hello!!! omg it has been a WHILE since I have written a fic, probably around 5 years? But i have grown since then (kind of) and continued to read and repost fics on my blog. That goes to say that i do miss writing and have many wip’s that i have yet to finish lol. During that time i took a huge break, I went to college, received my undergrad degree and went straight into starting my graduate degree, in which i am in rn.
During the end of my first semester, I had a sudden manic night and decided to write again! I’ve been reading more about different fandoms such as batman (mainly jason todd & dick grayson) COD modern warfare, and some others that i would like to write about and explore.
With writing on this blog, I would like to write about the fandoms that interest me and when I could. I am currently doing classes and having therapy sessions with my client, so I would like to focus on that and post my writing whenever I could :). I also wouldn't be opposed to answering some asks and write little blurbs.
TBH I feel like burnout and stress from having to constantly write academic papers stunted me. But I would love to take submissions and fall in love with writing again!! I am currently working on a fic about jason todd that I would love to get out asap, so tbd about a release date. But for now, pls feel free about sending some requests about any of the following:
Jason Todd
Dick Grayson
Spencer Reid
Simon Riley (Ghost)
John Price
Johnny MacTavish
Joaquin Torres
some old fandoms lol (5sos, shawn mendes)
Hunger games characters! (it's making a comeback
Some shows that i am into! (the boys, gossip girl, b99, tsitp, bridgerton etc.) if you would like something in that universe
Again, I would like to give heads up and say I will try to post when I can, pls be patient lol.
To those few that stuck around, thank you <3. I've tried many times coming back to this app to write and I've been afraid. But I don't want that to be the reason that I stop.
copy paste (requested + ft bat family !)
jason todd x reader
mentions: reader gives birth, uhhh its a girl idk i spinned a wheel for a gender, baby looks just like jason, uhhh slight angst?? but fluff at the same time
(as you can tell i gave up with the mention loool but anywayy omg this made me think of dilf jason from knightfight and now im gen droooooling ugh. this was super cute to write lmao insert the meme of that girl saying she wants to be pregnant when she grows up)
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when you found you were pregnant, you didn’t know whether to panic or to celebrate. for starters, you and jason have been talking about children but it was more of a topic than really anything commiting. and the other was that you two weren’t really planning for kids. and that made you panic, not knowing if jason really wanted this more than you.
but the moment you hesitantly told him, he had to make sure his ears weren’t deceiving him and told you to repeat what you just announced. and the first words he uttered after it processed to him? “how are you feeling?” that genuinely made you let out a choked laugh before tears fell out on your face, both of you welcoming the unexpected addition to your lives
jason would cut back hours of patrol and would always come back with your pregnancy cravings at hand. and speaking of— his hand would rest on your bump after giving you a kiss when he would arrive home, murmuring on your lips on how he could have sworn that your bump wasn’t this big yesterday. he would make sure you never lifted even a finger— massaging your feet, helping you rub oil around your bump, you name it. it was almost as if he fell in love with you more ever since you got pregnant
and after 9 months of mood swings, pregnancy cravings, extreme fatigue and lots of bathroom visits, cries filled the delivery room as you welcomed your baby girl into this world. “is she—“ you panted, head weakly turning to face jason. “is she cute?”
and jason just let out a laugh, almost choked with a sob from your words, his hand firmly squeezing yours that he never let go ever since you got admitted as he frantically nodded. “looks just like her mom.” he brushed the sweaty strands of hair that was stuck on your forehead. if you weren’t so exhausted, you would have pointed out the slight tears that were forming in his eyes and teased him for it, along with the ridiculous scrub cap and gown he was wearing.
but your partner’s words would soon die in vain because when you finally met with your baby, you just saw jason— literally. maybe, maybe her smile is just like yours. but oh boy, your genetics did not win the war at all. at this point, it should have been jason that should have been pregnant instead
you and jason agreed to call his family until after you’re rested up and well, since both of you knew that they would be chasing red lights to get one glimpse of the new addition to the family. so once you started to rest up, both of you decided to call them one by one
the first person was alfred, actually. but since he couldn’t come visit the hospital (and assuring you he can meet the little one when you and jason visit the manor), damian came on his behalf instead with a basket alfred gave him— all filled with your favorite foods. “pennyworth sends his condolences….and this basket”
damian would try to pretend that he was only here because of alfred when in reality, he wanted to see the baby. to him, giving life to a human being is a topic he still doesn’t quite understand— especially since he lived his entire life taking them away, thanks to the influence of the league of assassins
both you and jason saw how intensely he was staring at the baby, who was sleeping in the hospital bassinet. you asked him if he wanted to hold her at first but he refused. but when you asked after a moment, damian didn’t say anything— and that was his way of saying yes.
it was almost adorable, watching damian hold the baby as she kept blinking her eyes at him, her hand trying to get out of her swaddle. damian noticed and when he gently freed her hand, her small fingers wrapped themselves around his index finger like instinct. it made him freeze for a moment, his eyes slightly widening from the sudden action. but his gaze softened soon, quietly carrying and admiring the baby
“she is…. adequate” he murmured, his wrapped finger gently nudging the baby’s cheek
“aww thank you, damian”
“yeah now give her back, demon brat. its been two hours”
the second person was dick. jason was actually reluctant to call him but you insisted, especially since dick and steph were the ones who planned your baby shower. the moment jason called him and mentioned your name and the word birth in the same sentance, you could have sworn you heard a squeal come out from dick. “be there in 10! send me the room number!” mind you, this man was coming from bludhaven
and 10 minutes indeed. dick came to your room, literally panting for air with his hands on his knees and trying to ask where the baby was in between breaths
after dick finally caught his breath and asked how you were doing, soft, quiet coos were heard from the bassinet and that immediately caught dick’s attention. when you held the baby in your arms, his eyes widened and his smile grew when he realized your baby was a girl
“oh yeah, wally so owes me 30 bucks for thinking it was a boy”
“you made a bet over our baby’s gender?!”
“… little wing, i can explain— “
tim and steph showed up next, coming together as a duo as they recently finished a mission not too long ago. steph would come with presents filled with baby clothes, diapers, you name it. and of course, half of the toys are purple— ‘the superior color’ as she says. tim would actually check up on you and would tell jason of the nutrients and the vitamins you were lacking after your birth, sending jason a whole sheet with ways to get your body back into its proper health again.
but when you handed the baby to steph, both steph and tim’s jaws visibly dropped with their eyes widened. the baby was just a fat copy of jason and they could hardly see any resemblance to you. tim literally had to do that genetic chart thing to find out how in the hell did your genetics lose
“are you sure you’re the mother?”
“steph, you saw my stomach inflate for nine months”
“…are you sure that jason wasn’t the one pregnant?”
“steph—"
duke and cass would be the next duo to come visit in the hospital, cass coming to hug you and asking how you're feeling while duke went to dab up jason and congratulate him. while the baby was sleeping, you four just sat and talked about basically anything as you caught up with them
but you couldn’t hide the small ache in your heart when you saw them holding the baby after she just woke up, it was just too adorable. cass was the one holding the baby, silently observing her with a small smile on her face while duke sat besids her, his finger held by the baby with a smile of his own
“she has your smile” cass murmured. being able to read both people and body language was something that she was both proud and ashamed of, but sometimes, it helped people more than it hurt them. “its soft. warm”
duke nodded in agreement. “she also has jason’s….” he tried to choose which one of your baby’s features to point out, but he didn’t know where to begin. “…everything.” like that made you feel any better
and of course, the last person from the family to visit was bruce. jason hesitated, considering his relationship with him. but you reassured him once again and told him that if there was anyone in the family who should visit, it should be bruce
and once the door opened, there he was— bruce wayne, standing in the doorway and looking out of place in the soft hospital lighting. the moment you saw him, what stood out most to you was his expression— careful, nervous. almost like he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to be here
his eyes immediately found jason first. “…jason” bruce greeted him. jason crossed his arms and greeted him back. “bruce.” the greetings weren’t hostile, but it wasn’t easy either
bruce’s gaze shifted to you and walked towards your bedside. “how are you feeling?” he asked, voice softer than before. “tired” you admitted with a small laugh. “but okay.” you smiled. bruce nodded, clearly relieved that you were doing okay. from what he knew, pregnancy was more physically and emotionally demanding than anyone thought
however when his eyes drifted to the baby, sleeping in your arms, bruce froze in place. you could practically see the moment the realization hit him, that jason now has a child. and for a second, bruce wayne— billionaire by day and batman by night— looked completely stunned. you would have never thought to see the day
“…may i?” he asked quietly, almost as if he was hesitant to even ask. you looked at jason, who hesitated just for a second before he shrugged, trying to look casual. “yeah. sure”
carefully, you stood up and slowly placed the baby in bruce’s arms. “yup, support her head” you murmured, adjusting his arm just a bit so your baby could rest her head on top of the crook of his elbow. bruce was holding her like she was made of glass, his large hands awkwardly adjusting around her. and once he was holding her, you adjusted her blanket one last time before taking your hands away.
as if feeling your presence gone, the baby slowly blinked up to bruce before yawning. “she likes you” you smiled and bruce let out the smallest breath of laughter, his eyes almost glinting from the sight of her.
“oh my god” jason murmured, blinking twice. “he’s smiling.”
“be quiet.” bruce replied automatically, though there was no bite. he studied the baby carefully in his arms, eyes moving across her face. he looked at her nose, then her cheeks, and her little scrunched eyebrows— the same scrunched eyebrows that jason used to do when he was still robin. the nostalgia came back to bruce faster than a train
he slowly looked up at jason. “she looks exactly like you” he commented, and that made jason groan immediately, already used to hearing it from half the family at this point. “don’t start”
bruce’s mouth twitched and you laughed tiredly from the bed. “at this point, im convinced jason carried her" you joked. another smile formed back on your lips, but more tired. bruce glanced at you again and noticed your state— hair slightly messy, slight dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, tiredness written all over your face— you were exhausted. and you had the right to be so, you pushed a human out of you after all
and for the first time since entering the hospital room, something warm settled in his expression. “you did well” bruce said quietly, words so simple yet carried weight. it made your smile softened more than it ever did
bruce looked back down at the baby, looking at her as if she wasn’t real. she squirmed slightly in his arms, a tiny hand escaping the blanket just like how it did with damian a few days earlier. her small hand reached out, as if trying to grab anything
and she grabbed on bruce’s thumb, her small fingers wrapped around it. bruce stilled completely, his breath caught just for a moment as if her touch paralyzed him. truth be told, it kinda did. he stared down at her like he was memorizing every detail of her almost as if it was too good to be true
“shes very strong” he murmured softly when she tightened her grip around his finger and that made jason snort. “yeah, that tracks”
another beat of silence filled the room before bruce looked at jason again. the look in his eyes was different, something that jason couldn’t pinpoint. something proud.
“you’re going to be a good father” bruce expressed and jason immediately looked away, hands in his pockets. “yeah, well” jason muttered. “kid’s stuck with me now.” bruce didn’t argue and instead, he carefully returned the baby to you as she cooed from your familiar warmth
but before stepping back and leaving, bruce rested a hand briefly on jason’s shoulder— not heavy nor dramatic, just there. “welcome to the club” bruce noted
“what club?”
“the kind where you spend the rest of your life hoping you did enough”
jason was silent— not just from the words but from the weight of experience he heard in bruce’s voice as he watched him put his coat back on. bruce looked at the baby resting in your arms one more time before looking up at you and giving you a silent nod that spoke more than words — thank you
and he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, the door closing softly behind him.
you grabbed jason’s hand with your free one, meeting his eyes with yours and a smile. he snapped out of his trance and looked back at you, before smiling back and squeezing your hand as a silent vow. this time, the future didn’t feel heavy— it felt like home
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masterlist!
(a/n: my inbox is filled with jason i love it ty guys)
"what's wrong?" he asks, voice cracking slightly from hours of silence, cutting through the monotonous sound of the fan oscillating in the background.
"nothing. 'm fine." you murmur defiantly smushing your cheek further into the pillow. silencing a pained wince. you're not subtle, not to him. he's watched you squirm all night. felt the bed rock as you shifted uncomfortably from the taut pressure bubbling in your abdomen.
he places his warm palm there, right where it hurts, not hard, just firm. "you're not fine. you've been shifting all night" he hums into your neck, brushing a kiss over your pulse point. his thumb rubbing back and forth over your, now warmed, skin. it's enough to slightly dull the ache under your skin. "can't sleep cause it hurts" you finally admit, tilting your head backward to look at him.
a needy pulse forming between your thighs, despite the ache. his fingers drum against your skin, hesitating, as your thighs press together tight. desprate for some friction.
he isn't mean about it, when he gives in. doesn't say a word really. just silently reasures you with a kiss to your shoulder before you can stop him from slipping hand further down between your thighs. dipping underneath the elastic of your panties, into your heat. gliding a finger through the wet syrupy mess between them.
massaging your senstive clit. rubbing gentle circles onto the bud as you squirm against his chest. "let me make you feel good" he coos, slipping a finger inside. streching out your aching cunt, massaging your walls with every thrust. until your dripping down his hand.
He sits by the tub while you’re talking a bath, occasionally dipping his hand into the water to make sure you’re not going to overheat. He’s carefully reading the label of the bubble bath you used and googling it following the words ‘pregnant women’.
He goes with you to every single appointment, asking more questions than you do. On the way home he makes sure your seatbelt doesn’t slip over your stomach, he absolutely never lets you drive.
Anything you eat he’s googling if it’s ever affected any pregnant woman. He has absolutely no problem waking up in the middle of the night and run to the gas station to grab your weird cravings.
He measures your stomach every week to make sure you’re growing at an acceptable healthy rate. He buys one of those high dollar at home ultrasound machines and checks your baby’s heart every Sunday.
He makes sure to buy the best prenatal, doing hours of research on them before paying $70 a bottle. He buys the safest car seat and stroller, he buys you a new car, making sure its crash test is almost perfect.
He’s nervous about sex, asking the doctors if they’re sure it’s okay. He insists on only thrusting his cock halfway inside you in missionary so you flip the both of you and take him fully. He groaning and snapping his eyes open, gasping your name and putting a hand on your belly.
Bonus: after the baby if you ever have a clogged milk duct he absolutely never gets grossed out or hesitates to suck it out, soothing your breast with his hand to try to help ease the pain.
That’s his baby and his woman!!!! He does not play about y’all.
𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: How batboys boys +Bruce (at the end) would react to you surprising them with Mariachi on their birthday.
𝒜/𝒩: To my reader's who don't know the significance of mariachi in Mexican culture, sending someone a serenata (serenade) is seen as one of the purest forms of love, (depends on context tbh tho) I thought it was cute after seeing at a party so I decided to write my own version! Before anyone asks if this is disrespectful, I'd like to preface that I am Mexican-American, and thought I'd share my culture with my followers! Also cuz mexican rep bro ( ;´ - `;)
𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈: GN! Reader, fluff, Mexican! Reader, No use of Y/N, might be ooc
𝒟𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓎𝓈𝑜𝓃
It was the morning of Dick's birthday. He had just gotten out of the shower, his hair was wet and he was changing into freshly washed clothes when he heard it. He called out your name.
"Baby? Do you hear that?" he asked you softly.
"Yeah I do, hurry change and go look." You answered smiling.
He hurried up as fast as he could and by the time he got to see out the window and open it, he heard it. Las Mañanitas. He started tearing up when he heard the opening.
"You did this for me...?" He was full on sobbing by then.
"Of course I did. You deserve a declaration of love too, Mi Vida."
He gave you a deep kiss. "Thank you my love..." He leaned into you. While you smiled.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Safe to say, Dick enjoyed the serenade. You ended up recording him, and sent the video over to the batfam group chat. They all went crazy. Meanwhile at Wayne Manor, Bruce was smiling at his phone looking at the video, happy for his son.
𝒥𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝒯𝑜𝒹𝒹
At first Jason didn't want to go to this dinner. Let alone with his whole family it just made him cringe to an uncontrollable degree. But he rather reluctantly agreed to come.
What he didn't expect AT ALL was that a string of mariachi flooded to their table. They started playing for him. He immediately knew it was your doing. He turned to glance at you and smiled.
"You didn't have too..."
"I wanted too... You deserve something romantic Jay." You smiled at him.
Bruce smirked, he helped. Of course. Jason gave a small chuckle and pulled you in to a quick kiss. He heard Tim and Damian gag, Dick's camera shutter, Duke and Steph smirk at Cass as she took out her phone to take a picture.
Safe to say, his siblings whenever he did something during patrol used that as blackmail material. Worth it though.
𝒯𝒾𝓂 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝓀𝑒
For a man very prepared he sure didn't have anything to say about this one. You were very secretive for the past couple weeks nearing his birthday. Heard you mumbling to your phone as you quickly hung up the call when he got close to listening shot.
Until you shoved him outside to a small get together with his friends and family there, and when they were about to cut the cake, he heard it. The mariachi music playing Las Mañanitas. For him. He whipped his head to you.
"You're joking right? This is what you've been planning...?" He said surprised.
"What?" You looked at him innocently.
He got a bit mystified in the eyes a little.
"I love you so much. I just had to say it." Tim smiled at you. Mission successful.
𝒟𝓊𝓀𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓈
When he heard the music when he was getting ready for bed he was shocked. You said you had a surprise, he just didn't expect this. You were down stairs waiting for him in the garden of Wayne Manor.
You yelled out to him, "Happy Birthday!"
"Baby. You've out done yourself. Best birthday ever!" He said rushing downstairs to kiss your cheek. The bats smiled while looking over at their balconies. You told them before hand, and Steph and Cass made sure to record it.
He ended up posting it on his private instagram account saying, "Best Birthday. Thanks to my Gorgeous partner @[Insta user] ❤︎"
𝒟𝒶𝓂𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒
You two were surrounded by his family as he cut his birthday cake. You rushed out a while ago to which he found strange. You almost never did this unless you were plotting something.
He heard the music and the pit in his stomach settled into pure love. He saw you come out with a mic and start singing with the mariachi. He teared up.
You dedicated Hermoso Cariño to him. Of course he knew about serenades but he never thought he'd be a recipient of one, let alone his partner. He always thought he'd be the one to send you one.
You smiled at him after finishing, he grabbed you by the waist and kissed your cheek.
"Glad you liked it...!" You said giggling.
"Thank you, Beloved."
𝐵𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒
A quiet night at a restaurant you reserved for two. One away from the children, some where in the fancy part of Gotham above the city in a sky scraper looking down at all the buildings that looked like ants.
The lights blended in with the clouds that didn't seem to gloomy tonight. A private suite, one of those restaurants. You smiled and laughed over wine with Bruce.
"One thing more, My love." You smiled at him, waving a hand as the Mariachi came in.
"Surprise!" He looked happy when they came in. Bruce smirked at you kissing you gently.
"I thank whatever force brought us together. Thank you, Mi Amor." Your heart did a circus level flip.
Could you do some headcanons of Jason Todd X Dancer!Reader?? Maybe with her being his little crush before he died 😭🫶🏻
Anyway, thank youuu, i love your work!
a/n- YES YES YES I AM A DANCER I GET YOUUU.
Jason Todd Headcanons, Part 2 ⋆｡°✩
Summary: Jason Todd is a cleaner at the dance studio. Reader is a dancer.
FemDancer!Reader x Cleaner?Jason Todd
Warnings: Fluff, crack, mentions of feeling alone, losing weight
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆⭒˚｡
☆┇Jason worked at the dance studio as a janitor. He had only had the job for around two months, and had really only picked it up because Bruce wouldn’t stop nagging about how Jason “needed a civilian job.”
☆┇Jason often worked early mornings, coming to the studio straight after patrol. This schedule let him sleep during the afternoon, but it also let him see you. You often came to the studio at the crack of dawn and wouldn’t leave until nightfall.
☆┇Over the next month of working, Jason developed a friendship with you. He would listen to you complain about life while you danced, and you would listen to his own struggles during your water breaks. You both had a darker sense of humor and liked to joke with each other as well.
☆┇The friendship was a strong one by the third month of Jason cleaning the studio. Every time he watched you move, a strange fuzzy feeling would arise in his stomach. He just turned away and wiped the glass a little harder.
☆┇He started to pack protein bars and water in his bag after you almost passed out one day. You hadn’t taken a break at all that day, and had been pushing yourself harder than usual, all while trying to cut some weight. You could hardly mumble out his name while he cleaned the glass in front of you before you tumbled over, gripping the bar. He quickly turned around, catching you before you fell fully to the floor. “Woah there, y/n,” he had murmured, blowing cool air onto your face. He carried you over to the bench outside of the studio space, sitting with you until you felt better. You confessed that the extra push today was due to the fact that you had been feeling pretty alone lately. He ended up giving you his number.
☆┇One day, he came to work after a particularly rough patrol. He didn’t have time to clean himself up, but he couldn’t skip work. You didn’t bat an eye. You just gently helped him wash his wounds, and even offered ice for his bruises.
☆┇You both shared your first kiss in the studio space, before dancing hours were even allowed. You had been attempting to teach him how to slow dance. The moment had just wrapped around the two of you, and…you just kissed. It was soft. Sweet. Simple. You giggled immediately after, and then blushed out of embarrassment and hid your face in his shoulder.
Content warnings & tags: hurt/no comfort, literally just misery I’m so sorry please consider yourself warned, Jason is extremely traumatised and needs a hug and lowkey so does reader, canon typical violence I guess??, no use of y/n for reader insert, I'm pretty sure it's gender neutral (no physical descriptions of reader though they do wear Jason's shirt at one point and are implied to be shorter than him, but the dude's super tall okay so anyone is probably shorter than him)
Word count: approx 2.3k
a/n: I apologise up front for this!! I hurt my own feelings writing it. Listen to the cure by Olivia Rodrigo while reading to inflict maximum pain upon yourself (I did this while writing, hence the title, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover lmao)
Read on ao3
Jason was tired.
Not in the ‘it’s been a long week and I need to rest’ way or the ‘I only got a couple of hours of sleep yesterday and if I shut my eyes right now I’d pass out standing upright’ way, though both of those things were true.
No, this was the type of exhaustion that started somewhere deep inside your soul and bled into every other part of you. The kind of fatigue that makes you want to curl into a ball and fall asleep forever, and would persist even beyond that. Jason knew only too well that in fact it did carry on no matter how long you fade away for. After all, he’d taken quite the lengthy nap in a wooden box six feet deep, and as soon as he came back the weariness had come right along with him.
He honestly couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t felt this way. People always say that Gotham has teeth, but no one knew the truth of that better than Jason. He’d been shown the razor sharp incisors when he was too young to even understand what they were, being chewed up and spat out unceremoniously more times than he could count.
Meeting Batman, being taken into what should have been a loving home, becoming Robin, had all felt like finally somebody had muzzled the jaw that had been taking bites out of Jason his entire life. Then came the horrible realisation once again that nothing good can ever last, that he would never be good enough for anybody, even a father who had chosen him. The only certainties in Jason’s short life had been pain, loss, and betrayal; a trifecta that had been reinforced by Joker’s crowbar and a warehouse explosion followed by a dirt nap at just 15 years old.
Jason tried his hardest not to dwell on the tragedy that had been his first life. In fact, he tried his best not to think about it at all. It had been years now since he’d crawled his way out of the ground, since he’d become Red Hood.
He was still caught in the grip of Gotham’s teeth, but these days he was like a piece of gum kept in too long; no longer malleable. Time had toughened him right through to his core, and when the teeth clamped down now, Jason would just spring back.
His second life had finally levelled out into something far less dramatic than the first ever had been. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, he wasn’t arguing with Bruce nearly as much (mainly because he made a concerted effort to avoid the older man whenever possible, but still), and he’d even managed to build a relationship with his pseudo-siblings that almost resembled the bond shared by real brothers.
And most of that, of course, was thanks to you.
Jason had found you in a dark alley two years before, hands covered in blood that wasn’t your own, examining the ruined strap of your backpack that some would-be mugger had cut off your shoulder and tried to get away with. Jason, in full Red Hood gear at the time, had followed the screams and ended up standing before you.
“Bit late there Hood, I already got it handled.” You’d smirked at him as you fished a rag out from the side pocket of the bag and wiped the blood from your knuckles. Jason’s heart had done a funny little skip at the sight.
“I can see that,” even through the helmet’s modulator, Jason hadn’t been able to keep the laughter from his tone, “let me walk you home safe at least?”
You had bent over to take a quick look at the passed out mugger’s very clearly broken nose, and nudged him with the toe of your boot. You’d shrugged at him as you carried on walking down the alley, the one remaining strap of your bag slung over your shoulder. Jason had taken that as his cue to follow.
In the weeks after that, through ‘chance meetings’, walking through darkened alleys alongside you, and just straight up appearing on your fire escape on multiple occasions, the pair of you formed an unlikely friendship. He discovered that you yourself were all too familiar with the inside of Gotham’s gaping maw, though you hadn’t let yourself end up quite so scarred as he had. By the time he showed up at your door with his helmet off and a stab wound in his side several months later, begging you to patch him up, it felt like you already knew everything important there was to know about one another.
It had been all too easy for Jason to fall in love with you, but harder to admit that to himself, and harder still to gain your trust. Growing up in the city had roughened your edges. You had added spikes around your heart along the way. Walls and barriers to keep people out. To keep you safe. Keep you alive. And Jason’s defences matched your own.
What’s the saying - ‘hurt people, hurt people’? That couldn’t have been any more true for you and Jason both. Any time one of you made some headway, let down a barrier a little, dismantled a wall brick by brick, the other would build another one back up just as fast. Your friendship was tumultuous, neither of you wanting to put a name to what you were to one another. You spent just as much time fighting with another as you did laughing.
It had come to a head one night in the same alley where you had first met. You were in yet another argument, this time because you had gone to the corner store on your own after dark. He had told you a hundred times to call him if you wanted to leave the house at night, not to go out alone. You never listened.
“God, why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” You’d screamed at him, clutching the paper bag of groceries to your chest. “Why do you care what happens to me anyway? You know I can take care of myself perfectly well without you.”
The panic that he felt every time you willingly put yourself in danger was uncontrollable. It clawed wildly at the inside of his throat, forming words he hadn’t thought all the way through before they spilled out.
“Why do I care?” He had scoffed, “Because I’m in love with you, you fuckin’ dumbass, that’s why!” The words hit their mark, dismantling the very last defence you had against him. A soft noise slipped from deep in your chest on a breath. Jason’s eyes were clenched shut, jaw tight, so he missed the final wall falling down. Missed you stepping softly across the distance between you both, setting the bag of groceries to one side. He had disappeared so far inside his own head, frozen by own confession, that he almost missed it when your hand stretched out and gently brushed across his jaw. When his eyes snapped open at the sensation, they were met with yours right in front of him, wide and filled with shock.
“You love me?” Your voice had been hushed, your breath warm as it fanned across his face. You had patched him up more times than he could count, had been this close to him on nearly a nightly basis for months now. It always made his heart race, his palms go clammy, but this was different. Your thumb had come to rest right below his lower lip, almost touching it, but not quite.
“I mean, yeah. I figured that was obvious by the way I follow you around like a sad lost puppy all the time,” Jason laughed gently, but his face grew serious, “I know you don’t feel the same way though, you don’t gotta say it back. I like things the way they are now.” You were watching his walls rebuild themselves in real time. You didn’t want that to happen.
Words didn’t come easily to you, but they weren’t needed to show him you felt the same way. Without hesitation, you stretched up to press your lips against his own. Not gently, you poured every last bit of emotion you had into the kiss, determined that he would be left with no doubt at all about exactly how you felt about him. A strangled groan had escaped his throat as he pulled you close, his lips moving against yours hard enough to bruise.
Things had gotten better for Jason after that. Of course, you still fought. Being in love seemed to soften some of the sharper edges, but not all of them. Frequently one of you would cut the other by accident, words slicing yet more scars into one another's hearts. But even still, things were better than they had been before.
For a long while, the permanent exhaustion Jason felt like it faded into background noise. Never gone, but lighter; easier to ignore with you pressed into his side. It felt like he had finally found the answer. You could heal one another, slowly but surely. Everything would work out. He could be happy.
You encouraged him to fix things with Bruce, with Dick and Tim and Damian. He started taking better care of himself, because you worried when he didn't. For a while, sleeping with the warm weight of you beside him even stopped the nightmares that had plagued him since his dip in the Lazarus pit.
Eventually though, as it had with every good thing in Jason's life, the cracks started to appear. The arguments got more frequent. Watching you flinch as his words cut too deep began to bring him physical pain. The nightmares crept back in, slowly but surely, and no matter how much you soothed and comforted him they didn't leave again.
By the time you had been together for almost two years Jason woke screaming nearly every night again. The realisation that you no longer felt safe, like home, threatened to crush him. He still loved you, he was sure he always would. But it wasn't enough anymore.
The tiredness seeped back in slowly but surely, like the tide inching back to the shore. Jason felt its weight heavier than he ever had before. It was oh so familiar, but the muscle he’d used to hold that weight for his entire life had grown stiff from disuse, and carrying it hurt. He was just so, so tired.
It would have been poetic if things had finally fallen apart in the same alley where you'd met, where he'd told you he loved you that first time. But it didn't. It happened slowly, piece by piece. Jason wasn't good at letting go of broken things, and neither were you.
So, you both held on far longer than you should have. And in the end, it wasn't even an explosive argument that brought things to an end. No one cheated. There was nothing huge that screamed out that things needed to be over between you. Just that heavy knowledge that things didn't feel right anymore, growing more certain by the day.
Until one night, after patrol, Jason just didn't come home.
The weight of everything that was wrong was too much to carry. He just had to put it down before it broke him. And honestly, you felt the same way. You didn’t even question it when you woke up that morning to find the bed cold and undisturbed on his side. Didn’t think much of it when he still wasn’t back when you got home from work. Jason texted you while you were making dinner to say that he was going to stay in Blüdhaven with Dick for a while, that he needed some space, and you shrugged it off.
It was only when you were getting ready for bed, pulling one of Jason’s too-big shirts on, that you caught a lingering hint of his scent. The warm leather and spice, faded cigarette smoke and rain, the undertone that was just Jason. The smell that had been your comfort, your home, for two years.
It hit you like a freight train. The grief had been drip feeding its way through you for months as it dawned that your relationship was doomed. It still hadn’t prepared you for this moment, for the realisation that this was it. That you and Jason weren’t going to make it. That no matter how much you had tried to fix one another, to love one another hard enough that it could plug the holes left behind by all the hurt you’d each suffered, it wasn’t going to be enough.
You were more alone than you had ever been before, the silence of your shared apartment pressing in on you like a weight. Suffocating you. Your breaths came short and gasping as you pressed your face into Jason’s pillow, searching for more of the smell that could fool your fragile heart into thinking he wasn’t gone. He should be here right now. He should be getting ready for patrol while you make yourself comfy in bed. He would never leave for the night without pressing a kiss to your forehead, the warm pressure of his lips wrapping you in a cocoon of his love, safe and warm until he came back home to you.
Not tonight. As you cry into his pillow until the fabric is soaked through and your eyes burn, you just feel lonely and cold.
And so very tired.
a/n: If you read this thank you so much because based on the tags alone this is exactly the kind of fic I avoid reading because everything about breakups makes me feel sick to my stomach 😭 I do have happy, fluffy stuff for Jason in the works but everything I write seems to spiral from a one shot into a series and is taking me forever to write. In the meantime, this ate away at my brain until I wrote it. I didn’t know it was going to be so sad until halfway through writing, but by then it was too late :’) </3 Sorry that the ending isn’t great, it was making me too sad to write any longer 😭😭I might write a part 2 for this eventually if anyone wants one, because in my head Jason and reader could still work it out and be okay, but that could just be wishful thinking on my part lmao
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 2
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, smut nsfw mdni
word count: 12k+ (holy shit i'm sorry lmao)
(a/n: ahhh thank yall so much for waiting. i've been working so hard on this one. and honestly i feel like it's my weakest, but i'm proud of this little story. i really hope you enjoy it. also totally forgot last time i was going to explain the title lol. it's a line from the song Death & Romance by Magdalena Bay. A banger and I thought about Jack whilst listening to it, so naturally I wrote an almost 15k fic. so it goes. anywhoooo thank yall again. i hope you like it. plz let me know. )
part 1
Jack decided the universe was run by an absolute sadist.
When he’d left years ago, you had been just a girl he couldn’t save. No matter how much he had wanted to. Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. You had looked at him like he held the keys to the kingdom, completely oblivious to the fact that he was barely holding his own life together.
I’m going to marry you.
He hadn't corrected you back then. Not explicitly. He’d just gently steered you away from the edge of that particular cliff.
Driving home that night, he had tucked your confession away in the darkest drawer of his mind as an impossible fiction.
But the person standing across from him now was entirely different.
And, frustratingly, exactly the same.
Adolescence had turned into something elegant, but the defensive way you crossed your arms over your chest and the stubborn tilt of your chin was identical to when you were nineteen.
The familiarity hit him in the chest. Nostalgia making a wave over him. He’d cry right now if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated.
His eyes tracked your hand as you reached for your glass and that's when the light caught it.
Everything inside him ground to a halt.
Slowly, he pointed the drink and the hand that held it toward your hand. "What's that?"
The color drained from your face so fast it made his stomach drop. You pulled your hand back, tucking it close to your body. "Oh. I'm getting married."
Well, fuck.
Jack made sure to keep his features normal. Even though some part of himself (stupid and utterly selfish as it is) feels like something has just been taken away from him.
He just let out a breath, an only slightly tortured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Thought that slot was reserved for me."
You tore your gaze away, looking at anything but his face as heat crept up your neck.
He didn't look away. He couldn't. He just stared, tracing the line of your face, waiting out the silence until you finally forced yourself to look back. "Yeah, well." you muttered, your voice tight. "That's the kind of shit you say when you're nineteen and stupid."
"Stupid?" Jack countered, leaning an inch closer. "You wound me."
"Oh, don't act like you actually believed me back then."
He tilted his head, locking his eyes onto yours. "Well..you are here at this bar with me right now. After years of never seeing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the universe is incapable of keeping us apart."
Instead of answering, you flagged down the bartender, your knuckles rapping against the sticky wood of the counter as you ordered another drink, completely shutting him out.
Jack watched you take a sip.
He needed to stop. He needed to be the adult in the room, to play the role of the supportive, well meaning ghost from your past.
"So," he said smoothly, "who's the lucky guy?"
The name David slipped past your lips, followed by a laundry list of details. His job, how you met, the stable life you’d built. Jack nodded in all the right places, but truth be told, he wasn't processing a single syllable.
Fuck that guy.
Fuck David and his immaculate timing. Fuck David for being the one who got to see you grow into this version of yourself, and fuck David for having the absolute privilege of taking care of you.
But as he watched the animated way your expression softened when you spoke, a bitter ache settled deep in Jack’s stomach.
By the time the bartender did last call, the room had thinned out to a handful of stragglers.
You stood up, sliding your purse over your shoulder and Jack was up a second later, tossing a stack of crumpled bills onto the counter without looking at them. "It's late. I’m walking you home."
You blinked up at him, shifting your weight. "Jack, I'm fine. I live right around the block. It’s a four minute walk."
He didn't say anything back. He just snagged his jacket, throwing it over one shoulder with a lazy shake of his head. "Don't fight me on this, sweetheart."
The walk was quiet at first, the pavement damp from an earlier rain, but Jack had never been excellent at staying quiet around you. He kept his pace slow, matching yours perfectly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Your shoulders brushed with every third step.
Gradually, the conversation slipped back into its old rhythm, as if the lost years never existed. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a fleeting moment, he felt completely unmoored.
God, you were sharp. You were quick, funny, delivering lines with this effortless charm that made him want to pull you into the nearest shadowed doorway and never let you go.
Before he could entirely lose his mind, you stopped in front of a brick building with a heavy iron awning. "This is me." you said, turning to face him on the steps.
Jack braced his weight on one foot, looking up at you. The easy bravado finally dropped from his shoulders, replaced by something more exposed. "Can I have your number?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, now who was the one acting like a nervous teenager? "I, uh..I texted your old one a few times. Over the years. But I think you had it changed."
Your expression softened, a flicker of something complicated crossing your eyes. "Yeah, I changed it once I got to college. So my dad couldn't reach me."
The mention of your father made Jack’s jaw tighten, a protective anger flaring in his chest. He just nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.
...
Against your better judgment, you took it. Your fingers brushed his with a brief shock of heat, as you typed in your new digits and handed it back.
"There." you whispered. "Goodbye, Jack."
You turned, key already in hand, reaching for the glass door of your building. You took one step into the warm lobby, but you turned back, looking through the open doorway at him.
He hadn't moved an inch.
He was still standing exactly where you left him.
"I missed seeing you, Jack." you said, the confession slipping out before you could think better of it.
And before he could answer, before you could see exactly what those words did to him, you turned and walked inside, letting the door click shut between you.
…
"There was nothing wrong with any of them." you said, stepping onto the sidewalk as the boutique door clicked shut. You stared blankly at a crack in the pavement. "They were beautiful dresses, Meg. They just didn’t feel right."
Meg sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started down the block. "You’re just overwhelmed. Wedding dress shopping is less about the fabric and more about the reality of the fact that you're actually doing this. It's a lot to process." She checked her watch, her face twisting into a grimace. "Crap. Speaking of reality, I have to run. If I don't meet the florist in fifteen minutes, she's going to take several liberties that I definitely will not approve of.”
"Go, go." you urged, waving her off with a weak smile. "I'll be fine."
"Are you going straight home? Do you want me to call you later?"
"No, don't worry about it." you said, gesturing toward the diner across the street. "I think I'm just going to go sit in a corner, get a slice of pie, and read my book for a bit. Decompress."
"Good. Unplug your brain." Meg said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before jogging toward the subway.
The diner was louder than usual, packed with the early dinner rush escaping the incoming rain. The bell above the door chimed as you walked inside, and a quick scan confirmed your worst nightmare. Every single private booth was taken. The long counter was packed shoulder to shoulder.
The only available spot in the entire place was a tiny two person table near the back window, and it was currently occupied by a very large man with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His head was turned toward the window, watching the starting drops of rain streak against the glass.
Curls.
Familiar curls, is all you saw first. And you should be embarrassed how much your body reacts to them. Even after all these years, he’s got your heart beating into your throat. The only thing that has changed is that he grew out of the red and exchanged it for grey.
To your disastrous conclusion, it only made him more handsome. More something. Magnetic? Maybe, but you’d always been drawn to Jack.
You should turn around. You should walk back out into the rain, go to your apartment, and eat whatever stale crackers were left in your pantry. Seeing him once at a bar was a fluke. Seeing him twice felt dangerous.
But your feet didn't move toward the door. Instead, driven by that same pull, you navigated the tight maze of tables until you were standing right at the edge of his space.
"Hey." you said softly.
Jack’s head turned immediately. The distant, checked out expression on his face instantly vanished, his eyes expanding as they locked onto yours. He took you in all at once. Your windblown hair, the slight line of stress between your eyebrows, the book clutched tightly against your chest.
A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely intense. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his chin toward the empty seat across from him.
You swallowed the ridiculous spike of nerves in your throat, sliding into the chair.
Jack caught the eye of a passing waitress and raised two fingers. He looked back at you, eyes tracking the way you clutched your book like a shield. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.
You had spent the last twenty minutes dreaming about a thick slice of cherry pie, but suddenly, the thought of him buying it for you made your stomach do things you didn’t like. It felt too intimate. It felt wrong, like you were allowing him to fill a need he no longer had the right to.
"Oh, I'm just reading." you lied smoothly, offering a dismissive wave. "No food."
He didn't say a word, but he leveled a look at you. His eyebrows pulling down just a fraction in that knowing way he used to when he caught you in a bluff. An ache of longing bloomed in your chest. You had missed the way he had looked at you.
You missed when someone knew you so completely that you didn’t even have to say a word.
"Really?" Jack murmured, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So was cherry pie just a phase, or is that still happening?"
A smile broke across your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping their defensive posture. Jack caught the change instantly. "We'll take a slice of the cherry. Two forks. And a black coffee."
When it arrived, you didn't fight him on it. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the table. The only sound was the clinking of forks against the ceramic plate as you shared the slice, both of you staring out at the rain turning the streetlights blurry.
It was nice.
It was terrifyingly easy.
"So," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he pushed the last bite of crust toward your side of the plate. "What did you do today?"
The lingering warmth from the pie evaporated, replaced by white satin and tulle. You let out a defeated sigh, leaning your chin into your hand. "Wedding dress shopping." you admitted, your voice miserable. "With Meg. It went horribly."
You expected a retort. Or for him to make a joke about you looking like a cloud or to tease you about being difficult. But when you didn't hear a reply, you looked up.
Jack wasn't smiling. He was watching you, his eyes focused on the sadness radiating from you. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." he said softly.
Your eyes screwed shut instantly, a shock running straight down your spine at the cadence of his voice. You forced them open, aggressively pointing your pie covered fork directly at his chest. "Don't call me that."
That smirk slowly worked its way back onto his face as he watched your cheeks flood with color. "Why?" he challenged, leaning an inch closer. "You like it too much?"
You tore your gaze away from him, turning your head toward the window and grumbling something under your breath just to avoid the smug, insufferable certainty in his eyes.
Then your phone buzzed against the table. “Oh, I have to take this. I'm sorry."
…
Inside, Jack was working double overtime just to keep his features flat. His jaw clenched so hard his molars ached.
God, he needed to see his therapist.
This was stupid. It was childish. It was entirely unhinged for him to feel this surge of possessiveness over a woman who wasn't even his. He had no claim over you. None at all. He was the one who had walked away eleven years ago.
But logic didn't do a damn thing to stop the way his chest constricted when you brought the phone to your ear.
Then came the blow, delivered in the sweetest tone. "Okay. Love you too."
Jack bristled. The words hit him with white hot jealousy.
You hung up, sliding the phone back into your pocket with an apologetic sigh. "Gotta go. David needs some help with something at the apartment."
You stood up, immediately reaching for your purse and unzipping it to hunt for cash. "Let me just grab some money for the pie."
Jack reached across the small distance, his hand came down over yours, his fingers completely covering your knuckles and pinning your hand to the fabric of your purse, stopping you instantly.
He would think about it later. Hours from now, lying awake in his bed, he would analyze the exact feel of your skin, the way his palm seemed to memorize the curve of your knuckles, and the buzzing that went straight up his forearm.
But right now, he just needed to keep you from drawing another boundary between you.
"Don't even think about it." Jack said, leaving no room for debate. He didn't let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."
You blinked down at his hand, then up at his face. You couldn't help the little smile that broke across your lips. "Oh, I see. Got that doctor money now and suddenly you're a big deal, huh?"
Jack laughed, his fingers reluctantly sliding off yours as he leaned back into his chair. "Are you kidding? I've always been a big deal."
You snorted, and to Jack, it was easily the best thing he had ever heard in his life. It was a sound he wanted to bottle up and keep. "Bye, Jack." you said softly, your smile lingering.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, standing by his seat. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out. Your hand closed briefly over his shoulder, a firm squeeze that pressed through the fabric of his shirt.
Then you turned and walked away.
He sat completely frozen, slowly bringing his left hand up to press over the exact spot on his shoulder where your fingers had just been, trying to trap the lingering warmth against his skin.
…
It had been a week since you sat across from Jack in that diner, and your brain had spent the last several days thinking of absolutely nothing else.
Even now, with the late evening sun filtering through the trees of the park near your apartment, you were miles away. You were walking hand in hand with David. The gravel of the path was crunching beneath your sneakers, and his voice was steady beside you.
You weren't listening to a single syllable.
Instead, your mind was drifting back to a particular night a lifetime ago. You remembered the feeling when Jack had pulled his truck up to your house, the shouting of your dad’s latest explosive fit still echoing through the thin walls behind you.
Jack had taken one look at your face, grabbed your wrist, and thrown you into his passenger seat.
He’d driven straight to the nearest Olive Garden and the two of you had proceeded to eat an ungodly amount of breadsticks.
Looking back, you had probably been falling in love with Jack Abbot since the very first moment he’d ever shown up at your house, but watching him sit across from you under those tacky restaurant lights, making terrible faces just to make you forget the dark world you lived in, that was the exact moment your heart had stubbornly decided it wanted him.
But you had David now. Safe, stable, predictable David. Whose hand was currently wrapped around yours. He stopped walking, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey. Did you hear me?"
You blinked, the memory dissipating as you forced yourself back into the present. "Hmm? No, sorry. I got completely lost in thought. What did you say?"
David didn't get annoyed. He just let out a patient laugh and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I was asking about our first dance song. I was thinking about it on the drive over. What do you think about Kiss Me?"
You couldn’t stop it then. Another memory slotting its way into your mind. You sitting shotgun flying down winding back roads with the windows cracked wide open. The radio blasting that exact song, the wind whipping your hair across your face while you and Jack screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, completely off key.
"Maybe." you forced out, the word catching uncomfortably in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression from cracking.
"Ah, that's okay." David said smoothly, entirely oblivious. "Don't stress. I'll make a running list of options tonight and we can go through them later..oh, shit!"
David’s foot caught on a deep lip of concrete where the park path intersected with a dirt trail. His ankle rolled inward with a crack. He pitched forward, his grip ripping away from your hand as he went down hard on his side in the grass.
"David!" You dropped to your knees beside him instantly. "Are you okay?"
He was pale, his jaw clenched tight as he clutched at his left leg, a groan escaping his teeth. "My ankle." he gasped out, his forehead breaking into a sweat. "I think I just broke the damn thing."
…
You hadn't thought anything of the location when the driver pulled up to the emergency room. It was simply the closest trauma center. Your only focus had been helping David limp through triage until they finally rolled him back into an exam room.
David was lying on the gurney, his face tight with pain as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor on staff to see him. You stood by the edge of the bed, your hand holding his.
"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here." The fabric of the curtain was pulled back and your eyes flew upward. Standing in the entryway, a chart clutched in his hand and a stethoscope slung casually over his shoulders, was Jack.
Of course.
Jack’s eyes were locked onto the chart as he stepped into the room, his pen clicking once, and then he stopped. He raised his head and his gaze swept over the gurney, over David, and landed right on you.
"Sorry." David panted from the gurney, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He forced a strained smile. "Didn't mean to crowd your ER today, Doc. I think I completely destroyed my ankle on a rogue piece of park pavement."
"Let's take a look." Jack said. His voice was lower than usual. You could feel it rattle all the way down to your toes. He deliberately kept his eyes on David as he rolled a stool over, snapping on a pair of gloves.
As he knelt by the foot of the bed, his shoulder brushed right against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, but it sent a jolt straight up your spine. "So,” Jack said, his large fingers gently probing the swollen, purple bruising on David’s ankle. "How exactly did it happen? Lose your footing?"
"Yeah." David groaned, flinching slightly as Jack manipulated the joint. "I was totally distracted. We were just walking, talking about our wedding, and I didn't see the drop off."
Jack’s hands stayed perfectly still on David’s leg, but slowly, his head tilted up. His eyes locked dead onto yours, carrying a challenging spark that trapped your breath in your throat.
"Right." Jack said softly, his mouth curving into an almost smirk that was entirely meant for you. "Distractions will get you. Sometimes you think you're on solid ground, and then the universe completely shifts right out from under you. Isn't that right?"
You gripped the strap of your purse so hard your fingers turned numb. "I...yeah. I guess so."
David let out a painful laugh, completely oblivious to the suffocating layers of subtext heavy in the room. "Man, you can say that again. One minute you're picking out a first dance song, the next you're in a gown."
"A first dance song?" Jack repeated. He stood up, ripping off the gloves, his gaze still pinned to your face. He stepped closer, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. "What was the contender?"
"Oh, I was thinking Kiss Me." David called out from the pillow, letting his head fall back with a tired sigh. "You know that old nineties track? I think it's romantic. y/n was a little unsure, though."
A wicked gleam flashed in Jack’s eyes. A look of insufferable amusement mapping itself across his handsome face. He knew exactly what that song meant to you. "Unsure? That’s surprising. Not a big fan of long drives and loud music?"
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, glaring at him in a stare. "It’s a bit cliché." you managed to squeeze out, your voice tight.
Jack’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to David, his professional demeanor slotting back into place like it was nothing. "Well, David, the good news is I don't think it's a fracture, but the bad news is we definitely need X-rays to check for a hairline break or ligament tears. I'm going to order them and have the tech come grab you."
"Awesome. Thank you, seriously." David said. He looked up at Jack like the man had just personally parted the sea. "Man, honey aren't we lucky? This guy is fantastic. I gotta say, Doc, your bedside manner is incredible. Super attentive."
Jack laughed and stepped back toward the door and gave a polite nod. "Don't mention it." Just before he left, he cut his eyes back to you, leveling you with one last look. "I always make sure to take extra special care of things that are important."
…
You kept running into Jack.
Not on purpose, but for a few weeks after that night at the diner, the universe just seemed entirely incapable of keeping you separate.
You were roaming through your favorite bookstore, losing yourself in the new releases, when you turned a corner into the biography aisle.
He was leaning against the wood paneling, casually flipping through a massive hardcover on the French Revolution. Typical, honestly. It made you want to roll your eyes, but before you could look away, he raised his head.
Did you proceed to sit at the tiny coffee shop inside the bookstore and talk for two straight hours? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
Then there was the afternoon you got caught in a downpour. You stood on the sidewalk, cursing under your breath as you shoved at your umbrella, which yeah was completely broken.
A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, the passenger window sliding down smoothly. Jack leaned across the console, eyeing the way the rain was already plastering your hair to your forehead.
“Get in.” he called out over the thunder.
When you started to refuse, shaking your head and gesturing toward the short walk home, Jack didn’t argue. He just killed the engine, threw his door open, and stepped straight out into the rain.
He just reached out, his hand wrapping gently around your elbow, and guided you toward his passenger side. He practically hovered over you, using his own body to protect you from the worst of the sheets of water while he got absolutely, completely soaked.
Did you sit up until three that night thinking about the way his hair looked all messy and plastered to his forehead? Did you think about the way his shirt had been completely soaked through, clinging to his shoulders? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
All of this was pure coincidence. A series of flukes. Not on purpose at all.
Until it wasn't.
…
David was away at a work conference in Boston. You were pulling books off your overflowing bookshelves, doing some late night reorganizing, when the banging on the front door started.
It was pounding that rattled the wood in its frame and sent panic right through you.
"I know you're in there, baby girl! Getting married without telling your old man!!"
The words through the door were slurred, thick with alcohol and malice. You froze on the spot, a book slipping from your numb fingers. How had he found you?
You frantically dialed David’s number, your hands shaking so much you almost dropped the phone. When he finally answered, you poured out the words in a breathless rush, begging him to come home, begging him to fix it.
But David was three hundred miles away, and he simply didn't realize the severity of the situation. He didn’t know the history, not all of it, so he didn’t know the monster on the other side of that door.
"Call the police." David said through the line, his voice calm and practical. "I can't leave right now."
He meant well. He really did. He just didn't know.
You hung up, the slurred shouting outside your door growing louder, followed by another heavy kick against the door.
Without thinking, you dialed Jack and he answered on the very first ring.
"My dad's here." you whispered. You didn't even say hello. Your voice fractured on the last word, and you were sure Jack could hear the muffled yelling through the background.
It took Jack no time to speak. "Stay right there. I'm coming."
David had retreated when you most needed him, hiding behind work responsibilities and distance. But Jack Abbot?
He would walk right into the fire.
…
Jack broke every speed limit getting there. He took the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding against the concrete, and when he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw him.
Your father was swaying on his feet, one fist raised against your door, his knuckles already split and bleeding from the force of his own pounding. The smell of cheap whiskey hit Jack before he even got close.
"Hey!" Jack's voice cracked down the hallway. "Get away from that door."
Your father turned, bleary eyes struggling to focus. He blinked hard, swaying backward on unsteady feet as he took in the man closing the distance between them. "Who the hell are you?" he slurred, his words mashing together at the edges.
Jack stopped a few feet away, close enough to block him from the door, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. There had been a time this man had known his face well. A time Jack had sat at his kitchen table, had shaken his hand, had been introduced as his friend from AA.
None of it registered. Not a flicker of recognition. Just glassy, unfocused eyes trying to place a stranger.
"Doesn't matter who I am." Jack said evenly, though his pulse was pounding in his ears. "You need to leave. Now."
Your father squinted at him a moment longer, some drunken calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing whether this stranger was worth the fight. Whatever he decided, it wasn't in Jack's favor to test. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, waved a dismissive hand through the air, and turned, stumbling back down the hallway toward the stairwell and the door banged shut behind him.
Jack stood there another few seconds, listening until the sound of uneven footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, some of the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He turned and knocked twice, soft. "It's me."
The door opened and Jack’s heart twisted. You were pale, your hand trembling on the frame, eyes glassy with barely held tears.
Jack stepped inside without a word.
You shut the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home and the second you turned around, whatever was holding you together gave out completely. You crossed the small distance and folded into him, your face pressing into his chest, your fists curling into the fabric of his shirt. A sob broke loose, shaking through your whole body.
Jack's arms came around you immediately, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together at the seams. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
You just shook against him, gripping tighter. "He's gone." Jack said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "He's not coming back. I promise you that."
"I was so scared." you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest.
"I know." His hand moved in steady circles against your back. "I know, baby. But you're safe. You hear me? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."
…
You didn't know how you'd ended up like this. Flat on your back on the couch, feet in Jack's lap, his hand wrapped loose around your ankle, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone there. His other hand rested just below your knee, warm, doing absolutely nothing except being there.
Somewhere in the deep, buried recesses of your mind, nineteen year old you was losing it.
Screaming, actually.
He hadn't said much. Just steered you gently toward the couch, dropped down at the end of it, and flipped on your favorite show without asking if that's what you wanted. You let the noise of it wash over you, let your heart rate go back down out of your throat, and for a while, neither of you said anything at all.
"I don't know how he found me." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "We're 3 hours from where he lives."
Jack turned his head to look at you, his hand stilling against your ankle.
"I honestly thought he was dead." You sat up then, pulling your feet out of his lap, curling your knees against your chest instead, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
"A neighbor called a few years ago. Said he'd been evicted from the house. The city shut it down because he let it get too run down." You sighed, staring at the carpet. "And so I just thought to myself, that's it. I have to let him go now. For real. And it was over for me then. Even if he's still alive somewhere."
Jack was quiet for a moment, just watching you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive him." he said finally. "That's not something to feel guilty about. You were trying to keep your head above water with somebody who should've been protecting you instead of drowning you." He shifted closer, his knee brushed yours. "Letting go of him wasn't you giving up. It was you finally choosing yourself. That takes more strength than most people ever have to find."
You didn't say anything, just picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.
"You're doing so well." he continued, quieter now. "Look at you. You built a whole life he doesn't get to touch. And tonight, when it got hard, you didn't fall apart. You're still standing." His mouth curved, just barely. "You're gonna be okay. I mean that."
You didn't fully believe it. Not yet. But something about the way he said it, like it was fact and not comfort, made it easier to breathe.
Before you could stop yourself, you sat up and threw your arms around him.
Jack didn't hesitate. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tight against his chest. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in, deep, the way you used to when you were younger.
You'd thought you hid it well back then. Some guilty part of you had always known he'd caught on anyway.
When you pulled back, you just stared at him.
For one long moment, the apartment, the show still playing, your father somewhere out there in the dark, none of it existed. There was just his face close to yours.
You cleared your throat and looked away first, scooting back to the opposite end of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.
…
You didn't remember falling asleep.
You did vaguely register the sound of the television clicking off. You felt strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you and cradling you against a solid chest as he carried you down the hall. He laid you down in your bed and pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. You reached out before he could straighten, catching his hand. "Please don't go." Your voice was thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."
Jack went still, but then his fingers curled around yours, and he crouched down beside the bed so you didn't have to strain to see him. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
…
Jack was up before you.
He'd wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed, pull you against his chest, and hold you until the sun came up. But he wasn't that guy. Not with you asleep and vulnerable and still shaking from the night before. So he'd taken the couch instead, folding his tall frame onto cushions clearly built for someone half his size, and told himself it was fine.
Your coffee machine looked like it belonged on the bridge of a spaceship. Jack stood in front of it at six in the morning, squinting at a control panel with more buttons than his car dashboard, trying to figure out which one didn't require a PhD to operate.
That's when he heard the key turn in the lock. David stepped through the door, travel bag still slung over one shoulder, and rounded the corner into the kitchen before he saw Jack standing there. He let out a yelp, jerking backward, one hand flying to his chest. "Fuck!"
He squinted, still catching his breath, confusion slowly replacing the alarm on his face. "Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"
Jack had a few answers loaded and ready.
Oh I don’t know, taking care of your fiancee.
Doing your job for you.
Petty, satisfying, and exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't say out loud to the man about to marry you.
"David?" Your voice came from the hallway. You crossed the room fast, wrapping your arms around him, and Jack watched David's shoulders sag with relief as he held you. "Thank god you're here." you said into his shoulder.
Jack kept his face carefully blank, ignoring the way that sentence sliced through him.
"I know, I'm sorry. I left as soon as I could." David pulled back, and you both turned to look at Jack, still standing there with an untouched mug in his hand.
"Oh! Right, David. This is Jack." you said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you when we were at the hospital, but we've known each other a long time. He was friends with my dad briefly. He got him to leave last night."
And held her while she cried and shook until she fell asleep, Jack thought.
David's whole face opened up. "Oh, wow. Small world!" He crossed the kitchen, hand extended. "Thank you, man. Seriously."
Jack took the handshake, grip firm, and let it go. "Don't mention it."
You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Jack figured that was his cue. He set the mug down and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch.
But before he headed for the door, he stopped, and let some of the easy charm drop out of his voice. "Hey. David." He waited until he had the guy's full attention. "Last night, her father was pounding on that door drunk enough to put his fist through it."
David's expression faltered.
"I get that you didn't know the whole situation." Jack tried his best to keep his tone civil. To not let the way his blood was boiling come through. "But you need to understand what you're marrying into. That man is dangerous, and he's not going to stop just because he struck out once. If he shows up again, you don't wait it out on the phone. You call me first, because I know exactly what he looks like and what he's capable of. Then you call the police. And then you get home as fast as humanly possible. She should never be alone behind that door with him on the other side of it again."
David swallowed, nodding slowly, all the earlier warmth gone out of his face, replaced by something more sober. "Of course." he said. "Yeah. You're right. I..I didn't realize how bad it was."
"Now you do." Jack said simply.
He gave the guy one last look and let himself out the door.
…
You'd decided to try veils this time, some last ditch effort to actually picture yourself walking down the aisle. You stood in front of the three way mirror, tulle pinned into your hair, and felt absolutely nothing shift into place.
You weren't sure what possessed you to do it, but you pulled out your phone. The lighting in here was stupidly flattering, if nothing else. You angled the camera, snapped a picture, and before you could think too hard about who you were about to send it to, your thumb had already done it.
Too much?
The one person on the entire planet you probably shouldn't be sending bridal photos to.
"This isn't the one either." you called out to Meg, already reaching for the zipper.
You thought you heard her sigh from the other side of the curtain.
Twenty minutes later you were back in your jeans, walking to the coffee shop around the corner to debrief, like you always did. You ordered, sat down across from her, and Meg leveled you with a look before you'd even taken a sip. "You've tried on twenty dresses this month." she said. "In the grand scheme of things that's not that many. But you'd think by now you'd have some idea of what you actually want."
You shrugged, staring into your cup.
"What's going on?"
You looked up at her, and the excuse died in your throat. You couldn't lie to her. Not about this.
So you told her. All of it.
Meg's mouth had fallen fully open. "Okay, wait." she said, holding up a hand. "Jack. The Jack? From when you were a teenager? The one you used to talk about like he hung the moon?"
"That's the one."
"And he's been what, just reappearing in your life this whole time you've been dress shopping?"
"It's not like that." you said, too fast.
Meg just stared at you, unblinking, waiting.
"It's not." you said again, weaker this time.
"So you're not going to leave David?"
"What? No." The word came out of you immediately and it was unconvincing even to your own ears. You heard it yourself, the way it hung there in the air between you.
Meg didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to tell you what to do." she said finally. "But I've known you a long time, and I've never once seen you struggle like this. You need to actually sit with why nothing about this is feeling right.”
She gathered her bag, dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and left you sitting there. It was only once you were alone that you remembered your phone.
You'd almost forgotten you'd sent that picture at all.
Jack: You can't just send a man a photo like that with zero warning
Jack: I had to set my phone down and collect myself.
Jack: You look stunning, sweetheart. Take a picture in every single dress you try on if it looks anywhere close to that good.
You sat there staring at the screen, feeling something warm and inconvenient bloom in your chest, right where it absolutely had no business blooming at all.
…
Jack was still staring at the picture, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen, when John's voice came from directly behind him. "Ooh, who is that?"
Jack locked the phone so fast he nearly dropped it, shoving it deep into his scrub pocket. "Someone I can't have. That's who."
John just stood there, genuinely stunned into silence. Jack Abbot didn't talk about his personal life. Ever. The man was a vault. "I have so many follow up questions."
"And I'm not answering any of them." Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left him standing there, already halfway down the hall before John could get another word out.
He took the stairwell up instead of the elevator, needing the burn, needing something physical to focus on besides the picture still branded behind his eyes. The door to the roof access swung open onto cold air and the first thin streaks of orange bleeding up over the skyline, the city still mostly asleep below him.
He braced his forearms against the railing and just breathed.
You cannot have her.
He'd known that fact for years. Had built an entire life around avoiding the truth of it, had buried it under residency and fellowships and every double shift he could volunteer for, until the burying had just become who he was.
He was so fucked.
Because the truth was that he'd never stopped. Not for one day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you'd always been the one. The girl who told him she was going to marry him when she was young and terrified and had no business making promises like that, and he'd been arrogant enough, or maybe just honest enough with himself, to believe her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. You had a life. A good one, from what he could see. David was steady. David showed up, mostly, and when he didn't, well, that one was on David to figure out, not Jack.
Jack was the disruption. He was the thing crashing back into your orbit and tearing it apart at the seams, one diner pie and one rescued night at a time. He didn't have the right to do that to you. Not when you'd fought so hard to build something that didn't look anything like the wreckage you came from.
He thought about the way you'd grabbed his hand last night and asked him not to leave, and he hadn't wanted to.
God, he hadn't wanted to at all.
You were supposed to be mine.
Maybe you were. Maybe in some other version of this, some world where he hadn't left, where your father hadn't been the kind of man he was, where the timing had lined up right, maybe there was a version where it was his ring on your hand and his name you said into a phone with that same soft affection.
But this wasn't that world. In this one, you were engaged.
In this one, he had a job to walk you back to your life and hand you off in one piece, not to unravel it because he couldn't get over you.
He loved you too much to be the reason you didn't get your happy ending. Even if it wasn't with him.
Stop seeing her.
The thought was simple. Easy to think and impossible, apparently, to actually do. Not when you'd called him first last night, not when your name lighting up his phone did something to his pulse he couldn't explain away as friendship.
He had to be the one to put the distance back. You wouldn't. Not with the way this thing between you kept pulling you both back together like gravity, like the two of you were simply incapable of staying apart no matter how hard either of you tried.
So it had to be him.
He just wasn't sure if he actually had it in him to do it.
…
David had been quiet all through dinner, pushing his food around his plate more than actually eating it.
It wasn't until the dishes were cleared and you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you were watching, that he finally spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
You looked over at him. "Of course."
He was quiet for a second, turning something over in his head, and when he finally looked at you, there was none of his usual easy calm in his face. Just something tired. "When's the last time you were actually excited about the wedding?"
You sat up. "What?" you managed.
"I'm not trying to start a fight." he said gently. "I just..I've been watching you for months now. Every time we talk about the venue, or the flowers, or the song, you get this look on your face." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And I told myself it was stress. Wedding planning is stressful, everyone says that. But it's been going on so long now that I don't think that's it anymore."
You opened your mouth to argue, some defense already forming. But nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and some exhausted part of you didn't want to keep lying about it anymore.
"David."
He shifted to face you fully. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually want this? Do you want to marry me? Or have you just been going along with it because I'm safe, and easy, and I never gave you a reason to say no?"
The tears came before you could stop them, blurring the outline of him sitting there so patiently, waiting for an answer you didn't know how to give without breaking something neither of you could put back together.
"I don't know." The words scraped out of you. "David, I don't know. I love you. I do. You've been so good to me. You've never once made me feel unsafe, or scared, or like I had to brace myself for anything, and after everything with my dad, that meant more than I think I ever told you." You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. "But I don't know if that's the same thing as being in love with you. And I think some part of me has known that for a long time and just didn't want to look at it too closely, because looking at it meant I had to admit I was about to marry you for the wrong reasons."
David's face didn't crumple the way you thought it might. He just nodded slowly, like some quiet piece of him had already made peace with hearing this before you'd even said it.
"I think I've known too." he admitted. "I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. That everybody gets like this before a wedding." He let out a breath that shook slightly on the way out. "But cold feet doesn't usually last eight months, does it?"
You shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
"Is there someone else?" he asked.
You thought about Jack's hands wrapped around your ankle on this exact couch. "I don't know what he is." you said honestly. "But there's someone from a long time ago who came back into my life a few months ago, and ever since he did, I haven't been able to feel the same about anything. Including this."
David nodded again, slower this time, and reached out to take your hand. "I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt." he said. "But I'd rather know now than stand up in front of everyone we love and marry someone who's not sure I'm the one she wants standing there." He squeezed your hand once. "You deserve to be with somebody you don't have to talk yourself into loving. And so do I."
You cried harder then, not because it was cruel, but because it wasn't. Because David, steady and safe and undeserving of any of the mess of the last few months, had just done the bravest, kindest thing anyone had done for you in a long time.
"Go figure out what you actually want." he said softly. "I hope it's good, whatever it is."
…
The evening sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the park in golds. You walked along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket.
It was beautiful out and for the first time in what felt like forever, life had been good.
It was a strange kind of good, but it was yours. You had a new apartment now, entirely of your own making, filled with half unpacked cardboard boxes. Meg had been over earlier that afternoon, helping you put everything in its place, handing you coffee, and keeping the silence from getting to be too much.
She had a stack of dinner plates balanced in her hands and looked at you with that no nonsense gaze of hers. "Are you going to tell Jack you aren't engaged anymore?" she had asked
You had only shaken your head, looking down at the bubble wrap in your hands.
How could you? He’d been radio silent for weeks now. Almost a month had passed since you sent him that photo of you in the wedding dress.
You had figured that he was deliberately putting space between the two of you. It only made sense. Why would he ever see you as anything more? He hadn't back then, when you were nineteen and stupid, so why now?
You exited the park, taking the familiar path back toward your apartment, still turning the thoughts over in your mind.
He had probably noticed you getting too attached to him. Jack, with his observant eyes, had likely seen the way you leaned into his touch, the way you clutched his shirt when your father showed up, and decided to remove that trouble from your life before you got hurt.
But the damage was already done.
Except, as you crossed the threshold of the park and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, you realized it wasn’t really damage at all. It was more like clarity. A newfound, stubborn sense of self.
Even if Jack wasn't going to be yours, you still had this new life. It was entirely yours. You had chosen yourself, just like he said you could.
You really shouldn't have been listening to music while walking along the busy street. The volume was up just high enough to drown out rush hour traffic. Because of it, you didn't hear the screech of tires peeling at the crosswalk.
You had the right of way. The pedestrian walk sign was white, glowing steadily, but someone wasn't paying attention.
You didn't really know what happened until the world tilted. There was a sickening impact of metal against bone, and then you were slammed down onto the pavement, hard.
Fuck, it hurt.
The breath was knocked completely out of your lungs, the cold asphalt pressing against your cheek as the music in your earbuds suddenly cut out. Your head felt dizzy, but you didn't think you’d hit it. But within seconds, shouting voices were closing in, and shadow after shadow fell over you as people rushed to your side.
"Don't move! Stay still, honey, don't try to get up!"
"Someone call 911!"
You tried to blink the blurriness from your eyes. Your right side felt like one throbbing bruise, but there was a wet warmth trickling down your shoulder. Dazed, you reached up with your left hand to touch it, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your collar.
When you pulled your hand back, your palm was bright, slick red.
The ambulance felt both like a split second and an entire lifetime. Paramedics were kneeling in the dirt beside you.
"I'm fine." you croaked, your voice sounding small and raspy even to your own ears. You tried to brace yourself on an elbow, pushing against the hands holding you down. "I can just..I can take myself to the ER. It's just my shoulder."
"Lie back." one of the medics said, his voice firm as he stabilized your neck. "We have to immobilize you. It's protocol."
You let out a defeated breath, the fight draining out of you as you nodded and let them carefully shift your body onto the rigid plastic of the stretcher.
The moment they lifted you, the shock finally caught up. Your vision began to gray out at the corners, the faces of the paramedics blurring into soft shapes. The pain in your shoulder and ribs began to fade into a dull numbness as your body finally decided to pass out, retreating into the dark.
As the darkness pulled you under, your mind clung to only one desperate thought.
I hope I'm going to see Jack.
…
Jack was standing at the nurses' station and John was going on about something dumb when he heard the incoming call being answered by Lena. When she hung up, she turned to the room. "Pedestrian was hit on the sidewalk by a car. Female. In and out of consciousness but vitals good. One minute out."
God, he had just clocked in and things were already ramping up.
"Here we go. I feel like it's going to be a spicy night." John said.
"Don't say that." Jack frowned. "You know every night is spicy when I'm here."
John just gave him a look of disgust as he sipped his coffee.
Jack snapped some gloves on right as the patient was being wheeled through the double doors. But he barely got the second glove on when his heart felt like it stopped.
You on the gurney, bleeding from your neck from a scrape, dripping down your shoulder. You, blinking slowly at John’s light that he was already flashing in your eyes.
Fucking hell, it was you.
It was all Jack could do not to grab you in his arms and yell for everyone else to get the fuck out of the room.
"Jack? Hello? You with me on this one?" John’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
Jack shook his head, physically forcing his brain to lock back into place. Gathering himself, he walked into the trauma bay alongside the gurney as the ambulance crew relayed their information. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but his hand found yours. He held onto it, tight, his thumb automatically brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles.
And while he was doing all this, John’s eyes darted from the monitor, to Jack’s white knuckled grip, and then back to Jack's face. The puzzle pieces were rapidly clicking together in his mind. "Uhh, is this the woman from the picture on your phone?" John asked quietly.
"Yes."
That was all Jack could say. Fuck whatever they thought about him and you. Fuck the hospital gossip, fuck the onlookers. He was staying with you.
You were slowly rousing, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. The paramedics had said you hadn't passed out but the one time, but you were hurting, so you weren't saying much. Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm, and when your eyes finally found his, the quiet words that slipped past your lips almost broke Jack to pieces. "I hoped it was you."
Jack’s throat closed up. He grabbed your hand, lifting it to press it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, needing you to feel him. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'll always be here."
John was watching you, his expression softening, well and fine with the moment, but he was already stepping toward the curtain, yelling for Parker to come in.
Jack's head snapped up, his eyes turning dark. "What?"
John shrugged. "You clearly know her, you can't work on her. Sorry, boss. Rules."
And fuck that.
Fuck that. Every protective instinct inside Jack screamed at him to push them all away and tend to your wounds himself. But the rational side of his brain knew John was right. If he stayed as your physician, his judgment would be clouded by the terror of losing you.
Jack swallowed the bitter pill, his grip on your hand never wavering. "Fine, but I'm staying."
John just held his hands up in surrender. "Not going to argue with you there."
…
When you woke, it was in a quiet room in the hospital. A warm light was coming from the lamp on the desk beside you.
Jack was sitting laid back on the chair near the wall. His eyes were closed, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Was he sleeping sitting up?
You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the sight.
His eyes opened, the sleep clearing from them quickly. The moment he saw you awake, the tension in his shoulders melted, and his eyes softened.
"Hi honey." he said.
Even in the bruised state you were in, that greeting caused your heart to feel like it was going berserk. Thank goodness you weren't actually hooked up to any heart monitors anymore, or else he would know exactly what it did to you when he called you that.
"Do you know what happened?" he asked, pushing himself up from the chair to come stand right by you.
"Yes, all of it unfortunately." you grimaced, trying to sit up.
Jack eased you back down against the pillows. "Keep laying down. They gave you pain meds, so that's why you've been out for a few hours."
"What time is it?" you asked, squinting toward the dark window.
"4 a.m." Jack said softly.
Your eyes widened. "Oh my god. I didn't mean to pull you from work. Please, go back on shift. I will be fine."
Jack just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No way. I'm not leaving you. Shift or no shift, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."
This time when you sat up, he didn't try to stop you. You reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so that he was close to you, your eyes locking onto his. "Thank you, Jack."
And he just smiled at you, covering your hand with his own for a brief second before gently squeezing. "I'm going to see about getting you discharged. Then we're going to my house. That sound okay?"
You didn't think you would have any words if you tried to speak, so you just nodded.
…
Jack tucked you into his bed and closed the door to let you sleep. You slept for a while, which he knew you would because of the pain meds. While the house was quiet, he’d called in a favor with Robby to help get coverage for his next two shifts.
He just wanted to be with you. He never wanted to leave your side, never again.
When you finally woke up, he was standing in his kitchen, making some tea. Your hair was a little mussed from sleep, but even then, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You'd always been.
"Can I have some?" you said, pointing toward the steaming kettle.
He pointed toward the two mugs already sitting on the counter. "Was already making you one too."
You smiled and walked toward him. Still sleep brained, you had to be, because that was the only reason you would have come right up to him and folded yourself into his chest.
Either way, Jack didn't care about the reason. He let his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he couldn't help the contented hum that came from his chest.
"My hero." you whispered against his shirt.
He laughed a little. "Hardly."
You leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. And god, he wanted to kiss you. He’d wanted to kiss you for a while, but everything felt so intensely domestic right now, the way you were just holding each other in his kitchen. This felt like some sort of future that the two of you could actually have.
It wasn't until later, when the two of you were sitting at his kitchen table and you brought your mug up to your lips, tilting it back, when Jack noticed it.
The lack of a ring on your finger.
The rush of adrenaline made him almost choke on his own sip of tea. He set his mug down and reached out, completely unable to stop himself. He gently rubbed his thumb over the exact area where the ring used to be.
You set your tea down, your gaze dropping to the table. "David and I are no longer getting married." you said softly.
When Jack didn't say anything, too stunned, too frozen by the words, you started rambling, the nervous heat creeping up your neck. "Well, actually, we're no longer anything. We broke up."
…
The confession felt terrifying and freeing all at once. You swallowed hard, staring down at your bare knuckles because looking at his face right now felt like staring directly into the sun. "I broke it off with him."
Jack didn't blink. He sat perfectly still across from you, his eyes focused on your face, tracking the slight tremble of your lower lip. "Why?"
You met his gaze then. And all you could do was smile. "Because of you, Jack." you said softly. "It's always been you. The second you crashed back into my life, everything else just completely unraveled. I couldn't stand up there and marry a good man when my entire heart was somewhere else."
Taking a shaky breath, you kept going. "When you left, I tried to bury it, I really did, but seeing you again, having you in my life again, it just made me realize that I don't want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I want.."
Before you could even finish, Jack leaned in.
His large hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb catching the edge of your cheek to tilt your head up.
The kiss was a breaking of a dam that neither of you could have stopped if you tried.
Jack’s fingers tangled into your hair to hold you steady as he drank you in, making up for every single day he had forced himself to stay away. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.
When you broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. "God, you have no idea," Jack breathed. He let out a small laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at you. "I felt like such an asshole watching you with him. Sitting in that ER, listening to him talk about your wedding. I wanted to rip the walls down. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off what was mine."
He paused, a bitter smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "I know I was a menace these past few weeks. I know I was pushing every single boundary you tried to set, but god, why wouldn't I be?" He leaned down, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time but no less desperate. "I love you so much. I've never stopped. Not for a single day."
…
True to his word, Jack took the whole weekend off to take care of you. He completely ignored your protests that you were totally fine and could go back to your own place to heal.
"Jack, I'm fine!" you said as he was walking out the door on Monday night to head back to the hospital for his shift.
He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. "I know. But stay here. Please?"
Looking up at him, you couldn't say no. You leaned in, and he caught your lips, kissing you again and leaving you breathless and wanting more.
To be honest, you had grown a little restless over the past two days. Even after everything that had been confessed, Jack still slept on the couch while he stubbornly insisted you take his bed. You were well enough after that first kiss to let thoughts start swirling in your head, keeping you wide awake in the dark.
You wondered if he was wide awake too those nights. You just kept getting woken up by visions of him, thoughts of him between your thighs, your hands tangled tightly in his curls. You wondered if he was eventually going to take that step with you, or if you’d have to be the one to make that leap first.
You didn't have to keep wondering for long.
When he finally got home in the morning you were already up. You were sitting in his living room, curled up in his comfy chair with a book in your lap.
You softly said hi, but the greeting completely died in your throat as he dropped his bag by the door without a word. His eyes were dark and fixed on you as he walked straight toward your chair.
Instead of pulling you up, he sank directly to the floor.
You parted your legs and allowed him to slot himself right in between them, he fit perfectly. "What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Nothing yet. I just started it."
"Ah." Jack murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth before locking back onto your eyes. "Can I interrupt?"
You closed the book and set it aside blindly. He slid his hands slowly up your thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through your clothes, and you couldn't help the way you sank down a little in the seat, tilting your hips to make it even easier for his hands to roam.
He reached up, his movements unhurried as his fingers hooked at the waistband of your shorts. He paused, holding your gaze. "This okay?" he asked.
You nodded so fervently it got him to laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin.
He pulled your shorts down and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then, he leaned down, and his mouth was on you. He started low, his lips pressing warm kisses up your thighs. He took his time, kissing a slow trail up your left side before shifting over to the right, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin and leaving a wake of shivers behind.
He moved inward, placing small hot kisses right over your underwear. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, sending a wave of anticipation straight down your spine.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving. "You're so beautiful." he breathed, his voice rough and undone. "Is this real?"
A breathless laugh escaped you. Instead of answering, you reached up, burying your hands deep into his hair and pulling him down to your mouth. When you finally pulled back for air, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you’d be a bit more nervous for a moment like this, but you wanted him so bad the anxiety didn't even have time to grow.
Jack reached up, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple as you leaned back into the chair again, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers trailed a path down your stomach, moving lower until they found the edge of your underwear, tracing a line right over the seam of you, before pulling them off.
He just sat there on the floor between your legs, drinking you in, his eyes mapping every single inch of your body. You felt an ache pool in your lower stomach, your hips involuntarily wanting to squirm under his undivided attention.
Having Jack Abbot look at you completely naked in the middle of his living room was somehow even more erotic than whatever was about to come next.
…
Jack’s hands reached up to frame the insides of your thighs, spreading you open for him. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing over your sensitive skin before he pressed his tongue flat against your center.
His mouth worked over you with greedy focus. He took his time, sweeping his tongue up the length of you, sucking softly, his stubble scraping lightly against your thighs.
He gripped your hips to keep you still whenever you tried to squirm, humming low against your skin when you arched into him. You whimpered his name into the quiet living room as you came against his face.
When he finally pulled back, he stood up and pulled you up out of the chair. Without a word, you followed him down the hallway into his bedroom.
The moment the door swung shut behind you, Jack turned, but you didn't give him a chance to lead. You pushed him backward onto the edge of his mattress, your hands pressing against his chest until he sat back. You stepped between his legs and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.
Jack groaned as you settled against his hips. He grabbed your waist, pulling you down into a desperate kiss. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth open and hot against yours.
The taste of you was on his lips as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his cock pressing through his scrubs. You stood up then, and he shifted so that you could pull them down and off. Then he scooted back and you resumed your straddled position on him.
When he guided himself to your entrance, you paused for a second, looking down at him. You wanted to commit this to memory.
You sank down onto him in one slow push.
Jack threw his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
It was overwhelming and hot. Eleven years of ache and longing. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you began to move.
"You feel so good." Jack said, rolling his hips up to meet your thrusts, taking you deeper. His hands slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you down into another kiss.
…
You fell asleep with your head on his chest only to be woken a few hours later by his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your neck.
By afternoon, you ended up in his shower, the steam filling the small bathroom as the hot water cascaded over both of you. Jack pressed you gently against the tile, his hands slick with soap as he washed you before pulling you back against him once more.
Every touch felt like finding solid ground after years of drifting.
…
One Year Later
Jack kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in the passenger seat and he genuinely could not have told you where he was driving to. It didn't matter.
The window was down on your side and your hair was whipping across your face and you didn't even bother fixing it, just let it happen, eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The sun caught the side of your face through the windshield and Jack thought, not for the first time, that he had no idea how he'd survived all these years without seeing this exact sight.
God, he loved you. It still hit him sometimes, stealing the breath right out of him completely.
You must have felt him looking, because you turned and the smile you gave him was so easy and happy that his hands nearly slipped on the wheel.
You leaned across the console then, one hand braced on his thigh and pressed your lips to his cheek. Your other hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair there the way you always did. You just couldn’t help it.
The small, cool press of metal against his skin from your finger thrilled him. He'd slid it onto your finger three weeks ago in his kitchen, badly rehearsed. You'd said yes before he'd even gotten the whole sentence out.
He hadn't been surprised, not really. After all, you'd always known. You'd told him so yourself, once, a long time ago, before he'd been ready to hear it.
He was the one playing catch up.
Your fingers were still tangled at the back of his neck, that ring cool against his skin, and outside the window the fields blurred in the last of the light and Jack thought that he could drive like this forever and never once feel like he was in a hurry to get anywhere else.
synopsis: clark wants to help you buy new clothes, but surprise hits him when he realizes how the fashion industry treats plus size women like you.
cw: body insecurities, fatphobia, reader being kinda mean to herself, clothes not fitting, clark also being a little mean to himself, loads of fluff, tiny smut, clark is ao in love with you and your body, clark being really into chubby girls. important: I mention some sizes but remember that they are just numbers, you can be any size and be or not be plus size — it does not matter, different countries have different conceptions of what's plus size !!! I am plus size myself, so I know this!!
words: 1.7k
Clark always paid attention to you. He always has an eye on you, at any given moment. Working, cooking, watching a movie. And not in a creepy or peculiar way, but a protective one.
It worked, really — you felt protected when you sensed his soft gaze on you, or when his hand moved to the small of your back, not to guide you, but to follow you.
But Clark notices everything, even what you think he doesn’t. He sees how you struggle with the jeans that no longer fit, how every morning you search for cream to massage into your waist and stomach to try and shrink it, even just a little. And how, after wrestling with a pair of pants before going out for a walk, he notices how your stride is uncomfortable and how hard it is for you to breathe.
That’s how Clark started a small savings jar. A bit of change from grocery runs, money he found in his backpack, leftover cash at the end of the month — but he made sure to put at least $50 into that jar each month. When he finally saved up a more-than-decent amount, he proudly brought it to your apartment.
You raised an eyebrow when you saw him at your door — you swear that if this man had a tail, he’d be wagging it back and forth. He had that big-dog smile, the kind they wear when they bring the ball back to their owner. He lifted the jar with the word “clothes” written on it in his handwriting, but you still looked confused.
“I saved up some money to take you shopping. I noticed you were uncomfortable in your clothes, and I don’t like seeing you like that.”
You’re a grateful person — especially with him — and Clark knew you weren’t being ungrateful when your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Even when you arrived at the clothing stores street, you insisted he get himself a T-shirt or something, as if you didn’t want that money to be spent on you.
Clark squeezed your hand as you entered a store, where an excessively thin woman with a tight smile greeted you.
“Hi! How can I help you?” the woman asked in a welcoming tone.
“Hi. We’re looking for clothes for my girlfriend — some dresses, short-sleeved shirts, and jeans,” Clark smiled, his usual polite smile, which faded the second he saw your breath falter.
The woman, keeping her fake, tense smile, looked you up and down. “For you?” her tone wavered, as if it carried disgust.
“Yes… for me.” you sighed as you spoke, used to it.
“Alright… alright, yes, feel free to look around. This aisle has all the dress and top models. And that way are the jeans. You can ask me if you need anything.”
“Will do!” Clark smiled as the woman walked away. “Hey, don’t you like the jeans she’s wearing? We could look for something like that.”
Your eyes moved to the figure of the employee, how her small hips were hugged by the stiff denim.
“Uhm, I don’t know…” you said. “Let’s just look around a bit.”
Clark nodded, but was unsure due to your dim and quiet tone.
After a couple rounds, you found two really cute pairs of jeans, along with two shirts and a dress that Clark said — in his words — “would look like a dream.”
You held the jeans against your waist, stretching them a bit to see how far they’d go. You noticed how the corners reached only the middle of your thigh, and your pout began to show.
“Excuse me, is this the largest size you have?” you asked the same employee.
Again, that same scanning look from top to bottom. “Yes, we carry up to size 10 in jeans. What’s on display is what we have.”
“Size 10?” you asked, voice lower. “Thanks.” you gave her a tense smile, prompting her to leave. You handed the jeans to Clark. “I’m size 18.” you gave a sad smile. “And the shirts are size 10… I’m size 16…”
Clark looked at the clothes like they’d just insulted him. “We can try the dress.” he smiled sweetly, and you believed him.
After fifteen minutes and no sign of you, Clark called softly.
“Baby?” he muttered.
You sniffled. “I can't zip it…” you said, very quietly, almost a whisper.
Clark closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door. Everything was going wrong — this was nothing like he’d planned.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” you cleared your throat. “I just want to leave."
When you came out, your small, pretty face was red and swollen from crying, a pout on your lips — and Clark felt like the worst person in the world, like he had done this to you.
“Couldn’t find anything?” that condescending, fake tone filled your ears from behind.
You were about to answer when Clark spoke for you. “No, nothing was suitable. I think this place could use a wider size range.”
“Sir, I can’t help with that. I only display what’s in the store.”
“But you can pass along my complaint to your superior — this place is a disaster. It feels designed to humiliate people who just want to buy something nice.” You looked at him, surprised — Clark usually didn’t complain about service, even if it was degrading. But something seemed to have possessed him as he led you to the car, a hand on the small of your back.
Once seated, you played with your fingers as Clark sighed. His hand went to your shoulder, slowly gliding down your back, fingers moving softly against your skin.
“I’m sorry I brought you here, my love. I didn’t think this through and that was wrong.” He pressed gentle kisses onto your exposed shoulder, and you smiled sweetly while stroking his hair.
“You just wanted to help, Clark. It’s not your fault these stores are awful to people like me. I knew I had to lose weight anyway.”
Clark lifted his head like you’d just personally attacked him, shaking it. “You don’t need to lose weight. We went to the doctor the other day. Your body is healthy, your cholesterol is fine, your sugars are good. And your body is beautiful, my love.” One hand dropped to your plump belly, squeezing it lightly, making you giggle. “If you want to lose weight, I’d love to help you, but I know it’s something hard for you — something you don’t enjoy.”
The kisses on your shoulder moved to your arm and down the valley of your chest, his curls brushing your skin, making it rise in goosebumps. “Your body drives me wild, pretty girl. I’d have you any way, but you don’t know how… feral your stomach, your breasts, your hips, these thighs make me…” one hand dropped to squeeze that part with a growl.
You smiled as your lips parted with every kiss he gave you, panting lightly while your fingers ran through his hair.
“Clark, Clark. You are getting carried away.” You tugged his hair gently so his eyes would meet yours. His lopsided smile, drunk on you, when he noticed your grin.
“There’s that smile.” his lips found yours, kissing you slowly. “I’ll make this up to you, gorgeous.”
You never doubted he would — but you didn’t hold him to it. That’s why, when he showed up at your house desperate to take you somewhere mysterious, you suspected he was up to something.
He stopped in front of a store on a corner, Clark hopped out, basically dragging you in like an excited puppy who found a bone.
A young woman was at the front desk, smiling genuinely when she saw your boyfriend. “Clark! Good to see you again.”
You frowned, confused.
“Doll, this is Carolina. Lois showed me this place and Carolina, very kindly, offered to send me all the clothing they have.” Clark looked at you with sweet, glowing eyes, and you couldn’t say no.
With Carolina’s help, Clark showed you beautiful dresses, jeans, shirts — even skirts, a piece of clothing you’d never thought you could wear — that were all your size or even larger.
“I’m not sure if I like everything because it’s all beautiful or because it all fits.” you said with a genuine smile as you slipped on a long skirt that fit beautifully around your hips.
“You look truly beautiful.” Clark said with heart eyes once he saw the twirl you made to show him the skirt.
You two walked to the front to pay, and Clark noticed a dress he hadn’t seen on you before. “Didn’t see this one.” he tried to get a better look, but you slapped his hand.
“It’s a surprise for tonight, I’m taking you out for dinner.” You said, handing Carolina the bags.
Clark raised his eyebrows beneath his glasses. “You taking me out?” he chuckled.
“God forbid a girl wants to take her boyfriend out to repay him for being so sweet and lovely.” Clark smiled and rolled his eyes, paying without even checking the price.
“You are a tease.” he said after you nudged him.
(...)
“Ready?” you said from behind him.
“Never been more ready.” Clark said, playing with the hem of his white button shirt under the suit jacket.
He turned around when you allowed him to, and he is stunned.
A red, long dress wrapped around your curvy, juicy body so deliciously he feels hungry. And when you turn around to show him the open back, he is literally on his knees.
“Oh, baby, I love this so much…” he said on his knees, and of course, since he is so tall, his head reaches your chest, the open part where the fabric goes up and wraps around your neck. He presses kisses there, hands finding the plush of your thighs under your dress, which he got since it had a slit — the slit killed him — , squeezing them as he gets drunk on your figure. “We are not going out.”
“What? I've made reservations! They make your favorite food.” You smiled, stroking his hair and fitting his glasses.
“Oh, but I've got my favorite food right here, dolly.” He gently pressed you against the wall, slipping under your dress to really eat.
no thoughts just hockey au fwb!jason or dick who gets jealous after finding out that you dated or at the very least talking to a guy on a rival team
all i can think about is the guy calling her baby or another pet name and asking for a good luck kiss to get under his skin 🤭
YOU'RE MINE
SUMMARY: when your ex approaches you before the big game right in front of jason, he loses it. later that night, he expresses why it bothered him to badly.
warnings: i guess angst & hurt/comfort?? idrk what genre this is, hockey!au, f!reader, fwb!jason but friends-to-lovers, jealous!jason, ur friend's name is stacy, mr. dick grayson is featured!!, y/n used once i apologize, mildly suggestive a few times, left open-ended but a nsfw scene is implied (no explicit details)
wc: 1.5k
Jason is fuming.
He was feeling good about this game. Gotham vs. Metropolis. The annual rival matchup that has the hockey rink packed to the brim every single time.
But his excitement was quickly replaced with anger and repulsion when he saw him.
Your ex-boyfriend, a player for Metropolis, was over at the stands, chatting it up with you and your friend Stacy. He had that stupid cocky smirk on his face, gesturing animatedly as he rambled on about whatever-the-fuck.
Jason grumbled under his breath, continuing to lace up his skates. He was tugging obnoxiously at the laces, tightening them to no end. To his right, Dick frowns. "Man, what's up with you?"
"Nothing."
"Jason," Dick sing-songs, poking at the thick padding on Jason's shoulder. "I can practically see the smoke comin' outta your ears, man. What's wrong?"
He growls. "Him."
Somehow, Dick instantly knows who he's talking about. His eyes dart over to where you, Stacy, and your ex reside. "What's he doing, talking to her?"
"Who knows?" Jason scoffs, moving onto his other skate.
"I thought she hated him." Dick takes a swig of water. The volume inside the rink is rising as music begins to flow through the speakers and colorful lights shine down on the ice.
"Me too," Jason replies. "I dunno. Maybe he's just talking to Stacy, though it's shitty to go for two best friends if you ask me."
Dick smirks at him. "You two aren't dating yet," he reminds his brother, whose eyes instantly dart to him in a mean glare.
"Shut the fuck up, I know that," he snips. "Fuck, do I know that. But I still don't like it. He was so dickish to her, and he thinks he has any right to waltz over there and t—"
"—he could also just be talking to Stace," Dick repeats Jason's prior words, chuckling at his brother's peril.
Jason shakes his head, swinging his legs over the ring's barrier. "Fuck it, I'm going over there."
Jason skates across the rink over to the bleachers, leaning against the barrier in front of you. "How's it going over here?" he smiles tightly, cutting off your exes words.
He notices instantly how your smile doesn't reach your eyes as the other man talks. Stacy doesn't seem too interested in her friend's ex either. So why the fuck is he still here?
"Good. Hi, Jay," you nod.
His eyes dart to your ex, gaze sharpening. He nods in greeting. "Everything okay?"
The man nods. "Ah, everything's good, man. I was just talking to Y/N over here."
Jason wants to punch that goddamn smirk off his mouth.
He continues. "I was just asking her for a good luck kiss before my big game," he drawls, eyes sliding to you. "Ain't that right, baby? Gonna be my good luck charm?"
Stacy rolls her eyes for you. "Shut up, dickwad," she grumbles. "She dumped you for a reason."
"I second that," Jason mutters, patting the man roughly on the shoulder before dragging him by the jersey. "Keep your fucking hands off her, man."
"Or what?" he chuckles. "What are you, her keeper?"
"No, I'm her—" Jason pauses. Because what, exactly, was he to you? Not boyfriend, not friend, not fuck-buddy… "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Just stay away. Seriously."
The game went well, if you ignore the 3 fights Jason got into with your ex, all the times he was put in the penalty box for boarding him, and the upwards of 10 verbal altercations they got in.
A Gotham win concluded the match. Jason refused to shake your exes hand at the end.
Jason undid his skates in utter silence, even as he felt Dick's gaze burning into the side of his head. He could see his brother's smirk in his peripheral. He ignored him.
"I'm going home with her tonight. Don't wait up," Jason muttered as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Dick knew that her referred to you—he didn't have to ask.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Dick sing-songs. "Though I know you will."
Jason rolls his eyes but offers his brother no response as he exits the locker room, eyes instantly locking on you in hisjersey. The sight makes him smile. Dating or not, his chest puffs out at the sight of you supporting him.
"Doll," he greets. "Why the long face, eh? I won for you," he teases, finding your side and walking with you.
You huff. "What was with all the fighting?"
"He started it," Jason defends immediately.
You look at him with an arched brow. "Jay."
"He did!" He insists. "He was talking… He was talking about you, baby. I couldn't take it. It was in my ear, every five seconds. I wasn't just gonna let him talk about you like that!"
"Hm, charming," you mutter sarcastically. "I don't like you fighting so much over someone so meaningless."
"He wants you back, ma," Jason murmurs sourly. "Kept telling me he was gonna take my girl—"
"—I'm not your girl, Jason."
He groans. "I know, but you know what I mean!"
"C'mon," you sigh, cutting the conversation short. "I don't wanna have this debate right now."
"What debate?"
"The 'what are we?' conversation, Jay," you clarify with a grumble. "Let's just go to mine. Eat some takeout…"
"And fuck?" he adds hopefully.
You humph. "Maybe. You're in the doghouse for now."
"Food's here!" you call as Jason finishes up his shower in your bedroom. The scent of sandalwood floods your apartment from the body wash he keeps at your place.
You unbox the Chinese food you'd ordered to the apartment, placing Jason's at his spot in the couch. Soon, he emerges from your room with only boxers and low-slung sweatpants on his body, towelling his damp hair.
You try your absolute best not to stare. It's not going so well.
"Oh," you blink, tearing your eyes from his glistening abs. "Your food's over there. Put our show on."
He grins. "Someone was staring," he coos, rummaging in your fridge for a beer before taking his place on the couch.
"I wasn't."
"You were, ma. It's okay."
A frustrated growl builds in your throat as you sit beside him. "Still in the doghouse," you remind him, to which he sighs.
"I said I was sorry."
You arch a brow. "No, you didn't."
"Okay, well, I'm sorry," he mutters.
"Jason—"
"—I'm serious," he pleads. "I shouldn't have gotten into all those fights. I shouldn't have let him get into my head. I may have beaten him to a pulp, baby, but his plan worked and it shouldn't have. So I'm sorry."
The regretful sorrow in his eyes makes your heart ache as your eyes dart from his. "I just wish you wouldn't," you sigh. "How are you gonna go pick fights over me if you can't even define what this is?"
"What what is?"
"Us."
Your words hang in the air as he mulls them over. "Well, it's simple. I'm yours; you're mine."
"But we're not together." Reluctantly, he nods. "So I can see other people?"
Instantly, a frown tugs at his lips. "I'd rather you don't."
"So then we're exclusive?"
"Well, no—"
"—this is what I mean, Jason!" you stress. "We're a mess, and you send me mixed signals about everything. I don't know what we are, and clearly neither do you."
He looks at you regretfully. "Doll," he breathes, reaching for your hands. "Listen, I know we're messy. I'm sorry. It's my fault I haven't put a label on this. I… Can I be honest?"
"Always, Jay."
"I want you to be mine, like, for real," he admits. "That's why seeing him try shit with you again freaked me out. I'm scared. I don't wanna fuck this up, or scare you away, or—"
"—I wouldn't leave, Jason," you assure him. "I want this to work, but it won't if you don't talk to me." You stroke his hand. "I don't wanna just be friends who fuck—"
"—Don't say it like that."
"Okay," you nod. "But you know that's not what I want, babe," you murmur.
His eyes flicker all over your face. "I know. I can be better for you, ma. I can. I can try."
"We're going to have to communicate."
"I can do that."
"You can't just go ghost when you feel avoidant."
"I won't.
"And you'll need to be vulnerable with me. Honest."
"I can do that, too, doll."
"And no more fighting my ex either!"
"…Well that one I can't promise."
"Jay," you urge. "Seriously."
He nods adamantly. "I know. I can be good to you," he insists. "I can be so so so good to you, ma. Please, let's try."
You look into his eyes for a moment, absorbing the total authenticity and promise in them. "You better not disappoint me, Todd."
His big arms snake around your waist as he carries you away to your bedroom, Chinese food forgotten. "Oh, I won't, ma. Rest assured.”
a/n: i like this one but i fear i lost the plot toward the end. hopefully yall still enjoy!
you cannot tell me dick grayson doesnt have the craziest morning boner
he would wake up with you lying on your side, back pressed against his chest and sleeping soundly. all unaware from the large poking that was on your ass
poor man didn’t wanna wake you up because one, it was seven in the morning. and two, you were sleeping so peacefully he couldn’t bring himself to ruin your slumber
so instead, dick would just lazily grind his boner on your ass, pressing his lips on your shoulder to hold back any sounds and pant on your skin. and when you would shift and unknowingly press your ass more to his cock, he would shut his eyes and throw his head back to let out a quiet yet deep groan, his voice still laced with sleep
that’s it, his last fucking straw
“babe” dick carefully nudged you, desperation in his voice. but there was no answer from you. he trailed a path of kisses from your shoulders all the way under your jaw, only to hear a small “hm?” leave your sleepy lips
“dick, it’s too early” you mumbled, eyes still closed and about to reach for dick’s head and press his face more into your neck. but your eyes slowly fluttered open from something poking and rubbing on your ass
“dick? what are you—"
“please, baby…” you could hear the slight desperation in his morning voice, his hips not stopping and still slowly rubbing on your ass. “woke up with the craziest boner… fuck, i need you”
scratch ‘slight’, he was desperate desperate. begging from behind your back at what, seven in the morning?
you let out a breathless sigh from dick already nudging your panties down slowly, giving him a slow nod and already closing your eyes to fall back asleep. “just don’t wake me up, i need to be up soon” and as a confirmation, you spreaded your legs a bit more and pressed your ass more to his cock
god, that was all he needed to hear
“i promise” dick whispered in your ear, thumb rubbing small circles on your cunt and feeling your arousal slowly form. “you were always too good for me, thank you baby” a small whimper left your lips. even when you were asleep— or at least trying to— his touch always pulled out reactions from you
he took his thumb off to pull his boxers down and line his hard and tip with your pussy, pre cum slightly glistening from the head. a relieved sigh left dick’s lips when he began to slowly insert his cock in, the familiar warm walls of your cunt greeting him with a welcome he so desperately needed.
“thaaat’s it” he murmured on your neck, one hand shifting to slide under your shirt and fondle with your boob— which made you let out a small moan— while the other gripped on your hip. “fuck, just what i needed”
your lips slightly parted for a small moan to slip, your closed eyes now rolling to the back of your head as dick moved your bra strap from your shoulder to leave open mouthed kisses while sinking more of his length in you
and once his cock was fully buried in you, dick stayed like that just to take your warmth in, groans humming on your skin and brushing his thumb on your nipple. a gasped moan left your lips, the sleep slowly fading from your body and your eyes fluttering open
"dick” you whined, squirming your ass as a sign for him to move. “i need you to move. please”
he let out a chuckle from behind and you could practically feel a lopsided grin form on his lips. “thought you wanted to sle— ohhh fuck”
dick moaned when he felt you bury his head more into the collar of your neck and your fingers sliding into his hair, his cock twitching in you as a response. you let out a small chuckle but it trailed into a moan when dick slowly rolled his hips to your ass
“attagirl” he groaned, sending another lazy yet deep roll of his hips to your pussy and going crazy from how you were sucking him in. “just like that”
the depth of dick’s thrusts was making up for the pace— which was more than enough since he was already huge. and it did nothing but make the sleep fade from both you and him
“dick— oh god” you let out a breathless sigh from his tip nudging deep enough that it was hitting all the right angles, your back arching instinctively and pressing your ass more to his hips for more.
and to add more with his lazy yet deep thrusts and groping, dick whispered all kinds of things to you in that morning voice you loved while fondling with your boob
“that’s it, gorgeous. take it for me”
“look at her go, fuuuuck. all for me”
“cmon pretty girl, give it to me. make a mess”
another deep roll of dick’s thrusts and it made you clench all over his cock for your orgasm to come crashing, broken chants of his name leaving your fully gaped lips and your wide eyes almost seeing stars from how hard you came
he let out a groan, the thrusts now sounding wet as he felt his own orgasm slowly approach. dick’s hand from your boobs trailed up to tilt your head up for his lips to meet yours in a slow, intimate kiss that were filled with pants
one last roll of his hips made dick moan on your mouth, feeling his warm cum now fill you up as his cock still slowly dragged itself to fuck his cum in you. a pleasured sigh left yours into dick’s mouth as he kept murmuing small “thank you, oh thank you so much” repeatedly in your mouth
his cock finally stilled in your pussy, now soft and feeling the warmth of your pussy and his cum now buried to the brim in you. slowly, both of you pulled away from the kiss with a trail of saliva before it broke immediately
your gaze met with dick’s blue ones as both of you were catching your breaths. his hand shifted to cradle your cheek and his lips panted a smile, tucking a messy hair strand behind your ear
but right where he could kiss you again more softer and tell you what a good job you did, the alarm began to ring on the nightstand
Jason Todd, who loves giving you kisses. Besides just on the lips (which, don’t get him wrong, he could spend all day doing). But also on the palm of your hand when you reach up to gently cup the side of his face. On your forehead whenever you move to stand facing him and smile in that soft, adoring way of yours. On the cheek whenever he’s pulling out your chair for you at whatever restaurant you ended up at for date night. On your knuckles after you patch him up from a rough night of patrol. On the nose whenever you scrunch it in that adorable way of yours while bantering with him. On your temple whenever he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. On the skin underneath your ear whenever he whispers sweet nothings to you curled up in bed during the latest hours of the night. Jason loves you with everything he has, and he shows it constantly.
Modern Aang misses his wife to the point where he disturbs her while shes working
Sorry for any grammatical errors
WC: 808
------------
You knew the kind of man you married before you even said yes. Aang loved the attention you gave him, in fact he craved it so much you wondered what he did during his own work duration.
And today was no different
You were mid-scrolling through the email system of the tech company you were working for, squinting at a message about server maintenance when you felt a low buzz of your phone against the surface of the desk.
You recognized the rhythm, it was the ringtone Aang had put for you, so you differentiate between his calls and other people's calls. You glanced and smiled at the caller id, Aang smiling with Appa, your german shepherd licking his face.
You picked up, looking around the main office through the glass walls, where you could see your boss having a bad conversation with his investors and sighed as you heard the background noise of the slight breeze, which probably meant recess for him
“Aang…you know I’m at work…” You whisper
“I know…” His cheerful voice went through the speaker “But you wont believe the day I’m having…you know I'm teaching the kids how to write paragraphs right?” His voice bright and unbothered
“Yeah…?” You replied reducing your phone volume
“Well guess what”
“Aang you know you can just tell me right” You replied with an amusement lilt in your voice
“I know but I want you to guess”
You paused, tapping your chin “Someone threw up?”
“Wha- no no-” Aang said before laughing "One of my students told me the famous line!”
“Which is…?”
“My dog ate my homework’….” He paused, “I mean can you believe it, we have a dog and I don’t think Appa has eaten any of our documents"
“Well Appa is a good boy, maybe the dog is a puppy that doesn’t know the difference between homework and food yet” You said biting your lip to suppress a laugh
“Are you seriously defending my student over me?” He mocked
“Maybe” you teased spinning a pen between your fingers
“Wow…so heartbroken” He let out a dramatic sigh “You on break?”
“No…why?”
“Oh I wanted to…have a ten minute video call…I miss your face” His voice softened
“You saw my face before you left the house”
“It’s been 6 hours”
“So-”
“So take like a mini break…please?”
“Give me an hour”
“An hour? Why an hour?”
“I have a stack of visitor badges that needs to be organized and a system that needs to be updated…”
“But…baby” His voice drops to a pleading tone “Appa misses you”
“You’re at school” You snorted
“Well I’m Appa” He declared “And I miss my wife”
“If you’re Appa you should miss your owner” You shot back
“Wha-”
“Aang go back to class”
“Not until I see your face”
“You’re-”
Your protest was cut short as your screen lit up with an incoming video request from him. You sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it as you accepted.
Aang’s face fills the screen, his grin triumphant “See I knew it would work”
“Ten minutes” you said, propping your phone against your monitor
“More”
“Aang”
“Cant a husband miss his wife?”
“He can. but he’s at work”
“Actually I’m on lunch break”
“Wow, that makes it so much better”
“Thanks” he replied missing your sarcasm
You giggle, dropping your phone onto the desk with a soft clatter, fumbling through your purse for your airpod case. Son you popped them in, connecting to your phone “If you want to talk to me, be prepared to talk while I work”
“Fine by me” Aang smiled as he placed his phone on his desk, while he leaned back in his chair so you could see his whole upper body “I could watch you work all day”
“You’re very annoying” You teased, sliding a badge into its designated slot, “Don’t you have papers to grade or something"
“Already graded…I’m a man of many talents”
“Is distracting your wife one of them?” You asked as you reached for another badge
“That’s actually my primary talent, right up there with making Appa do tricks”
You laughed loudly causing a few glances towards you. You apologized and looked at your phone. Your chaotic wonderful and attention starved husband smiling brightly
“You wanted me to laugh didn't you?”
“Yeah”
You smile as you heard the distant ring of a bell which meant recess ending, Aang eyes flickered toward the door then back at you
“Five minutes, then you have to go be a teacher”
“Deal, now tell me about your day…and don’t leave out any boring details…I want everything”
You rolled your eyes, but you started talking, while your hands never stopped their work.
This was just a normal day for you and Aang and you wouldn't trade it for anything
Hiding your pregnancy is getting harder and harder, especially when you agree to go to a dinner party and Spencer has to drink every glass of your wine to keep the secret.
୨ৎ ──── fluff. 5,4k. fem!reader. drunk reid. english isn't my first language. main masterlist.
David Rossi loved hosting dinners.
Not because he particularly enjoyed cooking—though he’d spend the entire evening pretending he did, shooing away anyone who wandered too close to the stove with the indignation of a Michelin-star chef—but because dinner was one of the rare occasions when the people he cared about gathered for reasons that had nothing to do with bloodstained crime scenes or the worst humanity had to offer. Around his dining table, they weren’t profilers or agents or supervisors carrying the weight of impossible decisions. They were simply friends. They laughed a little louder, lingered a little longer over dessert, argued about books instead of behavioral patterns, and, for a few precious hours, remembered what life looked like outside the Bureau.
At least for the first twenty minutes.
After that, someone inevitably mentioned a case.
“You realize,” Morgan announced as he reached across the kitchen island and shamelessly stole a piece of warm bread straight from the basket, “this is exactly how horror movies start.”
Rossi didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. He merely stirred the sauce with practiced ease, entirely unfazed by the theft.
“The difference,” he replied smoothly, “is that my guests survive dessert.”
Morgan laughed, surrendering with an exaggerated nod before tearing into the bread anyway.
The house was already alive with familiar voices.
Soft jazz drifted through hidden speakers, blending with the rhythmic clatter of pots and the comforting aroma of garlic, rosemary, simmering tomatoes, and freshly baked bread. Warm light spilled from antique lamps, reflecting against framed photographs and shelves lined with decades of books and souvenirs collected from places Rossi rarely spoke about. Every room carried that unmistakable feeling of having been lived in, a home that had witnessed countless celebrations, quiet conversations over late-night whiskey, and the occasional impromptu team meeting when cases refused to stay at Quantico.
Emily wandered into the kitchen, accepting a glass of wine from Rossi before immediately rolling her eyes at something Morgan said.
Garcia was already circling the living room in complete admiration, pausing every few steps to gush over a painting, a sculpture, or an antique clock.
“Oh my God, Rossi,” she gasped dramatically, “this lamp is gorgeous. It’s giving wealthy Italian novelist who solves crimes in his free time.”
“It was just a lamp until you said that.”
JJ slipped toward the patio with Henry balanced comfortably on her hip, the little boy already fascinated by the garden lights beginning to glow outside. Will followed behind carrying an impressive collection of toys that looked capable of entertaining an entire daycare, smiling patiently as Henry reached for everything except the toys he’d brought.
Hotch, unsurprisingly, had arrived exactly on time.
Not a minute early. Not a minute late.
His jacket was already neatly folded over the back of a chair, a glass of sparkling water in one hand as he quietly observed the controlled chaos with the smallest hint of amusement softening his usually unreadable expression.
And, of course, Spencer’s attention had been on you from the moment the two of you stepped through Rossi’s front door.
Before anyone could greet you, Spencer was already helping you out of your coat with the quiet attentiveness that had become second nature over the past several weeks. His hands were careful as he eased the fabric from your shoulders, lingering for just a heartbeat as if making sure you were steady before draping both your coat and his neatly over the rack by the entrance. It was such a small gesture that no one else would have noticed it.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, leaning close enough that only you could hear him beneath the lively chatter filling the room.
You offered him a reassuring smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt.
“Perfect.”
The word came automatically, polished by repetition until it sounded almost believable. You’d said it to your mother over the phone earlier that week. To your coworkers when they’d commented on how pale you’d been looking lately. To the cashier who had apologized after you’d abruptly abandoned a shopping cart halfway through the supermarket because someone nearby had opened a container of tuna. You were becoming remarkably good at pretending everything was normal.
Spencer, however, had never been particularly easy to fool.
His honey-colored eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly studying you with the same careful concentration he reserved for unsolved cases and impossible puzzles. He noticed everything: the faint shadows beneath your eyes despite the makeup you’d carefully applied that afternoon, the way your smile didn’t quite reach them, the almost invisible hesitation before you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. For a second, you watched concern flicker across his expression, followed by the unmistakable impulse to suggest going home instead. You knew him well enough to see the thought forming before he gently pushed it aside. You had insisted you wanted to come. You’d been looking forward to seeing everyone. If he asked again, you’d only reassure him again.
So instead, he simply intertwined his fingers with yours for the briefest moment and gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, silently reminding you that if you needed to leave, even five minutes after arriving, you only had to say the word.
Because the truth was…you hadn’t exactly been perfect lately.
For nearly eleven weeks, your body had seemed determined to reinvent itself overnight, transforming familiar routines into unpredictable obstacles and ordinary sensations into impossible challenges. Pregnancy wasn’t anything like the books had described. It wasn’t the glowing skin and sentimental smiles people loved talking about. At least, not yet. Right now, it was exhaustion so profound it settled into your bones no matter how much you slept. It was waking up starving only to burst into tears because the toast you’d been craving suddenly smelled unbearable. It was dizziness when you stood too quickly, headaches that appeared without warning, and emotions that shifted so rapidly they often left you laughing one moment and crying the next.
And the smells were by far the worst.
It was as though someone had turned every scent in the world up to an impossible volume.
Coffee, the rich aroma you’d once relied on every morning, now seemed so overwhelmingly bitter it made your stomach twist before you even entered the kitchen.
Garlic lingered in the air like smoke.
Perfume clung to strangers in grocery stores so intensely that you found yourself instinctively holding your breath as they walked past.
Gasoline from passing cars seeped through open windows with startling force.
Fresh paint, cleaning products, scented candles, everything had become an enemy.
Even the earthy fragrance of Spencer’s favorite loose-leaf tea, a scent that had always reminded you of rainy afternoons spent reading together on the couch, had betrayed you. One quiet Saturday morning, he’d barely begun pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves before your stomach lurched violently. You hadn’t even managed to explain what was wrong. You’d simply clamped a hand over your mouth and hurried toward the bathroom, leaving Spencer frozen in confusion beside the kettle.
When he’d found you a few minutes later, you were sitting on the cool tile floor with your knees pulled to your chest, wrapped in one of his oversized cardigans because you hadn’t had the energy to put on your own sweater after climbing out of bed. Your eyes were watery, your face pale with exhaustion, and the half-steeped tea sat forgotten in the kitchen.
He’d knelt beside you immediately, rubbing slow circles against your back until your breathing steadied.
“I think,” he’d said carefully, as though presenting a well-researched hypothesis, “we should buy different tea.”
The absurd sincerity of the suggestion had broken something inside you.
You’d laughed, the kind that left tears streaming down your face and your stomach aching until Spencer began smiling too, still entirely unsure what had been so funny.
An hour later, you’d taken the pregnancy test.
You remembered sitting together on the edge of the bathtub, your shoulders pressed together so tightly they might as well have been one person, both pretending not to stare at the little plastic stick resting on the counter. Spencer’s knee bounced nervously the entire time, though he’d deny it if anyone ever asked. When the result finally appeared, neither of you moved.
Positive.
You’d looked at him, and he’d looked at you.
For a long moment, there had simply been silence, stunned, breathless silence, as though neither of you trusted your own eyes enough to speak first.
Then Spencer had whispered, almost reverently,
“We’re having a baby.”
The memory still settled warmly inside your chest every time you thought about it.
Only the two of you knew.
No one else.
Not the team, your parents, or his mother.
No one.
It wasn’t because you weren’t excited.
God, you had never loved someone you’d never met quite so fiercely. And you had never been so afraid.
At night, when the apartment had gone quiet and Quantico seemed impossibly far away, the two of you often found yourselves lying awake long after the lights were off, talking in hushed voices about a future that suddenly felt both unimaginably distant and frighteningly close. Spencer wondered aloud whether babies recognized music before they were born and whether reading aloud during pregnancy had any measurable effect on language development. You debated names neither of you was ready to admit you genuinely liked. You imagined tiny knitted sweaters, impossibly small socks, sleepy mornings, first birthdays, scraped knees, school concerts, and the possibility—one that made you laugh every single time—that Spencer might accidentally teach your future toddler quantum mechanics before the alphabet.
Other nights, words simply weren’t necessary.
You would lie tangled together beneath the blankets, your head resting against his shoulder while he absentmindedly traced slow circles over your arm. Eventually, almost without thinking, his hand would drift lower, settling with extraordinary care against your abdomen. There was hardly anything to feel yet. At eleven weeks, your stomach remained almost perfectly flat, your dresses fitting exactly as they always had. If someone didn’t know, they would never have guessed. But Spencer touched you as though the slightest movement might disturb the tiny life growing there, his palm resting so gently against you that it sometimes made your chest ache. He would smile into the darkness with an expression so impossibly soft it stole your breath every single time, as though he could already sense the little heartbeat hidden beneath his fingertips. Sometimes he whispered things you weren’t sure he realized he was saying: little observations about fetal development he’d memorized from medical journals, promises about museums he’d one day visit with your child, absentminded thoughts about buying children’s editions of classic literature. Other times, he simply stayed there, smiling quietly, overwhelmed by the astonishing reality that someone already existed. Someone who belonged entirely to the two of you.
Every ultrasound photograph had become a treasure.
The first one lived inside an ivory envelope that had already begun to soften at the edges because neither of you could stop taking it out to look at it. Realistically, there wasn’t very much to see. To anyone else, it was little more than a grainy black-and-white blur surrounded by indecipherable shadows and medical measurements. Yet the two of you had spent embarrassing amounts of time staring at it as though it were the most extraordinary piece of art ever created. Spencer, naturally, had analyzed it with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything else.
Of course, once the initial excitement had settled, he had immediately begun worrying about where to keep the photographs.
Not because he thought someone was going to steal them.
Because he wanted them safe.
You still remembered finding him standing in front of his bookshelf one afternoon, head tilted thoughtfully as though he were solving one of the Bureau’s most complicated cases. He had scanned hundreds of titles before finally pulling out one of the thickest mathematics textbooks you had ever seen.
“They’re going inside my copy of Differential Geometry,” he’d declared with complete confidence while carefully sliding the envelope between two chapters.
You had stared at him, blinking in complete confusion.
“…Why that one?”
Without so much as lifting his eyes from the pages, he’d answered with absolute certainty.
“Statistically speaking, no one voluntarily opens my copy of Differential Geometry.”
You had laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Weeks later, the ultrasound photographs remained exactly where he’d hidden them, tucked safely between chapters discussing curved manifolds and tensor fields, untouched by anyone except the two of you. Every now and then, usually late at night, Spencer would quietly retrieve the envelope before climbing into bed beside you, and together you’d study the tiny image all over again, smiling as though seeing it for the very first time.
You weren’t keeping the pregnancy a secret because you were ashamed.
If anything, the secret had become almost impossible to contain.
You loved this baby already with a depth that surprised you daily. Sometimes you caught yourself resting your hand absentmindedly against your stomach while reading on the couch or waiting in line for coffee you could no longer stomach. Sometimes Spencer would catch your eye from across the apartment, and without either of you saying a single word, you’d both smile, remembering the extraordinary little secret that existed only between you. It felt like carrying a universe inside your chest, one that threatened to spill into every conversation, every laugh, every quiet glance exchanged across a room.
But eleven weeks still felt fragile.
Delicate.
As though happiness itself had become something you were afraid to hold too tightly.
You knew the statistics.
So did Spencer...perhaps better than anyone.
The first trimester carried uncertainties neither of you could ignore, no matter how desperately you wanted to celebrate. So you had made a quiet promise together. Just a little longer. One more week. Maybe two. Long enough for the fear to loosen its grip. Long enough for the joy to feel louder than the anxiety. Then you’d tell everyone. Properly. Surrounded by the people who loved you most.
Which was exactly why tonight needed to remain wonderfully, blissfully ordinary.
Smile.
Compliment Rossi’s cooking.
Laugh at Morgan’s increasingly terrible jokes.
Listen to Garcia declare herself emotionally attached to another one of Rossi’s antique decorations.
Eat dinner.
Go home.
And above all else, pretend that beneath the soft fabric of your dress, your entire world wasn’t quietly growing one tiny heartbeat at a time.
***
For the first few minutes, everything went exactly according to plan.
The conversation flowed effortlessly around the table, moving from travel stories to teasing remarks about Rossi’s inability to let anyone else near his kitchen. The warm glow of candlelight reflected against crystal glasses, silverware clinked softly against porcelain plates, and the rich aroma of roasted vegetables, fresh herbs, garlic, and homemade pasta drifted through the dining room. It was warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Exactly the kind of evening you’d hoped for.
Then Rossi appeared beside the table carrying a bottle of red wine.
With practiced ease, he moved from place to place, pouring generous servings into each waiting glass until he eventually reached yours. Deep ruby liquid swirled elegantly into the crystal, catching the candlelight before he continued around the table without another thought.
Your smile froze.
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost felt like missing the last step on a staircase.
Of course. Wine.
You hadn’t thought about the wine.
For one long second, you simply stared at the glass sitting innocently beside your plate, your thoughts racing far faster than they should have. Refusing it outright would be strange. Claiming you weren’t in the mood might invite questions. Pretending to sip it was risky, especially with Rossi proudly watching everyone’s reactions to the bottle he’d undoubtedly spent far too much money on.
Across the table, Spencer had arrived at the exact same realization.
His eyes drifted from his own glass to yours.
Then to you.
You watched the understanding settle across his face almost instantly.
Without either of you exchanging so much as a glance, he quietly reached across the table toward your place setting, his movements so natural they might have gone completely unnoticed.
“I’ll take yours,” he said casually, lifting the untouched glass before anyone could question it.
Morgan blinked. “You stealing her wine already?”
The question earned a few amused smiles around the table.
Spencer answered so quickly it almost sounded rehearsed.
“She’s driving.”
For a single heartbeat, the entire table fell into that peculiar silence that followed an answer no one had expected. You turned your head slowly to look at him, your expression carefully composed despite the disbelief bubbling beneath it.
Driving? You hated driving.
Everyone at the table knew you hated driving. Morgan had teased you about it for years after you’d once admitted that parallel parking made you feel like you were diffusing a bomb. Garcia had jokingly offered to create a color-coded GPS system “for emotionally distressed drivers.” Even Rossi had learned long ago that inviting the two of you over automatically meant Spencer would be behind the wheel on the way home. If given the choice between navigating rush-hour traffic yourself or spending an hour on public transportation with three transfers, you’d choose the train without a second thought. Spencer knew that better than anyone. Which was precisely why, judging by the fleeting look of horror that crossed his face, he realized what he’d said the exact moment the words left his mouth.
Your eyes met across the table for the briefest instant.
He knew. You knew.
Neither of you dared acknowledge it.
Fortunately, Morgan simply shrugged, entirely unbothered.
“Fair enough.”
The conversation drifted elsewhere almost immediately, someone making a comment about Rossi’s pasta sauce before Garcia launched into a dramatic story about accidentally adopting another stray cat she absolutely insisted she hadn’t meant to bring home. Around the table, laughter resumed, forks scraped softly against porcelain plates, and the comfortable rhythm of dinner settled back into place. You released a slow breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, allowing yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that perhaps the obstacle had been overcome more easily than you’d feared.
Or so you thought.
Barely ten minutes later, Rossi reappeared beside your chair carrying the bottle of red wine in one hand, his attention immediately falling to the untouched glass still sitting exactly where he’d left it. His thick brows drew together in mild confusion before his expression softened into concern.
“Oh, bambina,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he gestured toward the glass. “You haven’t touched your wine.”
Your heart lurched.
For a fraction of a second, your mind raced desperately through possible explanations. You weren’t feeling like drinking. You were waiting until dinner. You had a headache. None of them felt convincing enough, particularly not with Rossi watching you so expectantly.
Before you could utter a single word, Spencer calmly reached across the table, lifted your untouched glass as though it had belonged to him all along, and took a generous sip.
“I did.”
Rossi looked between both of you.
“You finished two glasses already?”
“I was thirsty,” Spencer replied with complete sincerity, sounding as though that single sentence explained everything.
Rossi stared at him.
“You were thirsty.”
“Yes.”
“For wine.”
“Correct.”
For another beat, Rossi simply looked at him, clearly debating whether there was any point continuing the conversation. Eventually, with the resigned expression of a man deciding that Spencer Reid’s brain operated on principles beyond ordinary comprehension, he shrugged lightly and reached for the bottle once more.
“There.”
Deep red wine flowed smoothly back into your crystal glass until it sat nearly full again.
“There we go.”
“Thank you,” you offered with what you hoped was a perfectly natural smile.
Rossi nodded once before wandering toward the other end of the table to refill Morgan’s glass, already distracted by an entirely new discussion about baseball statistics.
The instant his back was turned, Spencer moved.
Without saying a word, without drawing attention to himself, he rested one hand casually beneath the edge of the tablecloth and, in one fluid movement, exchanged your freshly filled glass with his own half-empty one. The motion was so smooth it could have passed for absentmindedness, his fingers never fumbling despite the growing amount of alcohol already in his system. By the time Rossi looked back toward the two of you, Spencer was quietly lifting the newly acquired glass toward his lips while your place setting once again held one that appeared partially consumed.
No one noticed.
Well…almost no one.
Across the table, Emily’s conversation with JJ faltered for just a fraction of a second.
She didn’t say anything.
She simply took another sip of wine while her gaze lingered thoughtfully between the two of you before returning to her plate.
Another half hour slipped by beneath easy conversation and frequent bursts of laughter. Stories gave way to teasing, teasing turned into old Bureau memories, and before long the first bottle stood empty in the center of the table. Rossi noticed almost immediately.
“Well,” he announced proudly as he disappeared toward the kitchen, “that means it’s time for the good one.”
He returned carrying another bottle with the reverence of someone transporting a priceless family heirloom.
“This one’s from Tuscany,” he declared, carefully peeling away the foil. “I bought it during my last trip. You have to try it.”
The cork eased free with a satisfying pop.
You felt your stomach sink all over again.
One by one, Rossi circled the table, refilling each glass with generous enthusiasm.
Including yours.
Again.
You forced another smile.
“Thank you.”
Your glass remained untouched.
Again.
Spencer noticed before anyone else did.
Again.
Without hesitation, he reached over sometime during the next conversation, lifted your glass as naturally as though the two of you shared everything—which, technically, you did—and quietly added yet another serving to the growing collection he’d already consumed.
By now he’d finished one glass.
Then two.
Then three.
Now…four.
Under ordinary circumstances, four glasses of wine spread across an entire dinner might not have seemed particularly remarkable.
For Spencer Reid, it was becoming increasingly obvious.
A warm flush had spread across his cheeks, dusting the bridge of his nose with soft pink that somehow made him look several years younger. His posture remained perfectly straight, and his words retained the precise articulation that years of lecturing and endless reading had ingrained into him. If anything, he enunciated even more carefully than usual, each syllable pronounced with meticulous clarity. Spencer Reid, it seemed, was physically incapable of slurring his words.
Instead, he simply became significantly more talkative.
“Do you know,” he announced to absolutely no one in particular while thoughtfully examining his wineglass as though it were a fascinating scientific specimen, “that the average adult liver metabolizes approximately one standard alcoholic beverage per hour? Assuming average enzymatic activity and normal hepatic function, I’m currently operating at a significant biochemical disadvantage.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning so broadly it bordered on smug satisfaction.
“You drunk, pretty boy?”
Spencer looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.
“No.”
He paused.
Thought about it.
Then nodded once with complete seriousness.
“Probably.”
The table erupted into laughter.
Even Hotch lowered his gaze toward his plate to disguise the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You couldn’t help laughing too, though yours carried a distinct note of affection.
Spencer looked utterly adorable.
Hopelessly, undeniably adorable.
Across the table, however, Emily wasn’t laughing nearly as much.
She watched Spencer lift your glass instead of his own.
Again.
She watched you politely thank Rossi for every refill without drinking a single sip.
Again.
She watched Spencer volunteer to finish both glasses with increasingly enthusiastic determination.
Again.
Something about the evening refused to fit together.
Emily wasn’t quite sure what the answer was yet.
But she knew, with absolute certainty, that something wasn’t adding up.
***
By the time coffee replaced the wine, the evening had settled into that wonderfully unhurried stage that always followed one of Rossi’s dinners. Dessert plates had been pushed aside, empty bottles stood abandoned along the center of the table like evidence of a celebration well enjoyed, and the rich scent of freshly brewed espresso drifted through the dining room, mercifully replacing the overwhelming aroma of alcohol. Conversations had fractured into smaller ones, overlapping comfortably without anyone needing to follow every thread. Garcia and JJ were animatedly debating vacation destinations, Garcia insisting that every itinerary should be based entirely around bookstores and bakeries while JJ attempted, unsuccessfully, to convince her that beaches had their own merits. At the other end of the table, Morgan and Rossi had somehow wandered into a passionate disagreement over baseball statistics, each one accusing the other of remembering history incorrectly despite both sounding equally confident. Hotch sat quietly between them, one hand wrapped around his coffee cup, saying very little but wearing the faintest trace of amusement at the corners of his mouth as he watched the familiar chaos unfold around him.
Beside you, however, sat the true consequence of the evening.
Spencer Reid was undeniably drunk.
Not the loud, reckless kind of drunk that knocked over glasses or forgot people’s names. Spencer remained perfectly articulate. Every sentence emerged with the same impeccable diction he used while lecturing, every word carefully pronounced as though he were still delivering an academic presentation. If anything, the alcohol had only made him even more determined to enunciate correctly. His tie had been loosened somewhere between the second and third bottle, though neither of you remembered who had done it. His curls had escaped in every direction until they framed his flushed face in complete disarray. A warm blush stretched across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, his eyes had taken on a dreamy softness you rarely saw, and he had developed the oddly adorable habit of pausing before every answer, nodding solemnly to himself as though consulting an invisible committee inside his own mind before reaching a unanimous decision.
Watching him was almost painfully endearing.
You couldn’t help smiling as your fingers found the middle of his back, rubbing slow, comforting circles through the fabric of his shirt.
“You okay?”
He turned toward you immediately, his entire face lighting up with such overwhelming affection that your heart threatened to melt on the spot.
“I love you.”
The words came so easily, so honestly, that several people around the table instinctively smiled.
You laughed quietly.
“I love you too.”
“No…” He shook his head with exaggerated seriousness, lifting one finger as though correcting an important scientific misconception. “I don’t think you understand the statistical magnitude of how much I love you.”
Morgan snorted into his coffee.
“Oh, this is priceless.”
Spencer didn’t even acknowledge him.
His complete attention remained fixed on you, his expression one of absolute sincerity as he searched painstakingly for the perfect description.
“You are…” He frowned thoughtfully, eyes drifting toward the ceiling for several long seconds before returning to you with visible satisfaction. “…my favorite person.”
Warmth spread through your chest so quickly it almost hurt.
God, he was going to destroy you.
“You’ve had enough wine,” you said gently, brushing one of his unruly curls away from his forehead.
“I have had…” He stopped speaking to count carefully on his fingers, restarting twice after apparently losing track somewhere around three. “…more wine than you.”
“Yes.”
He nodded proudly, pleased that you’d confirmed his calculation.
“Because you couldn’t.”
Every muscle in your body went rigid.
The smile disappeared from your face almost instantly.
“Spencer.”
He looked delighted with himself.
“I helped.”
Across the table, Emily glanced up from her coffee.
“So noble.”
“It was.” Spencer nodded once, completely accepting the compliment. “Because it’s a secret.”
Your stomach dropped so violently you were certain everyone could hear it.
Without thinking, you reached for his hand beneath the table, gently squeezing his fingers.
“Sweetheart—”
He leaned closer immediately, lowering his voice in what he clearly believed was an incredibly discreet whisper.
It wasn’t.
“We’re very good at secrets,” he confided with unmistakable pride.
The entire table continued talking.
No one seemed to notice.
Relief washed over you so suddenly you nearly laughed.
Then Spencer smiled thoughtfully, as though another important realization had just occurred to him.
“Although…”
Every instinct in your body screamed.
“Oh no.”
He looked around the entire table before announcing, in a voice loud enough for everyone in the dining room to hear with perfect clarity, “keeping a baby secret is significantly harder than I expected.”
Silence.
Morgan blinked once.
“A what?”
Garcia’s mouth slowly fell open.
JJ lowered her coffee cup so carefully it barely made a sound against the saucer.
At the far end of the table, Hotch’s eyes shifted from Spencer to you with the calm expression of a profiler mentally reorganizing every unusual observation he’d made over the previous several weeks: your sudden avoidance of coffee during morning meetings, Spencer’s increasingly protective behavior, the mysterious disappearances during cases to “find crackers,” the exhaustion, the nausea, the untouched wine.
Pieces quietly clicked into place.
Rossi simply stared.
His mouth opened slightly before closing again.
For perhaps the first time in anyone’s memory, David Rossi seemed completely incapable of finding words.
Emily, meanwhile, merely closed her eyes and a slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Oh,” she sighed, sounding more relieved than surprised. “I knew it.”
You buried your face in both hands.
“Spencer…”
He looked around the table with complete confusion, blinking at everyone’s expressions as though he genuinely couldn’t understand why the conversation had stopped.
“What?”
“You…” you whispered through your hands, shaking your head helplessly. “You just told them about our baby.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
A long pause.
He frowned thoughtfully.
“I wasn’t supposed to.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
He considered that information with remarkable seriousness, nodding slowly as though accepting constructive criticism.
For one suspended heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then Garcia exploded.
The delighted shriek that escaped her was so loud it probably startled every bird within a three-block radius. She launched herself out of her chair before anyone else had even processed what was happening, one hand already covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
“I can't believe it!” she squealed. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”
JJ was crying before she’d even reached you.
She wrapped her arms tightly around your shoulders, laughing and wiping away tears simultaneously.
“I am so happy for you,” she whispered.
Morgan shot to his feet with a bark of laughter, pointing triumphantly between the two of you.
“I knew something was going on!”
Emily looked at him flatly.
“You absolutely did not.”
“I suspected!”
She folded her arms.
“You spent the entire evening convinced Spencer had developed a drinking problem.”
Morgan hesitated.
“I was…close.”
Rossi finally recovered enough to laugh, a deep, warm laugh that echoed through the dining room as he crossed the room and pulled both you and Spencer into one of his characteristically overwhelming hugs.
“I’ve spent years trying to get this kid drunk,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he stepped back to look at Spencer with unmistakable affection. “Years.”
His eyes flickered toward you before returning to Spencer.
“I have to admit…”
He smiled.
“I didn’t expect this to be what finally loosened his tongue.”
Even Hotch stood.
He wasn’t particularly demonstrative, never had been, but the smile he offered the two of you was genuine enough to soften every sharp line in his face.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned instinctively against Spencer’s shoulder, still half laughing and half hiding your burning face from everyone’s delighted attention.
Spencer looked down at you with sleepy affection, completely oblivious to the fact that he had single-handedly dismantled weeks of carefully orchestrated secrecy. He leaned over and pressed the gentlest kiss against the top of your head before sighing softly.
“I ruined the surprise.”
“You did.”
“I’m sorry.”
You looked up at him.
His expression was so genuinely remorseful, so heartbreakingly sincere despite the unmistakable haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, that you couldn’t possibly stay embarrassed.
A smile spread across your face.
“I’ll forgive you.”
His eyes brightened immediately.
“You will?”
“Eventually.”
The relieved smile that followed was almost childlike.
“Good.”
He sat quietly for another few seconds, apparently satisfied that the crisis had been resolved.
Then he turned toward Rossi with complete seriousness.
When Aang woke up from a dream that felt so real m, he let out a piercing scream. He was crying, shaking, and panting. He looked very disheveled, his eyes darting around the room as he looked for you with so much panic on his face.
"Aang! Aang, it's okay, come here," you cooed, your own heartbeat beating abnormally fast from the grueling sound that came from your boyfriend as you brought him into your arms and let him cling to you and just cry. His grip on you was so tight, big pale hands running up and down your back almost as if he was trying to memorize how your body fit next to his.
You let him cry in the crook of your neck for a little while, simply whispering small soothing words like, "It's okay, baby, just let it out." And “I’m here, I’m right here”
Then he pulled away just a litttle bit and looked at the wet splotch on your sleep shirt "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you I just-" he started sniffling and blinking through his tears
"Don't you dare apologize, Aang." He just pulled you closer
"Was … was the nightmare about your people?" you carefully asked.
He let out a shaky breath before recounting what he dreamt about
"No... you you died a-a-and I was too late and it felt so real. I-I just... I can't- baby, I can't lose you."
He let out heavy sobs and whimpers of heartache and pure fear into your neck as he held you close.
"It was just a nightmare, Aang. I'm here. I'm right here, holding you and I'm not going anywhere."
His cries had quieted down and he was only sniffing a bit and you rubbed his back through all of it, gently moving your hand over his head, bringing him closer to you.
"Shhhh, it's okay, sweet boy. It's okay."
Your heart broke even more. Your sweet, kind, joyful man was reduced to a crying and shaking mess because of the terrible demons that plagued his mind when he was asleep. You hated seeing him like this, seeing him in so much pain, seeing him so scared.
Underneath the whole Avatar, master of four elements, bringer of peace and restorer of balance to the world, the Last Airbender mantle, was a boy who had already lost too much and didn't want to lose any more. He was a boy who loved eating fruit pies and moon cakes. He loved riding the air scooter. He loved meditating. He loved playing around and being goofy. He loved taking little kids on rides with Appa. He loved finding things that reminded him of you. He loved talking about his culture and heritage. He lit up every room he walked into.
But right now, he was a crying mess who just needed his girl.
You hated life for robbing him of his childhood.
You hated life for putting so much responsibility on him from such a young age.
You really hated life for constantly taking from him.
So, you held him close and let him cry, let him pour it all out. You stayed like that for a long time.
And you hated the fact that even though you were a great healer, you couldn't heal this. You couldn't fully take this pain away from him. You could only be there for him when he needed you.
"I'm sorry for getting you all wet," he apologized again once he had calmed down and started breathing evenly, gently moving away from you.
"Aang, look at me."
He raised his wet face up. You gently wiped his tears and passed him a small napkin so that he could blow his nose, then you threw it into the trash can nearby. Then you cupped his cheeks taking in his appearance; pale skin looking warm in the moonlight, his nose was red and his eyes were bloodshot and tired, it made your heart clench.
"I'm here, Aang. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving, and you know I'm a tough girl. I'm not gonna get taken out that easily," you said while holding his face and lightly teasing.
"I know,” he paused to take a deep breath “I know you're a tough girl. It… felt so real and I just got really scared" he continued while looking deep into your eyes with the big stormy gray pools you fell in love with. Those big beautiful eyes you would fight a war for.
"I love you. I love you so much, and I can't stand the thought of losing you."
"I love you too aang, and I'm right here with you, not going anywhere," you concluded as you gently kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, and finally his lips.
Then you gently motioned for him to lay down, and he brought you down with him, resting your head against his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso as he nestled his face into your hair and wrapped his hand around your back, keeping you snug against him. He listened to you whisper sweet nothings until he fell asleep again, feeling safe and at ease in your warm embrace, and at that moment he knew he wasn't going to let anything take you from him.
He could live without the Air Nomads.
He could live with being the last Airbender.
He could live with knowing he had to carry his dying culture on his back.
