the snow near your boots.
You pull back suddenly.
“Oh!”
Jason looks alarmed for half a second like maybe something exploded after all until you crouch quickly to grab the roses.
“No wait,” you mumble, laughing breathlessly now. “I forgot.”
Jason’s still staring at you like he hasn’t fully recovered from the fact that you kissed him back.
You straighten again and hold the bouquet out toward him properly this time, cheeks pink from cold and kissing and emotional terrorism.
“I got you these.”
Jason blinks.
The market noise seems to disappear completely around him.
“…You got me flowers.”
You frown slightly. “Well, yeah.”
Like that’s obvious. Like people bring Jason Todd flowers every day.
“It’s a date,” you explain softly. “I was trying to be romantic before you started your mysterious self-destructive disappearing act.”
His throat works visibly.
“Oh my god,” you say immediately. “No wait, are you crying AGAIN?”
Jason laughs once through it, embarrassed and wrecked all at once while taking the bouquet from your hands with absurd care like it might break.
“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely.
You smile a little helplessly at that, shifting closer automatically beneath the market lights while snow drifts softly around you both.
Around you, the Christmas market buzzes warmly with music and laughter and the smell of cinnamon.
A perfect date setting, honestly.
You open your mouth.
“So,” you say carefully, “do you maybe wanna—”
“Can we go home?”
The words leave Jason immediately.
Jason looks suddenly overwhelmed by the entire concept of being perceived.
“I just…” He exhales hard through a laugh, eyes still suspiciously wet. “I think if we stay here much longer I might actually lose my mind.”
Your chest aches so violently it feels unfair.
“Okay,” you say softly.
Jason reaches for your hand automatically after that, intertwining your fingers like it’s instinct now. The flowers remain tucked carefully against his chest while the two of you begin walking slowly out of the market together.
You bump your shoulder lightly against his while weaving through the crowd.
“I still cannot believe you ghosted me over a bracelet,” you mumble.
Jason looks offended immediately.
“It was broken.”
“I have, like, twenty bracelets.”
“It symbolized you.”
“It was from a retreat gift shop.”
Jason tightens his grip on your hand slightly. “It mattered to me.”
Your expression softens instantly.
Then you remember something and squint at him again.
“Well I can’t believe you thought I’d stop talking to you forever.”
“You accidentally became a terrorist to contact me.”
“I became emotionally resourceful.”
“You triggered bomb squad deployment.”
“You blocked my number.”
“That does not justify federal crimes.”
“I also jaywalked, did graffiti, and tried mugging.”
He shook his head at that and slung an arm around you, pulling you closer to kiss your temple.
“I’ll let you know the next time I have a self destructive spiral”
“That’s all I ever wanted” You say, “Now come on, Fatson missed his papa”
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a/n: so you can probs tell how long this sat in the drafts from the christmas eve setting. also add me on club peguin @boomeringue
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taglist: THE TAGLIST IS NOW CLOSED (cause i am bad at it and its not working). to stay updated with the story follow: #goblin-writes
carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die carter hart die
summary: what's the worst thing that could happen when you start seeing your brothers best friend?
request: yes/no
warnings: swearing, drinking, illusions to smut if you squint?
word count: 4.19k
authors note: when I tell you I love this piece that is an understatement and a half. like I was writing it to set it up to be a series, I liked it that much. it's also to a point where I am ready to make mom and dad a series just so I can get this one. with that being said though I do hope you guys actually like this one.
The first time you kissed Beau Maxwell, he taste like cheap beer and bad decisions.
Which honestly made sense considering the entire thing was one giant mistake.
But the frat party was a mistake before Beau got involved.
You hadn’t even wanted to go originally, but Hannah helped do your hair while Allie dug through her closet for something that was ‘slutty but classy’ which directly translated into tight jeans and some white top that now clung to your skin after some drunk idiot slammed directly into you with a cup full of whatever he had too much of “yo sorry girl!” He called out as he continued walking.
But you stood there staring in horror. Because that once white fabric was see-through now, and that meant that your red bra had to be on full display for everyone to see “shit.” Hannah’s eyes went wide as you let out a huff “I need a drink if I’m meant to deal with this.” You grumbled as both girls followed you.
They swore you would have gone home right when that happened, but instead you opted to fill your cup up again.
Then again.
And again.
Which is how you ended up upstairs half an hour later, annoyed, tipsy and actively trying to find a quieter space after you disappeared from the girls.
You weren’t thinking when you opened the door to the first semi-empty room that you saw. Until you realised it wasn’t empty.
Beau was stood there, leaning against his dresser as he looked for a new shirt for himself to wear, as he too was covered in someone’s drink.
If you had to put your money on it, it was probably your brother’s doing.
His eyes flicked to you immediately, then dropped before they snapped right back up “you okay?” His voice was soft, like it always was when he spoke to you.
You let out a dry laugh “do I look okay?” You asked as you shook your head.
Beau’s jaw tightened slightly. Because he was looking again.
Too long.
Too obvious.
You crossed your arms out of reflex and that almost made it worse pushing your boobs up. So the boy looked away as if it would quickly reset his mind “what happened?” He asked as he scratched the side of his arm.
“Some guy happened.”
His expression immediately darkened “relax.” You saod even though your stomach still felt irritated, “he just spilled his drink on me.” You ran your fingers through your hair.
Beau’s eyes flicked to your shirt again, the fabric clinging and the outline too visible. His throat moved as he swallowed “I can see that.” His voice was rougher; something about it made your stomach flip.
Without thinking, you stepped further into his room. Which was a bad idea, as you were now closer to him.
Close enough to smell him properly, beer, laundry detergent and something sharp yet masculine underneath it all.
Beau shifted slightly as he was suddenly aware of every inch between the two of you “here.” He reached for the Nike hoodie that was behind you “you should probably get out of that shirt so guys don’t look.” His words made your ears turn pink.
Because not once had you ever thought that Beau cared about what other guys did when it came to you.
You stared at him for a second too long “why?” You asked quietly as Beau blinked, “why what?”
“Why do you care?”
Silence.
The music downstairs thumped faintly through the walls. Someone laughed too loudly in the hallway.
Beau’s grip tightened on the hoodie “I just-” He stopped himself as he licked his lips “it’s just annoying, that’s all.” He said it like it was an answer that made so much sense.
You tilted your head as neither one of you moved, the hoodie was between you and Beau already regretted every second of this conversation “you’re drunk.” He gave you this look, as if it explained everything.
You shot back “so are you.“ And that got him.
A faint helpless nod came from the boy before a pause. It was longer this time.
The tension in the room shifted, never disappeared, just changed shape as if it was keeping up with the times.
You stepped closer without thinking.
Beau didn’t move away.
That was the problem.
He never moved away from you “you’re staring again.” You pointed out softly
The boy dropped his hands “you’re in my room in a see-through shirt. What do you want from me?” His question made you quietly laugh.
Because he was right, “fair,” but then you went quieter, “is it bothering you?”
Beau looked at you properly this time, no pretending, “yes he said immediately.
Your breath caught slightly “because of the shirt?” You teased, voice no longer as steady as you wished it was.
He shook his head once “no.” That word changed everything as your stomach dropped “oh.”
Beau stepped forward without warning, it was just one step but ut closed the gap between the two of you.
His voice dropped, “you shouldn’t look at me like that.” His eyes hovered dangerously over your lips.
Your voice was barely a whisper, “like what?” You always thought he was cute, but you knew your brother would kill you if you ever vocalised it.
“Like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
Your heartbeat skipped.
That was it. The moment that everything snapped. The floodgates of emotion and desire flew open and everything was about to come tumbling out.
You didn’t think. You just grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down slightly. Beau froze for like half a second like he needed to reboot.
Then he kissed you. It was powerful.
Like he had been holding it back since he knew you and stopped pretending he could win.
His hand came to your waist, firm as it pulled you closer, making your back hit the dresser behind you.
You moaned against his mouth, and that only made him kiss you harder.
It was warm, dizzy, and completely unfair.
You didn’t even notice when he dropped the hoodie, or when your arms slid around his neck. All you knew was that Beau kissed you like he’d wanted it for longer than either of you was willing to admit.
When he finally pulled back, it was so he could take in the sight of you, how your lips were now swollen “this is such a bad idea.” He muttered, making you smile, “yeah it is.” Neither of you pulled away.
So when Beau kissed you again, he brought your legs around his waist before he used his foot to shut his bedroom door.
Because this was definitely going to be a cause of night one and not one night.
The two of you had been sneaking around for a while now, and you made it through the summer, sneaking around the house in Cape Cod. You made it through sneaking into each other’s rooms as if Dean wasn’t feet away. And honestly, you were both feeling like you were on top of the world.
Because it was getting too easy, which meant soon that you’d both start playing recklessly.
That’s how you ended up in his car at 2 am after a late-night snack run that you practically had to beg the boy to go on.
You were sat in the passenger seat, one of his hoodies swallowing you whole. Beau was in the drivers seat, turned slightly towards you with his forearm resting on the steering wheel like he needed something to anchor himself to.
The windows were fogging up a little and neither of you acknowledged it “we need rules.” You announced as you sat up straight.
Beau quietly laughed “rules?” He cocked his head as you nodded.
Dean had asked you if you wanted to hang out with him tonight and you didn’t know what you were meant to say when you turned him down “because this is going to get messy.” You insisted even though your voice didn’t sound sure of it.
Beau’s eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up “it’s already messy.” He pointed out as the only thing going through his mind was how he really wanted to kiss you in that moment.
You sighed as you fiddled with your rings “okay what are you thinking?” Beau shifted in his seat to give you his full attention.
You nodded like you were in control of your entire life and not currently sat in his car after sneaking out of your dorm.
One rule should have been obvious: Don’t do this.
But neither of you said it, instead opting for “no public stuff.” You said it carefully as if you were testing the waters.
Beau nodded in agreement and your heart did something stupid because he didn’t even hesitate, “no kissing at parties or touching were people can see.” You continued knowing that it would be the first thing to blow the two of you up if it happened.
Beau’s jaw tightened at the second one but he nodded again “no Dean.” He added, making you laugh.
It earned a smile from him “yeah none of him.” He was the one you were trying to hide this from after all.
The first two felt manageable, the third was where things were going to get tricky ‘no telling anyone.” You knew that this was something he’d tell Joanna, and before you knew it, everyone would know.
Beau didn’t respond and that made you look at him properly.
His expression had shifted to something less joking and more serious, like he was actually thinking about the weight of it all “yeah,” he said eventually, “no telling anyone.” Your stomach dipped as you nodded.
Because telling nobody meant hidden, and hidden meant fragile.
Beau seemed to notice your face changed, his voice softened a little “we’re not doing this because we’re ashamed.” His words lingered in the air.
You licked your lips slightly “then why are we doing it?” Silence filled the car for too long.
Beau’s hand left the steering wheel and rested on your thigh like he was forcing himself not to reach for your hand “because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He said those words so simply.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rehearsed and it wasn’t said as if it just made your stomach do flips.
You swallowed “that’s not a rule.” You pointed it out as your brows furrowed.
“No,” he agreed quietly “that’s the problem.”
The air between you both changed. It was thicker now; it was less about the rules you set to make.
More about everything you were trying not to say out loud. You shifted in your seat slightly, facing him fully, “Beau…” You trailed off as he looked a you immediately.
Always immediate. Always like you were the only thing in the room (or in this case, car) that mattered “are we okay with this?” You asked softly “like actually okay or are we just-“
“Already in it?” The boy finished your sentence as if he had been thinking the same thing.
You nodded, Beau exhaled through his nose, almost like he was annoyed at how true the statement was.
Then he leaned over the centre console, not fast, not rushed, just inevitable.
Your breath stuttered before he even touched you “yeah.” He said quietly as his eyes flickered between yours, “we’re in it.” That was all the warning you got before he kissed you.
Slower this time. Less frantic than before. But deeper in a way that made your entire body go warm instantly, like it had been waiting for him to do exactly that.
Your hand slid into his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer as his hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he still couldn’t believe that you were real.
The console dug into your thigh as your seatbelt clicked when you shifted.
None of it mattered.
Because Beau Mazwell kissed you like he meant it every time.
When he finally pulled back it was only slightly, resting his forehead against yours like he needed a break “rule four.” You whispered.
It made him laugh against your mouth, “theres more?” He asked as you nodded, “just one.”
He hummed against your lips “go on.”
You looked at him properly, your fingers still hooked into his shirt, “if this goes bad ever.” You said, trying to sound casual and failing completely, “we don’t ever talk about it.” Beau’s expression softened instantly.
He paused, “but it’s not going to go bad.” You gave him a look “you don’t know that.”
Beau smiled “I do.” That made your stomach flip again.
You held your pinky out and Beau stared at it for half a second before he laughed and did the same thing “taking this to the grave.” You said.
Beau squeezed your hand gently “to the grave.” He nodded.
You should’ve let go after that.
You really should’ve. But instead, you pulled him back by his shirt.
And Beau met you halfway, like he always would. Like there was never really going to be a rule strong enough to stop him.
But it was funny how that last rule really didn’t last long.
Because the girls were the ones who found out by accident.
Mainly because Beau was a football player and that meant that stealth didn’t come to him naturally.
It was nearly one in the morning when he showed up at your dorm wearing a dark hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, “okay Stevie Wonder.” You let out a snort, seeing his sunglasses on him too.
He rolled his eyes “if you didn’t take so long to come get me I wouldn’t need a disguise.” He grumbled pecking your lips.
You grinned as you curled the string of his hoodie between your fingers “hey now I could leave you out here.” You taunted him, licking your lips in the process.
He let out a low whistle “now where would the fun be in making me go home?” His hands rested on your waist as your cheeks turned red “you’re lucky you’re cute.” You grumbled as you grabbed his hand.
It made him grin, “you think I’m cute.” He looked as if he had just been told he was the best looking man in the world “yeah so lets not let that change.”
You got to your floor as you looked around “c’mon be quiet.” You brought your finger to your lips as you had snuck him past the security desk for what felt like the tenth time that week.
Beau rolled his eyes “I know how sneaking works.” He snorted softly right before he walked into one of the random tables that were out.
It made this loud echo “do you now?” You crossed your arms as he grabbed your waist, shoving the two of you behind some corner before the RA had a chance to appear.
You bubbled into this silent laughter as you grinned, “you’re enjoying this too much.” Beau muttered as he shook his head “didn’t think you would be this bad at sneaking.”
“Usually I don’t need to.”
You were still laughing by the time the two of you got to your dorm suite.
Where you froze immediately.
Because the once empty living room now had both Hannah and Allie sit on the couch eating cereal.
With a perfect view of you and the man you were holding hands with “I knew it.” Hannah lowered her spoon as her mouth fell open.
Your eyes closed “Hannah-” Beau squeezed your hand, reminding him he was there with you.
“I knew it!” She shrieked louder as Allie clapped her hands, looking genuinely delighted, “oh my god, its Beau!”
Beau looked like he’d rather be taking a tackling drill to the face in that moment “that’s why Garrett said Dean was going on about you having some mystery girlfriend!” Hannah remembered how the hockey captain pointed it out as you were running to a lecture one day as the two studied in your living room.
Your head snapped “he what now?” Your eyes went wide as Beau groaned from next to you.
Allie gasped as her hand went over her mouth “you’re the one that give her the hickies!” It was after a party where you were in a low-cut shirt and Beau got a little annoyed seeing all the guys look at you.
So he made sure you were left forced to wear borderline turtlenecks in the middle of August “this is humiliating.” You groaned as you leaned into Beau.
Allie scoffed “correction, this is the cutest thing in the world.” She spoke in a duh tone as she placed her bowl on the table.
Beau slid his arm around your waist as your head buried into his chest, refusing to look at anyone.
And the girls noticed that immediately. And the worst part? So did you.
Because the tiny movement said more than either of you had yet “wait are you guys serious?” Her eyes darted between you.
You finally looked up from the boy’s chest to see his eyes looking right at yours, “yeah.” He nodded making your stomach flip.
Allie clapped her hands together as she squealed, “you’re dating Beau Maxwell.” It was a massive jump from when you swore you were off of guys last year after another failed hook-up.
You laughed despite yourself, “don’t make it weird.” You groaned, making the girls laugh.
Hannah shook her head “trust me it’s already weird.” She informed you “your brother literally thinks Beau is in love with some random girl while you’re literally sneaking him into our door.” She pointed out making you look up at Beau who sighed.
He knew what he was getting into when he started sneaking around with you “Dean’s gonna kill me.” Beau chewed at the inside of his lip.
Allie shook her head “while you’re probably not wrong.” She trailed off, looking at Hannah, who gasped.
“Oh my god, we can help keep them a secret!”
While the girls offer wasn’t something either of you needed to take just yet, it felt like as the weeks continued, something was changing between the two of you.
Somewhere along the way, the sneaking and fun around turned into something serious.
Beau had texted you all about how he had a bad practice, and that was how you ended up in his room without a second thought.
He was in his ensuite showering, blissfully unaware of what was sitting on his bed waiting for him.
You found his jersey and had kicked your jeans off, leaving you in your underwear and his shirt, “holy shit.” His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of you.
The first went down to your thighs leaving you looking as if you were about to be swallowed whole “hi handsome.” You grinned as you pushed yourself off of his bed.
Beau felt his brain short-circuit as he dropped his towel to the floor, forgetting what to do with himself “couldn’t you have waited until I got dressed?” He asked quietly as he reached for his boxers from his open drawer.
You swore you hadn’t seen him get dressed faster in his life “would that have been more polite?” You tilted your head, watching your boyfriend turn back to face you again.
He was quick to shake his head, “it would have been a whole lot less distracting.” He countered, making you laugh softly.
Beau reached you as one hand automatically wrapped your leg around him. It was a move that made your pulse jump.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against bare skin while he looked at you like he didn’t know where to focus first “you wore this on purpose.” He mumbled as he licked at his lips, “maybe I missed you.”
It made his expression soften. Every single time it happened. No matter how teasing the moment started, the second you said something genuine, Beau looked at you like you knocked the air out of him.
“I saw you this morning.”
You rolled your eyes, remembering how good he looked in your bed “long time.” Your words made him huff out a laugh before he lay you onto his bed.
The sight always made you squirm as his chain rested on your chin before he kissed you.
The kiss always started slow with Beau first. As he enjoyed the build-up far too much to rush anything.
His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, while your fingers curled into damp hair at the back of his neck.
He tasted like mint and Gatorade.
And god you swore you could feel the smile against your mouth when you tugged at his hair “you’re trouble.” He murmured as he looked away to look at you.
You grinned, “you like it.” He nodded as he caught your lower lip between his teeth “I’m obsessed with it.” Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard at that.
But Beau kissed you again before you could recover, this time going deeper. One hand pressed into the mattress under you while the other slipped under your shirt letting his palm spread against your bare waist.
You made this tiny sound into his mouth that made him shudder, “don’t do that.” He grumbled as his knee dipped into the mattress.
You cocked your head feeling a little confused, “don’t make noises like that unless you want me acting insane.” His warning sound have made you squirm but instead you smirked.
“Maybe I do?”
That line got the boy as he groaned before he kissed you harder again.
His body settled on top of you as his fingers traced up your ribs underneath the jersey, making your breath catch in your throat.
“Beau-“
A loud knock slammed against the door as you both froze “Maxwell!” Dean whined from the other side of the door, making your eyes widen in horror.
Beau dropped his forehead onto your shoulder “you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He groaned as he wanted to hit your brother in that moment.
Another knock came “c’mon Tucker is downstairs waiting for us!” And just like that you remembered why you weren’t meant to be seeing Beau until tonight.
He was seeing Dean and Tucker after practice “hide!” Beau whisper hissed as he motioned you to slide under his bed “not your bathroom?” You scoffed, matching his tone.
The boy panicked, “no time.” He pressed a kiss on your lips before you begrudgingly listened making sure that you hid behind where his practice bag was dropped “why aren’t you dressed?” Dean asked immediately, seeing the lack of clothing that his friend had on.
Beau looked down as he ran his fingers through his hair “sorry bro, the shower ran long.” It was a stupid excuse, but the first one that he could come up with.
Dean nodded as he crossed his arms “well just hurry up.” The blonde let out a dramatic huff that almost made you laugh.
Your brother looked at the bed, hearing your hand slap over your mouth “did your bed just make a noise?” He asked, making Beau’s eyes grow wide.
Dean shook his head as he sighed, “ignoring that are you gonna come out with us tonight?” Your brother asked but quickly groaned seeing Beau remain quiet “c’mon man mystery girl can’t be that special.”
That was the nickname the boys gave you. The reason why Beau smiled at his phone, left parties early, didn’t attend poker nights if the puck bunnies were coming along, and most importantly, stopped flirting with other girls. For weeks now, Dean had been trying to figure out who was the reason his best friend went soft, blissfully unaware that it was the very sister whom he spent mornings ransacking her snack drawer.
Everyone was trying to guess who you were and beyond for you, Beau, Hannah and Allie, nobody was going to be successful for as long as you all could help it.
Beau gripped his hand at his door “look dude I can’t do tonight but give me a sec to get dressed and I’ll be down for Tucker.” He didn’t wait for Dean to answer as he shut his door, making sure he locked it.
His head dropped as he helped you out from under his bed “next time I’m hiding you under my bed.” You grumbled as Beau sighed.
The boy pressed a kiss against your lips “sorry princess your brother would have killed me.” He sighed as his hands rested on your hips “wait for me to come back?” He didn’t want to leave you, he really, really didn’t want to leave you in his jersey looking like that.
But if you both wanted to make it through the night, you really had no other choice in the matter, “you know I will.” You leaned onto your tippy toes to kiss him again.
In the Cens locker room, Ilya pulls out a small photo of Shane and sighs. Bood looks over. Dude he’ll be out of the meeting with Wiebe in less than five minutes.
One of the funniest parts of the book is when Ilya is like "If I can't even be safe from Shane Hollander at a fucking nightclub, then where can I?" Like, lmao. He should not have been at the club.
summary: it’s casual, dean is a little less than casual when he sees someone elses hands on you.
—
Dean had never been jealous a day in his life.
Possessive? Sure.
Competitive? Absolutely.
But jealous? No.
At least that was what he told himself while staring so hard at the guy sitting beside you on the couch that Logan physically leaned over and took Dean’s beer from his hand before he crushed the can.
“You’re being weird,” Logan muttered.
Dean didn’t look away from you. “I’m not being weird.”
“You’ve looked two seconds away from murder since we walked in.”
Across the hockey house living room, you laughed at something the guy beside you said, head tipping back slightly. His hand rested on your knee like he belonged there.
Dean’s stomach twisted violently.
Garrett followed his line of sight and immediately groaned. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
Dean scoffed loudly enough to earn a glance from you across the room. “I’m literally not.”
“You absolutely are,” Garrett laughed. “This is incredible. I’ve never witnessed such a sight.”
Dean ignored them both, taking his beer back before shoving himself off the kitchen counter. He needed another drink. Or maybe twelve.
This was ridiculous.
You were single.
He was single.
That was the whole point.
From the beginning, the two of you had agreed this wasn’t serious. No labels. No exclusivity. No clinginess.
Just sex.
Really good sex.
The kind that had somehow turned into movie nights and late-night drives and you stealing his hoodies and Dean memorising your coffee order without meaning to.
Except now there was some finance major touching your thigh like he’d earned it, and Dean suddenly felt borderline homicidal and violently ill.
“You good, D?” Tucker asked as Dean grabbed vodka this time instead of beer.
“Fantastic.”
Tucker looked toward the couch.
“Oh,” he said carefully. “That bad?”
Dean glared at him. “Shut up.”
The worst part was that you looked good tonight.
Dean knew exactly what your skin felt like under his hands. Knew what you sounded like when he got you alone.
And now some other guy was making you laugh.
You spotted him hovering near the kitchen and smiled automatically.
That smile almost made it worse.
You excused yourself from the couch a few minutes later, weaving through the crowd toward him.
“There you are,” you said easily. “You disappeared.”
Dean leaned back against the counter. “You seemed busy.”
One eyebrow lifted immediately.
Uh oh.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like an asshole.”
You folded your arms over your chest. “Dean.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been glaring at Evan all night.”
“Evan,” Dean repeated flatly. “Jesus Christ, even his name sucks.”
You stared at him for a second before realisation slowly crossed your face.
“No way…”
Dean took another drink.
“Oh my God,” you laughed quietly. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“Because I’m hooking up with someone else?”
The directness it was harder than he expected.
Dean’s jaw tightened. “I just think you could do better.”
You blinked at him slowly. “Dean. You literally sleep with half the female population of Briar.”
“Not anymore.”
The words slipped out too fast.
Your expression shifted slightly.
Dean immediately regretted opening his mouth.
You stepped closer, voice softer now, your fingers grazing softly over his shirt covered abdomen, “What’s going on with you?”
Dean didn’t know when this had happened.
Didn’t know when you’d become the first person he looked for at parties. Or when his bed started feeling empty without you in it. Or when hearing another guy make you laugh started feeling like someone scraping a knife against his ribs.
He was fucking Dean Di Laurentis.
He didn’t do this. Relationships were messy. Feelings complicated things. Casual was supposed to be easy.
But watching another guy touch you all night had made him feel insane. And maybe worse than insane was hurt.
“You said casual,” he said finally.
Your face softened slightly. “Hey, we both did.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Dean laughed once, bitter under his breath. “Because apparently I’m an idiot.”
You went quiet.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw before looking at you directly for the first time all night.
“I didn’t think I’d care.”
There it was.
Ugly and embarrassing and completely unavoidable now.
Your lips parted slightly.
Behind you, the music blasted and people were yelling.
Dean barely noticed any of it.
Because you were just staring at him.
“You care if I hook up with someone else?” you asked carefully.
Dean gave you a look. “That obvious?”
“A little.”
“Fantastic.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth before you shook your head. “You know what the crazy part is?”
“What?”
“I only started talking to Evan because I thought you were losing interest.”
Dean actually frowned. “What?”
“You stopped sleeping with random girls,” you said quietly. “You started acting weirdly domestic with me and then pulling away after. I figured maybe you were getting bored.”
“Bored?” Dean repeated like the word offended him personally.
You shrugged slightly. “You never said anything.”
“Because I was trying not to turn into a psychopath!”
You laughed softly.
Dean stepped closer before he could stop himself.
“You think I liked watching him touch you?”
Your breath caught slightly.
Dean noticed immediately because of course he did. “I almost put him through a wall, baby.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
Silence settled between you both, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter. The space between you was closing.
He knew he had no right to feel this way when he’d been the one insisting on casual from the start.
But standing here now, looking down at you with your mouth slightly pink from the drink in your hand and your eyes fixed on his, Dean realized something horrifying.
“You wanna know something pathetic?” he asked quietly.
You looked wary already. “Probably not.”
“I have your coffee order saved in my notes app.”
You blinked.
Dean pushed forward before he could lose his nerve.
“You leave hair ties all over my apartment and I don’t throw them out anymore. Tucker asked why there’s strawberry yogurt in our fridge because I don’t eat strawberry yogurt but you do when you’re studying. Garrett says I smile differently when you text me.” He paused. “And apparently seeing another guy touch you makes me physically ill.”
Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “That’s pretty much how I felt too.”
For a second neither of you moved.
Then quietly, “So what now?”
Dean looked at you for a long moment.
Then his eyes flicked toward the living room where Evan was still sitting on the couch waiting for your return.
“Now,” Dean said calmly, “I’m gonna walk over there and tell him to stop looking at my girl.”
Love that Shane and Ilya are so insane for each other that it basically invokes the Forced Proximity trope from 500 miles away. Being in the same conference is too close for these fools. Being the same LEAGUE. What do you mean I have to see that guy once every six weeks and somehow keep my cool. What do you MEAN there's only a single international border separating us. How am I supposed to keep my emotional walls up when that guy sometimes occasionally comes within the general metropolitan area of my person. How can I fall asleep at night knowing that we're under the same constellations. This continent isn't big enough for the two of us. We're gonna have to kiss about it.
i know a post retirement queer sports podcast with ilya and troy would pop the fuck off. they call it ‘locker room talk’ and every single player is getting called a fag. nobody is safe. let ilya and troy say fag #freethem. shane is the guy behind the camera on the laptop googling every single question they ask, and the only special guests they have are bood and hazy on rotation. they arrange for scott hunter to show up for one week and he fears that it will undo every shred of progress he’s helped make.
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
