First time trying to draw Jason. Lacey Marie Rylander is an OC (just friends) that Iâm working on her own story as of now. I hope to do more DC stuff soon. Itâs been a hyper fixation of mine ever since I was little and Iâm just getting back in to it all.
cw: enemies to lovers, dark sebastian (I guess?), relic!Sebastian, smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected sex, maybe he has a breeding kink...I just don't know what to tag this it's angsty
a/n: or: Sebastian has probably gotten in over his head even though I don't specify what's going on with himđ¤
Sebastian Sallow is not as she remembered.
There's something...unkempt about him. Feral. Unhinged. Uncontrolled. She feels absolutely ridiculous thinking it, of course, could never confide in anyone about what she's noticed.
Everyone knows she hates Sebastian Sallow and shouldn't be noticing anything about him. But...when they sit next to each other in their NEWT Arithmancy class and are forced to spend time with each other, there are things she cannot help but see.
Because of proximity, of course.
As she glances over to him, all she can think of is how his hair is more tousled than usual, a strange, feverish flush spread across already ruddy-freckled cheeks, his normally pristine uniform wrinkled and the top buttons undone. She is used to hating him from afar; their previous years at Hogwarts have been spent glaring at each other across the Great Hall, fighting to be the first to answer questions in class, him purposely antagonizing her and going out of his way to make sure she's annoyed by his presence and...
Well.
In the short first month of their seventh year (arriving to Hogwarts without his sister), so far he has been avoiding her. Avoiding everyone, really. More reclusive, less of the magnetic and commanding presence that demands people pay attention to him. As much as she thought she would rejoice the day he stopped bothering her, it is rather disconcerting.
He looks over at her, catches her staring at him, and his glazed-over-glossy eyes flash in fury.
"What," he hisses, barely disguised hatred poisoning his deep voice, "are you looking at?"
She starts, the quill she's holding slips out of her fingers and clatters to the table, and ink splatters across the page of notes she was working on. "N-nothing," she mumbles, before clearing the mess away with a wave of her wand.
The rest of their time together is spent in silence, both determined to not look at the other.
She secretly observes Sebastian any time they share a class - it's impossible to see him between classes, as he's disappearing to MerlĂn-knows-where, but he's still yet to be fully absent.
Some days, he looks better than others, almost like the mischievous Sebastian who used to torment her. A small smile might even grace his full lips.
But most days, there's an unhealthy pallor to his flushed skin, his shoulders holding an ungodly amount of tension; last week in Charms he snapped five quills in half, one for every squeak of Professor Ronan's chalk on the blackboard. She was sitting right behind him, unsure if anyone else noticed, but how could she miss it? The tension in his broad shoulders seemed to radiate off of him in waves, the skin she could see of his neck between his collar and his tousled hair was flushed and sweaty, and as soon as class was dismissed he was pushing his chair back and striding out with long legs, black robes billowing behind him.
This has been repeated more and more often as of late.
Where is Anne? -
"What do you think of Sebastian this year?" She's trying to act like she doesn't care about the answer, pushing food around her plate, resting her chin in her hand, but the truth is she's dying to have someone else acknowledge what she's been seeing.
"He's grumpier than usual," says Leander helpfully.
"He almost singed my eyebrows off in Charms," pipes up Garreth.
Cressida is too overcome by giggles to speak properly at first. "I've been trying to count the freckles on his forearms every chance I get," she confesses, "but every time I reach forty he turns around and I'm worried he'll kill me. Why? Are you upset he's finally moved on from his infatuation with you?"
None of them seem to be worried about him like she is. At Cressida's last question, she flushes and glances across the Great Hall and her eyes find his immediately. It's almost as if he's heard their conversation; his eyes are two black pits glowering into her own and she's worried that if she keeps staring she might fall in. Gaunt is sitting next to him, murmuring who knows what in his ear. The contrast between the two of them: one blond and elegant and deathly pale, the other flushed and disheveled and full of rage: is eerie.
She shivers and looks away.
As the days progress, Gaunt seems more and more upset with his friend. She catches the two of them having heated discussions under their breath on more than one occasion; the tip of Gaunt's wand flaring like his nostrils as they quarrel.
Normally, the two of them walk the halls of Hogwarts together like they own the place. The fact that they are almost never seen together anymore is preoccupying, to say the least.
She soon abandons any pretense of being nonchalant, of secretly watching, and finds herself looking forward (if it can be called that) to every class shared with Sebastian Sallow. His presence is intoxicating somehow - she couldn't look away from him even if she'd wanted to, and she is simply too curious to see how far he will fall.
Is he going to be normal today? she wonders as she sets up her station in Potions. Almost hoping to the contrary, but he doesn't show up.
She's...disappointed.
Or maybe she's just bored. Watching Sebastian has started to consume her, his strange behavior the only thing that seems to interest her these days.
When he barges into the Potions classroom five minutes late - not enough for Sharp to chastise him - their eyes immediately meet and he beelines for her station, unceremoniously dumping his bag at the empty spot next to her. Although they don't speak for the entirety of the class, she shows him the recipe she is working on and he pulls the cutting board towards him, surprisingly gentle with the knife as he starts chopping up the ingredients.
Soon, his robe is shed off. The classroom feels muggy and stifling and even she feels dazed from the heat and fumes of the combined cauldrons. He silently slides the cutting board to her, everything cut perfectly; she glances at him before nodding slightly and adding everything in with precision. Sebastian takes over the stirring as she adds the ingredients one by one, but soon he's pulling at his tie and collar to loosen then as he stands over the flames, rolling up his shirtsleeves and exposing his tan, freckled forearms. For one mortifying second she wonders if he's going to take off his vest too.
He's so different from the exasperating boy she thought he was. Before, he was mischievous and charming and annoying and always getting into trouble with his sister. But now...now, he's angry in a way she isn't used to: his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turn white, his dark brow always furrowed in displeasure.
She finds she wants to smooth it away with the pad of her thumb.
At the end of the class, they get a rare 'well done' from their professor, and then before she can blink Sebastian is striding out of the class just as quickly as he has been for the past month. She hurries to shove everything into her bag and stumbles out after him, almost sprinting to catch up as he's already at the end of the hall.
"W-wait," she gasps, reaching out a hand that grazes his sleeve. He slows down a bit but keeps walking, not acknowledging her presence otherwise. "Sebastian."
He stops at the sound of his name, the fury in his glare makes her pause - maybe she shouldn't be addressing him like this, but they were friends before, weren't they? And now he continues walking, much slower this time, but still with purpose.
She takes this as an invitation.
She doesn't let go of her grip on his robes, not wanting him to disappear on her again.
The truth is, although everyone knows she hates Sebastian Sallow, she always kind of liked the attention he gave her. Out of all of the girls he could have pursued - almost any of them - she was the only one he ever paid attention to. As much as she was exasperated by him in previous years, there had been a few moments last year when...
She shakes her head to get rid of the thoughts. Clearly, that Sebastian lives in the past, and the one she is following now is someone else entirely.
Sebastian pulls her into an empty classroom and whirls around to look at her after the door slams shut, his cheeks colored and more ruddy than usual, and her heart is pounding as she stares up at him. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to follow him, and she curses herself for her damn curiosity. But...she can't deny that a thrill runs through her body, heat pooling in her stomach as she sees him glower at her. Maybe she's missed having Sebastian's undivided attention, and now she has it.
"I-" he starts, taking a deep, shaking breath as he looks down at her. He closes his mouth, runs long fingers through his hair, disheveling it more (she quite likes it, but -), paces around the room. She just stands there, watching him, clutching the strap of the bag that's pressed across her chest. "I know you're watching me."
"I," he says again, looking down at her, his warm breath fanning across her face, "cant get you out of my damn mind. You're always there, and it's..."
She feels his words tremble down her face, slide down her neck; she shivers. In fear? In anticipation? Heat pools deep in her stomach at their intense eye contact, at the fact his mouth is mere inches from hers, the fact that he's looking at her like that.
"Y-you don't hate me?" she whispers, moving the tiniest bit forward. Her lips brush his lower lip as she speaks, a thrill runs through her body at the contact. Sebastian is stock still.
"No," he responds. This time he is the one who moves the tiniest bit forward, his head inclined the tiniest bit more towards hers. Now, with every breath she takes, every inhale, their lips are touching.
She doesn't know who moves first: between their shallow-soft breaths mixing and mingling and the general haziness of her mind that still lingers after their Potions class: all she knows is that somehow, their mouths have crashed together and all reasonable thought has left her mind.
As Sebastian's lips move hungrily - desperately - against hers, her fingers clutching the collar of his robes so she doesn't lose her balance, one of his hands grips her by the hips to keep her pressed against him. His other hand comes up to her face: caressing her cheek: bringing his thumb to her jaw to feel her pulse as they kiss: slowly moving to tangle itself in the soft hair at the nape of her neck so she can't pull away.
She feels as if she should feel embarrassed at all of the small noises escaping her mouth, but she can't help it. His lips are soft against hers, a contrast to the hard body pressing against her, the sharp angles of the desk she's being pushed against. And besides, Sebastian's making just as much noise as she is. The sinful noises coming from him are making an unfamiliar heat spread through her body, making her feel as desperate as he is acting.
But...- as she's moving to undo his tie, her mouth wandering down to kiss his pulse point as she uncovers it - noises that somehow slip through the hazy bubble of just her and Sebastian make her pause in fear. A burst of happily chattering students walks past the classroom and makes her wonder what the bloody hell she's doing.
They could have been caught - and then what? She would find herself in a forced betrothal to this bizarre, dangerous version of the boy she once knew. Because, of course, propriety would have to be followed.
It's as if the scales have fallen from her eyes and she pulls away from Sebastian slightly, her chest heaving. She just lost control of herself for one second. His strange magnetism hoodwinked her into thinking - or lack thereof, she's not sure that any thinking was involved when she kissed him back - that she wanted this.
There's no other explanation.
She pushes him away slightly, scowling at his bemused expression. Merlin, he's insufferable. His lips are swollen, his freckled face flushed, and all she wants to do is grab his stupid face and keep kissing him.
She pushes his chest again, and this time he stumbles back a bit. Now that she's free, she bends down to grab her discarded school bag, her robes crumpled to the ground at her feet. As she shrugs them on, she glances at Sebastian over her shoulder.
The open expression on his face is already starting to close off, the scowl that she's now used to taking its place.
If she had thought Sebastian Sallow was strange before their -
She gives her head a small shake and rests her chin on the palm of her hand, trying her hardest to listen to Garreth speak about whatever it is he's telling her. It's impossible however, with Sebastian sitting across the Great Hall from her.
There might be a couple hundred students sitting between them, chattering about inconsequential and trivial matters, but it's as if none of them exist. She knows how many times he's taken a bite of his lamb, how many time's he's turned to whisper something to Ominis before realizing that his friend is not by his side. It's a stormy night, and every so often an occasional bolt of lightning cuts the Great Hall in half, illuminating the whole room in an eerie light - almost making everything look black and white for a split second before thunder rumbles in the distance. And, she swears that every time the room is lit up, Sebastian is glowering straight into her eyes.
For as much as she is trying to pretend that he does not exist (and failing miserably), Sebastian is not hiding the fact that he is watching her. She can feel his eyes boring into her back as she walks down the halls between classes, and she feels uncomfortably seen in a way she is not used to.
She can't get rid of the feeling of being watched, not even when she knows she's alone in her dormitory. Sebastian and his all-consuming presence are haunting her mind, and she often finds herself waking drenched in sweat in the middle of the night, needing him in ways she isn't used to. In ways she decidedly doesn't want.
After her meal's finished, she scurries out of the Great Hall as fast as she can, like she has been for the past week since their wretched kiss. Another bolt of lightning shoots across the ceiling; everything is painted with that eerie silver light again for a brief moment and thunder is beginning to rumble through the air as the huge wooden door closes behind her.
She's not quite sure where she wants to go, and she makes a mental inventory of the castle. Her common room is boring - nobody of interest will be there and is she really just going to sit around by herself pretending to be occupied? The library is off-limits, due to Sebastian's propensity to show up in her periphery when she's trying to study, it's too early to sleep and she's scared of what might happen if she's alone in her bed, the...
She huffs as she marches aimlessly through the hallways. Maybe the occasional ghost crosses her path, but otherwise it's empty. Every suit of armor she walks past, every empty classroom, every portrait, reminds her of moments when she was spying on strange-not-the-same Sebastian this year. She hates him. Why couldn't this year be a continuation of the previous years, with their harmless flirtation? Things feel different this year, more dangerous, and...
Somehow, she ends up in the Transfiguration Courtyard, and she decides to march through it, rain be damned.
She's soaked to the bone by the time she reaches the old oak tree in the middle of the courtyard; the storm seems to have somehow picked up, but she finds she doesn't mind it. In fact, she might like it. In her own over-active imagination, she feels as if the rain is helping numb her over-sensitive emotions, the raw feeling she's been harboring in her chest all week isn't as awful as it has been all week.
She breathes a sigh of relief and lifts her face to the sky as the rain pours down against it; when she feels the brush of someone's robes against her arm as they sit by her side she isn't surprised.
It's inevitable, after all.
"Sebastian," she says, so quietly she isn't sure he can hear her over the noise of the storm, "why are you following me?"
If he says anything in response, she certainly doesn't hear it. But what she doesn't hear is made up for by his touch. A hand slides up her arm, clumsily - her eyes are still closed, face still upturned to the pouring heavens - and when it makes its way up to her jaw, tilting her head slightly, she lets him. When his lips brush against hers, she allows it.
(maybe she's been hoping for this very thing)
The kiss isn't sweet for long: maybe it's the cold rain, maybe it's the thunder rumbling in the background, maybe it's the quickly darkening night: but their kiss grows desperate faster than she can fully realize what's happening. Sebastian groans into her mouth, his lips hot and demanding against hers, and when his tongue swipes across her lips she lets him in without thinking.
It's impossible for any thoughts to be in her brain whatsoever, apart from the overwhelming lust that's currently heating up her body and causing her to be greedy and want more. Maybe, if she were in a proper state of mind, she would be embarrassed at how quickly his touch has unlocked something feral inside of her. Sebastian's hands are running down her back, sliding to her waist, pulling her closer to him. One hand comes up to brush against the underside of her breast and her gasp seems to spur him on.
She finds her hands moving of their own accord to caress his face, her fingers glide down his cheeks and up his neck to run themselves through his soaking wet curls - Merlin, what's gotten into them, into her? Snogging in the middle of a thunderstorm that only seems to be picking up.
She pulls away slightly, breathing hard as she finally peels her eyes open. Sebastian's eyes are dark, his brow furrowed as if to ask her why she's stopped; she just gives him a small smile, leaning forward to brush her lips against his before lacing her fingers through his and dragging him to the covered area of the courtyard overlooking the Lake.
She can see a question forming on his lips, but before he can say anything, she reaches forward and grabs him by his collar, pulling his face down to hers and he's eager to reciprocate. She's worried that maybe, if words are spoken between them, it could break the tenuous connection the two of them seem to have. Because they are connected somehow, aren't they? Something is compelling and pushing them together, time and time again, and she is simply curious to see where it's headed.
As his hands drag down her back, holding her tight at the waist, pulling her closer, she's reminded of the fact that they're soaking wet. She fumbles with her wand, whispers a hasty drying spell, and then it clatters out of her hand as Sebastian roughly pushes her towards the wall. She's moaning, gasping, yearning into his mouth as the kiss deepens, as she's pressed between the cold wall and his too-warm body, and she vaguely wonders if he can hear her, if he can taste her desperation for him in their kiss.
She's not quite sure what she wants, the sweet kisses she's shared with Garreth she now realizes were chaste in comparison to Sebastian's overpowering, addicting presence. He practically growls as he pulls his lips away from hers, but before she can whimper in protest, his lips have moved to her jawline, her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses and it's all she can do to stay upright. Her head falls back against the cold stone wall, her hands scrabbling in his hair to hold him closer, try to find some purchase so she can stay upright.
Her knees go weak as Sebastian slowly moves a hand up her thigh, dragging her skirt along with it. The feeling of his fingers ghosting over her woolen stockings - her whole body is so sensitive that she may as well be wearing nothing - is causing an unfamiliar heat to pool low within her stomach and, oh, Merlin, he's reached the top of her stockings where her skin is bare. She doesn't recognize her voice as she moans, Sebastian moving his mouth back to hers to devour every noise she makes and - yes, she thinks, there: his hand grazes the edge of her knickers. He lets his fingers brush over her folds - barely-there touches that she's not even sure are happening outside of her imagination - and she is insensible. Nobody has ever touched her there apart from herself, lately, thinking of Sebastian - and she feels herself get wet at the mere thought of Sebastian touching her.
When he pushes her knickers to the side and starts slowly circling her clit with his thumb, all she can do is moan. His other hand is helping keep her in place, and she soon finds herself rocking against his hand. When he slips a finger inside of her, far from being uncomfortable, it causes a jolt of pleasure deep inside of her and she gasps against his mouth. She's unsure if she should feel embarrassed at how wet she is, but she's past the point of caring how she comes across.
"So good," Sebastian murmurs against her lips as he inserts another finger without warning, and she just moans in response, bucking her hips against his hand. He's curling his fingers inside of her, still rubbing her clit with his thumb, and he can But, as she feels pressure building deep within her, he slowly pulls his fingers out of her. She opens dazed eyes to glare at him, fully prepared to chastise him as how dare he stop? When -
Sebastian grabs her by the arse and lifts her up, and she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist, her skirt still bunched up, still completely bare to anyone who were to walk past. He slides his arms underneath her knees, bracing his arms on either side of her, and she feels something decidedly different than his fingers pressing against her soaking wet entrance.
A bolt of lightning and its resounding thunder fill the air as she whimpers against his mouth while he slowly pushes himself inside of her - there's no resistance - how could there be, when she's as wet as she is? He stops once he's fully inside of her, pulling away from her mouth to take a deep, steadying breath. His lips move clumsily across her face - her eyelid, her nose, her cheek - as he gives her time to adjust to the feeling of him inside of her - Merlin - how does it feel so good?
Soon, however, Sebastian decides that patience is not a virtue, and he drives into her, hard, over and over again, and they fall into a rhythm of sorts. The obscene wet noises, his grunts, are overpowered by the storm around them, and she's unsure if he hears her moaning his name as she feels herself getting close. The heat inside of her, building up in her, is unbearable: "Please, Sebastian - don't stop - please -"
He doesn't slow down his pace, hiding his face in her neck, desperately kissing her wherever he can, and she could almost cry in relief as her orgasm crashes over her; she shudders against his mouth, moaning so loudly it's nearly a scream. Her every muscle tenses, contracts, her body is squeezing and trying to hold Sebastian inside of her for as long as it can, and yet he doesn't slow his pace at all. It's unbearable - she's so, so sensitive, and yet he doesn't stop.
But then - his whole body tenses against her and he pushes himself as deep inside of her as he can. He gives out a low groan, pulling away from her slightly to look her in the face as he comes. It's an expression she has become accustomed to this year, uncontrolled, dangerous, and as the two of them are breathing hard, staring into each others' faces, realizing what they've just done, he moves slightly. He's still deep inside of her, she can feel every twitch he makes, but...when he moves...
Something metallic clatters out of his robes.
Lightning strikes, and, through half-lidded eyes, she sees a strange object fall to the ground.
"Sebastian, what -"
He hushes her with a dizzying, toe-curling kiss as he slips out of her.
a lot of jewish tradition is just good life advice tbh. like praying daily or multiple times a day is a genuinely good way of remembering to stop and think for a little bit on a regular basis. going to shul regularly means you're getting out of the house and seeing people. keeping kosher in some way means, at the very least, you're being mindful of what and how you eat, not to mention that in a time before modern food safety, properly prepared kosher food would prevent cross-contamination and thus limit the spread of disease. shabbat is the foundation of the modern concept of the weekend, culturally instituting regular rest. there's a very balanced and regular rhythm to an observant jewish life that our ancestors took great pains to pass down to us so that when we, their descendants, are faced with times when we don't know what to do, we could turn to them. the entirety of jewish history rests on parents teaching children how to live and i am never more grateful for that than when i have absolutely no idea how to live.
our national parks sure are magical! here's my series illustrated from memory :) ~
15% of the profit from this series goes to the National Parks Conservation Association
which park should i make one for next??
ALL THIS TIME I'M THINKINGâWE COULD NEVER BE A PAIR
â âš JASON TODD
wc 1.1k | based on this thought i had, situationship!jason...kinda, lowercase intended, female coded!reader, cursing, miscommunication trope (shock and horror), and reader being in her head abt her love life đ§ŕžŕ˝˛
you donât know how long itâs been going onâthis thing with JASON TODD.
you could count it beginning from the first time he kissed you, sure. could say it started the second he got you into his bed and fucked you like you were the only real truth in the world. or maybe the night he showed up with a busted elbow and collapsed into your bed without a word. you could make a moment out of how he left his toothbrush at your apartmentâright beside your own. you could let yourself care about the top drawer he quietly claimed within your dresser.
you could trick yourself into platitude by the fact that youâve memorized his gait, his moods, the way his voice drops when heâs tired or trying to say something he canât quite let out.
but you still donât know when this started. or what it is.
and the worst part? youâre not even sure if heâd care if it stopped.
thatâs what eats at youâwhat gnaws at your mental stability.
because he doesnât say things. not out loud. not the important things.
he touches you like youâre his, but he doesn't call you that. not really.
youâve had your hands rubbing circles in his back while he shook in his sleep. youâve sat in the bathroom at four in the morning while he bled into a towel, refusing to go to the hospital. youâve kissed him slow, and hard, and desperate. heâs kissed you back like he meant it, like he needed it every time.
but none of it means anything without wordsâand he doesnât give you those.
so you spiral. quietly.
the doubt and miscommunication builds in the spaces between things. the things left unsaid and unnamed.
like when he leaves without saying when heâll be back. when he texts you something funny (sardonic, always) but doesnât respond for hours after. when heâs quiet in the way only he can beâshut down, unreadable, impossible to reach unless you donât make it a big deal, even when it is.
you try not to take it personally. you remind yourself of the things he does do.
he fixes shit around your apartment. never asksâjust notices and handles it.
he shows up with food when your texts are dry and clipped. helps clean and reset your space when your eyes are a little too tired and heavy.
he sleeps next to you every night he can.
butâwhen your friends ask what you are to each other, you have nothing to give them.
you shrug. say, âitâs complicated.â change the subject. and every time you say it out loud, it carves a deeper hollow inside you.
because it shouldnât be. there shouldnât be complication.
not when you feel it this deep. this often. not after truly getting to see him.
the final crack comes quietly.
youâre at his place. half-asleep. a shitty jason pick of a movie droning in the background. youâre tucked under his arm, cheek pressed to his chest, the steady thump of his heart loud in your ear.
you feel warm. safe even.
he smells like gunpowder and sandalwood soap. thereâs motor oil crammed deep into his nail beds. a new cut along his forearm. heâs just back from patrolâshoulders tense, a few fresh bruisesâbut calmer now. loosened by your weight, your voice, your presence. thatâs how it always is with you. he softens without realizing.
your eyes are heavy. youâre fading fast, you always do with him.
and then, out of nowhere, jason speaks, âyou should leave a few more things here.â
you blink, âhuh?â
he shrugs, huffs a bit, âdrawerâs already yours. just makes sense. clothes, hair shit. whatever. iâve made room.â
you lift your head. search his face.
heâs not looking at you, his eyes are still on the tv. heâs saying it like itâs nothing.
like it doesnât mean everything.
you nod slowly, â...okay.â
and then, because you canât help it, you pushâjust this one time.
âso, what is this to you?â and god help you, your voice sounds too faint. too unsure.
jason finally looks down at you.
his thick brows furrow, expression muddled, âwhat do you mean?â
âthis.â you gesture between you. your body in his arms. his apartment, âus.â
jason doesnât answer immediately. his jaw flexes. he sits up slightly, the arm around you sliding off, like he needs immediate space to think.
and right thereâyou feel your stomach sink.
you think, heâs gonna dodge it.
of course he is. this was a mistake. you shouldnât have asked.
but then he exhales. long. slow.
âyouâre mine.â he says simply.
like heâs telling you the weather.
you blink again, âexcuse me?â
âyouâre my girl,â he repeats, murky cerulean eyes on you now. firm. clear. âthatâs what this is.â
you stare at him, âyouâve never said that.â
âi didnât think i had to.â he gestures, a bit boyish.
his tone isnât defensive. justâŚconfused. frank.
âyou never called me your girlfriend. never saidââ
âyou didnât know?â he asks, voice low. âafter all this time? after the way i treat you? what the fuck did you think this was?â
you open your mouth. âi didnât know. you neverâjay, you never say anything.â
âi put batteries in your goddamn smoke detector when i know youâll forget. i check your tire pressure. i keep a med kit under your sink. i carry a picture of you in my helmet. you think i do that for just anyone?â
the silence that falls between you is almost pungent. still and heavy.
âevery time iâve said something like thatâsomething too realâŚiâve lost the person right after,â he says, not looking at you. âso noâi didnât want to say it. i was just sure of it, and i thought you were too.â
âi wasâwait, youâre sure?â you whisper.
jason nods, âiâve been sure.â
you let out a shaky breath. your throat is tight, âi thought i was in some weird fling. like you didnât want to say it, so i couldnât say it either. i thought maybeâŚmaybe i was just you biding time.â
jasonâs expression breaksâjust barely.
âyouâre not a some placeholder,â he says. âyouâre the reason i bother staying alive most days.â
and thatâs it. thatâs all you need to hear.
not because itâs romantic.
because itâs him.
because jason todd doesnât hand out words like that. doesnât even think to say them unless theyâre real. unless theyâre serious.Â
unless heâs already built a life around you in his head and just forgot to mention it.
you swallow. nod. âokay.â
âokay?â
you slide into his arms again. this time, you hold him like heâs the one about to disappear.
âokay, jason,â you murmur. âbut next time, maybe use your words.â
jason huffs a breath thatâs barely a laugh, âyeah. workinâ on that.â
he kisses your temple, fingers tightening on your hip.
and for the first time in a long time, you let your mind stop spinning.
a/n: finally posting this and idk it was too good of a trope to waste on a drabble/thought so hereâfull (tiny) fic !! lmk your thoughts and if you liked it, as always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and encouraged !!
I saw a post saying something like; Jason doing a whole magical girl transformation just to use a totally normal gun. Love the idea, hasn't left my mind since đâ
Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader (Friends to Lovers)
Words - 2.6k
Warnings - Fluff - Angst - Forehead Kisses - Platonic Affection - Jason Cries - Comfort - Domestic!Jason - Reader plays with Jasonâs hair - Swearing.
Notes - Iâm trapped in a glass case of emotion. This is going to be a series because I have so many different scenes planned out for the Friends to Lovers trope. Plus I wanted to try and write something that would challenge me a little, personally, I donât think fluff is my strong point. Hope you enjoy!! đ
PART TWO //Â MASTERLIST
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âThereâs something in your throat that wants to get out and you wonât let it.â
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You swear itâs not a big deal.
Thereâs a lump lodging itself in the back of your throat and you find that no matter how hard you try, you canât quite swallow it down. Fingers shaking like youâre holding onto something heavy, something so scorching hot that youâre convinced itâs going to burn a hole straight through the palm of your hand.
Part of you wants to drop it, nudge it under the sofa and forget about it, pretend it isnât thereâalmost like kicking a rouge ice cube under the fridge in the kitchen. But you canât forget it, canât swallow the lump from your throat or clip a leash around that endless softness stirring in the pit of your stomach.
Itâs not a big deal.
Youâve been close friends for a while now, you know in the back of your head that this is the next logical step forwards.
But god fucking help you, it feels like youâre offering up your soul on a plate.
I need people to understand that Charlie Kirkâs death is not a good thing.
If anythingâ just realize that Trump is going to use this as an excuse to crack down on & harm people on the left. There is more violence coming. We do not know the effect this assassination event will have, how it inevitably shapes the future. Nothing good will come from Charlie Kirkâs death; Once that trigger was pulled, the spiral started. Weâre already so divided, and this is splitting us even more. Civil war is looking like a very real possibility. This is how fascism happens. Weâre in the descent.
Stop praising violence. Stop celebrating Charlie Kirkâs assassination. We need dialogue and empathy irregardless of how we were harmed. Death by gun violence shouldnât be a thing, period.
Donât you get it? Do you understand yet?
If Charlieâs rights were taken from him and you encourage that â it very well can and will be your rights next.
The floodgates to excusing violence towards somebody whose political views you oppose â have been fucking opened. This is another sad day for America.
Hereâs my more informative post. Please skim it.
some of us are familiar with the euphemism treadmill in disability. it's where every polite or new word we disabled people use for ourselves in reaction to the previous terminology becoming slurs, themselves become slurs or pejorative based on the association with disability itself, which is used as an insult.
jumping off this i wanna talk about something that i call the severity treadmill. this is where, words that would typically describe some aspect or experience of disability or mental health are overused and are rendered meaningless. when they're used by ableds casually this is the treadmill event horizon where nobody takes them seriously anymore. examples include: gaslighting, trauma response, triggered, delusional. what people do to combat this is to borrow more severe or serious language that is used for disabled people typically with more disabling symptoms than them, in order to be taken seriously. think "adhd paralysis".
unfortunately this starts to water down those terms, which were already being used by disabled people for whom they were an accurate description! and eventually when it becomes popular enough with people with low support needs and massive social media presence, they are once again rendered meaningless. people are actively doing this with different terms right now such as autistic regression and medium support needs.
another side effect is that someone with, say, medium support needs might go into a support group looking for people like them and finding people with significantly fewer issues. and then face ableism from those people, who either didn't know or didn't care that the terms they use actually described a real group of disabled people. so if someone says something you describe isn't autistic regression, it's burnout, they're trying to keep the terms accurate and useful. not to dismiss the notion that you could be struggling.
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