-> You’re Bruce Wayne’s biological child, and nothing else. That’s the role you’ve know ever since you came under his care, apart of the frame, not the picture. Living under his roof, eating his food, and sharing his DNA, the only people to really care about you being Alfred, and your two friends. Yet for some reason when you step out of line it’s an issue, even though they never drew one to begin with.
-> platonic!batfam x neglected!nonchalant!reader ⋆ gender neutral ⋆ not proofread ⋆ non-canon compliant ⋆ ages are changed to match the storyline ⋆ name may potentially change ⋆ ongoing
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(chapters, playlist & taglist below the cut)
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C H A P T E R S
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prologue: “it’s not about me, it’s you.”
chapter 1: “who even are you?”
chapter 2: “you lost the right to say anything about me.”
chapter 3: “maybe I’d change my mind.”
chapter 4: “can you still say you have that right?”
chapter 5: “enough of you.”
chapter 6: [unavailable]
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D I S C O G R A P H Y
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♫ PLAYLIST BELOW:
＊ DNA guarantee - Kodi Rhianne
＊ Restless - Untitled
＊ Dog - Daisy The Great
＊ My body is made of crush little stars - Mitski
＊ It’s cold out here - Modern Baseball
＊ To Regret - Mother Mother
＊ Body and Mind - Girl In Red
＊ Miracle - Paramore
＊ Missing Hell - Sushi Soucy
＊ Home - Leith Ross
＊ double edged sword - Hailey Picardi
＊ try again tomorrow - liana flores
＊ Nobody Loves Me - mxmtoons, Cavetown & Ricky Montgomery
summary 𓂃 the one where Jason breaks a pen, walks home in the snow, and almost says the thing he's been biting back for fifteen years.
cast 𓂃 Jason Todd and posh dickhead Oliver (irrelevant side character)
tags 𓂃 childhood best friend!jason todd x fem!reader , university au , canon compliant , jealous!jason todd , study group , gotham city , grumpy!jason x sunshine!reader , pre relationship , mutual pining , Jason’s pov , idiots in love , unspoken feelings.
wc 𓂃 2.1k.
— oneshot request ! part two of this series.
Snow.
It's fucking snowing, and Jason Todd is already in a bad mood.
Not because of the snow—Gotham in December is basically a slushy, gray, miserable hellscape regardless of precipitation—but because of him.
That posh dickhead Oliver.
Even the name sounds like wet cardboard. Like someone tried to invent a pretentious trust fund baby in a lab and accidentally created the most punchable face on the Eastern Seaboard.
Jason adjusts his grip on his pen, the cheap plastic creaking under his thumb. The seminar room's fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in that sickly institutional pallor that makes even the most beautiful people look vaguely jaundiced. But somehow, somehow, Oliver still looks like he just stepped out of a J.Crew catalog.
Dark academia aesthetic, Jason thinks derisively, watching Oliver gesture expansively with both hands while explaining something about Keats's odes. The guy probably owns a tweed jacket with elbow patches. Probably drinks Earl Grey from an actual teapot. Probably has a father who plays tennis and a mother who calls brunch "luncheon."
Jason's own fingers are stained with ink and old calluses. His leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, revealing the faded henley underneath — something he'd bought secondhand three years ago and hadn't bothered replacing. His combat boots have salt stains climbing up the sides from last week's patrol in the Bowery.
He looks like he walked into the wrong building.
And Oliver keeps. Touching. You.
It's subtle. A hand on your shoulder when you laugh at something. Fingertips brushing your wrist when you reach for the same annotated anthology. Leaning in closer than necessary to point at a line of poetry, his breath warm against your temple.
Jason's jaw aches. He's clenching it so hard his molars might crack.
"Shelley's 'Ode to the West Wind' is obviously about revolution," you're saying now, your voice bright and familiar and so goddamn warm that Jason wants to wrap it around himself like a blanket. "It's not just about autumn — it's about death and rebirth. About tearing everything down so something better can grow."
You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and Jason watches the motion like it's sacred. He's watched you do that a thousand times. A million. Since you were both nine years old and you sat next to him in Mrs. Albright's fourth-grade classroom, your ponytail askew and a pencil tucked behind your ear, asking him if he wanted to share your crayons because his were all broken.
"Your crayons are sad," you'd said, already pushing half the box toward him. "These are the good ones. The ones that don't have paper. They feel nicer."
He'd stared at you like you were insane. No one shared with the kid from the bad part of town. No one offered him anything without wanting something back.
But you just smiled at him — that ridiculous, sunshine smile — and went back to coloring your tree purple because "green is boring, Jay, don't you want to live in a world where trees can be purple?"
Jay. That was the first time anyone had ever called him that.
He'd colored his tree orange that day. Just to be contrary.
You'd laughed.
He'd felt something crack open in his chest that he didn't have a name for yet.
"Interesting interpretation," Oliver says now, and his voice is smooth. Educated. The kind of voice that's never had to shout to be heard over gunfire or police sirens. "But I think Shelley's more concerned with the personal than the political. The west wind as a metaphor for creative inspiration, not violent upheaval."
He looks at you when he says it. Like he's inviting you into a secret.
Jason's pen snaps.
The sound is sharp in the quiet seminar room. Heads turn. Professor Chen glances up from her notes, eyebrows raised.
"Everything alright, Mr. Todd?"
"Fine," Jason grits out, and he pulls another pen from his jacket pocket. This one's metal. Harder to break. "Pen was cheap."
You're looking at him now. You've got that expression on your face — the one you always get when you're worried about him but don't want to make a thing of it. Your forehead creases slightly. Your lips part.
He looks away before you can ask.
Don't. Don't ask. Don't make me say it out loud.
Oliver is still talking. Something about Keats's "l on a Grecian Urn" now. "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" — that is all you know on earth, and all you need to know. Oliver thinks it's about transcendence. Jason thinks it's about how beauty and truth are both violent, both painful, both things you can't hold onto no matter how hard you try.
He thinks about the urn. Frozen. Perfect. Preserved forever in a moment that never actually happened.
He thinks about how he came back wrong. How his hands don't feel like his hands anymore. How sometimes he looks in the mirror and sees a ghost wearing Jason Todd's face.
You've never treated him like a ghost.
You were there when his mom — Catherine, not Sheila, never Sheila — got sick. You used to sneak him food from your own kitchen because you knew the Todds didn't always have enough. You sat with him in the hospital waiting room when he was ten and terrified and trying not to cry.
You were there when Willis went to prison. When the social workers came. When Catherine died.
You were the one who found him in the cemetery afterward, sitting on the wet grass in the rain, and you didn't say anything. You just sat down next to him and put your head on his shoulder.
"I'm cold," you'd whispered.
"So go home," he'd said, his voice wrecked.
"Not without you."
You were there when Bruce took him in. You met Batman when you were twelve years old and you didn't even flinch. You just looked Bruce Wayne in the eye and said, "You take care of him. Or I'll find you."
Bruce had been impressed. Jason had been embarrassed.
He'd also been — something. Something warm and terrifying and too big for his chest.
The study group ends eventually. Forty-five minutes of Shelley and Keats and Byron, forty-five minutes of Oliver finding excuses to touch you, forty-five minutes of Jason fantasizing about putting his fist through a wall.
Or Oliver's face. Oliver's face works too.
You pack up your things slowly. Jason shoves his notebook into his bag with more force than necessary, the spiral binding catching on a loose thread.
"Same time next week?" Oliver asks, and he's looking at you. Only at you. Like none of the other students are there. Like he isn't even there.
"Sounds good," you say, and your voice is casual. Friendly. Oblivious.
Jason wants to shake you.
He's flirting with you. He's been flirting with you for three weeks. How do you not see it? How do you not—
"Great." Oliver smiles. It's a nice smile. Perfect teeth. Probably had braces. Probably never been punched in the mouth in his entire privileged life.
Jason shoulders his bag and starts walking. He doesn't wait for you.
He knows you'll follow anyway. You always do.
The snow is coming down harder now, fat white flakes dissolving against the asphalt. The campus paths are empty — everyone else has gone inside, or gone home, or gone somewhere that isn't here.
Jason walks fast. Too fast. His boots crunch against the frozen ground, and his breath clouds in front of him, and his thoughts are a hurricane of everything he can't say.
I've known you since we were nine.
I watched you cry at my mother's funeral.
I died, and I came back, and you were the first person I wanted to see.
You're the only person who makes me feel like I'm still human.
And I can't—
"Jason!"
Your voice cuts through the snow. He hears your footsteps hurrying to catch up, the familiar rhythm of your stride. He doesn't slow down.
"Jason, wait up! What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit."
He grits his teeth. You always call him on his bullshit. You always have.
You fall into step beside him, slightly out of breath. Your coat is unzipped — you always forget to zip it — and your scarf is trailing behind you like a banner. Your cheeks are pink from the cold, and there's snow in your hair, and you look so alive that it makes something in his chest ache.
"Is it patrol? Did Bruce say something? Was it—"
"It's nothing," he says again, and his voice comes out harsher than he meant. "Drop it."
You don't drop it. When do you ever?
Your hand catches his elbow, and he stops walking because he can't not stop. Not when you're touching him. Not when your fingers are curled around his arm like you're anchoring him.
"Jay. Come on. Talk to me."
Jay. No one else calls him that. No one else is allowed.
He stares at the snow on the ground. At the footprints they've left behind. At the way your shadow overlaps with his on the white pavement.
"Do you like him?" The words come out before he can stop them. Low. Rough. Almost angry.
You blink. "Who?"
He won't repeat it. He can't. Saying it once was bad enough.
"Forget it." He pulls his arm away from your grip — gently, as gently as he can manage when everything inside him is screaming — and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.
The rest of the walk is silent.
He ends up at your apartment because you live closer, and because Jason can't bring himself to go home to his own cold, empty space. Your apartment is small and cluttered and warm, full of mismatched furniture and stacks of books and fairy lights that you never turn off because "they make everything feel softer, Jason, don't you think?"
He thinks they make everything feel like a lie.
But he doesn't say that. He just sits on your couch and watches you put on a kettle, and he tries very hard not to think about Oliver's hand on your shoulder.
You make tea — chamomile, because you always make chamomile when he's upset — and you sit down next to him, close enough that your knees almost touch.
"Okay," you say softly. "Start talking."
"Nothing to talk about."
"Jason Peter Todd."
He flinches. You only use the middle name when you're serious.
"I'm not going to let you sit there and pretend everything's fine when you broke a pen with your bare hand in the middle of a seminar," you continue. "That was terrifying. And also kind of hot. But mostly terrifying."
He snorts — and sighs — despite himself. "You're impossible."
"You've known me for fifteen years. You should be used to it by now."
Fifteen years. God.
Fifteen years of you. Fifteen years of sunshine and stubbornness and never, ever letting him push you away.
Because god knows he’s tried… and failed. Terribly. You’re like a living, walking, breathing boomerang.
He looks at you now — really looks — and you're watching him with those eyes that see too much. That have always seen too much. You know about his parents. About the streets. About Robin and the Joker and the crowbar and the grave.
You know about the pit. About the rage. About the things he's done since he came back, the blood on his hands, the monsters he's become.
And you're still here.
You're still here.
"He likes you," Jason says finally. The words scrape against his throat like broken glass.
"Who?"
"Oliver."
You tilt your head. "Oliver's just being friendly."
"He's not." Jason's jaw tightens. "He's not just being friendly. He touches you. He—" He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. "Forget it. I'm being an idiot."
"You're not an idiot."
"I'm acting like one."
You're quiet for a moment. The kettle clicks off, but neither of you moves to pour the tea.
"Jason," you say, and your voice is different now. Softer. "Why do you care if Oliver likes me?"
Because I love you.
Because I've loved you since fourth grade when you gave me your purple crayon.
Because I died and I came back and the only thing that made sense in the whole world was you.
Because I'm afraid one day you'll realize you deserve someone who isn't broken. Someone who isn't a monster. Someone like Oliver with his perfect teeth and his perfect life and his perfect hands that have never hurt anyone.
Because if you choose someone else, I don't know who I am anymore.
He doesn't say any of it.
He just looks at you, and you look at him, and the snow keeps falling outside the window, and the fairy lights glow soft and warm, and his heart is beating so loud he's sure you can hear it.
"Jason," you whisper again.
And he thinks — maybe.
Maybe this is the moment.
Maybe he could reach out. Touch your face. Kiss you. Finally, finally stop pretending he doesn't want to spend every night wrapped up in you, breathing you in, being someone better because you make him want to be better.
His hand moves before he can stop it.
His fingers brush against yours.
You inhale sharply.
And then—
"Aren't you going to pour the tea?" he asks, and he hates himself for it. Hates the way his walls snap back into place. Hates the way you blink, confused, and then slowly, slowly, pull your hand away.
"Right," you say, and your voice sounds strange. "Tea."
You stand up. Walk to the kitchen.
Jason watches you go and feels like he's just lost something he never had the courage to claim.
Later, after the tea is gone and the silence has stretched thin and he's standing at your door with his jacket zipped up to his chin, you stop him.
"Jason."
He turns.
You're standing in the doorway, haloed by the warm light from inside. Snowflakes catch in your hair. Your eyes are bright.
"Oliver doesn't matter," you say quietly.
He stares at you.
"I don't care about Oliver," you continue. "I've never cared about Oliver. I care about—" You stop yourself. Swallow. "Just. He doesn't matter."
"...Okay," Jason says, because he doesn't know what else to say.
You smile. It's not your sunshine smile. It's something softer. Something sadder. Something that looks like hope and fear and everything in between.
"Goodnight, Jason."
"Goodnight."
He walks home in the snow, and his hands are freezing, and his heart is pounding, and he thinks—
genesis /jĕn′ĭ-sĭs/
noun
1. The coming into being of something; the origin.
synonym: beginning.
jason todd x fem!reader ★ formula one au
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: after the retirement of formula one legend bruce wayne, mercedes takes a gamble and hires a notoriously competitive street racer, who clashes with red bull’s equally aggressive driver famed for his bright red racing helmet
ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴜꜱ: coming soon!
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: open (comment)
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: rivals to lovers, formula one au, mercedes driver!reader x red bull driver!jason todd, fluff, crack, slowish burn, suggestive, social media and irl, strong language, misogyny and discrimination, set in 2025 season/regulations
After you lose your powers while trying to take down a partnership between Lex Luthor and Penguin, Jason and you confront your deepest fear — being each other's second choice. When the rest of the batboys lock you in the Batcave, though, the confession becomes inevitable. (22k words)
Tags/ CW: smut, 18+ mdni, jason x fem!reader, porn with plot, hurt/ comfort, jealousy, unprotected p in v sex, brat taming, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulation, angst (not for long i promise), sex marathons, creampies, rough sex, kinda switch Jason, dirty talking, orgasm denial, prone bone, mating press (my beloveds <3), batfam being batfam, forced proximity yall, eventual fluff, ex wonder girl reader
“And I would like to remind all of you that dinner with Diana and the girls is in two days. I expect all of you to be there and on your best behavior”
That was all Bruce had said on Tuesday night, the low growl of the Batcomputer humming beneath his voice. Behave. And even though he was looking at Dick, the growl was more intended towards Jason. The way his voice lingered when he mentioned ‘the girls’ all stern with a cough that was stuck to the depths of his throat– Jason would be an idiot not to catch it.
Jason had only lifted an eyebrow, slouched back in the chair with his boots crossed at the ankles, arms folded like he was posing for the cover of “I Don’t Give a Damn Weekly.”
“Yeah, sure thing, B,” he’d muttered, half under his breath, but loud enough for the growl to shift a decibel deeper, while Dick had only nodded.
Now it’s Thursday night, and that reminder has aged like spoiled milk.
Jason could already imagine it—polished marble floors, Diana’s patient, diplomatic smile, Donna cracking jokes to keep the peace, Cass pretending not to laugh, and Bruce sitting at the head of the table like he was running a board meeting instead of a family dinner. Dick would show up five minutes early with a bottle of wine he didn’t even drink. Tim would have brushed up on Themysciran customs just to avoid offending anyone. Damian would probably arrive in full formalwear like the miniature assassin he was.
Bruce is tense like he has taken a punch, thirty minutes before Diana’s expected arrival and the rest of the boys, already present by the time Jason gets there, look as concerned as him.
No questions are asked, not even if Artemis would be there, if you would be there, or if both of you would be there at the same time– a disaster, truly, but with Alfred’s playful banter and everyone helping with setting up the dining table, the weird tension in Jason’s chest mellows down for a soothing second too long.
It’s half past nine when the doorbell rings and the second it does Bruce starts acting like a mess again. Any composure he had gathered a while ago is thrown into thin air and the only confirmation Jason needs for that is his gaze that’s set directly on him
“Behave.”
He hadn’t even needed to look at Jason for a moment longer—just that single word, heavy and pointed, rolling off his tongue like a warning shot. Still, when Bruce’s eyes flicked toward Dick, all calm and composed, Jason caught the shift. The kind that said you especially.
And well, truthfully, if you’d ask him by the end of the night Jason would say he did try his very best to behave and if there’s a reason as to why he’s acting the way he is now, the blame is all yours.
Diana and the girls are visibly upset when Alfred opens the door, yet still they’re all grace and composure in their greetings, while they’re waiting for you to catch up with them to enter the manor. You seem too preoccupied with juggling your bag, your phone, and a bottle of wine you’d promised to bring.
“Hello Alfred” you say, bluntly, no expression on your face as you stand hidden behind Diana.
“Well long time no see dear”
“We’re terribly sorry we’re late Bruce. But we were stalled by a lash extension appointment” Diana says gently, though there is something almost regal in the way she adjusts the tray with goodies in her arms. “A warrior never rushes to the battlefield unprepared it seems.”
“Right,” you mumble, dabbing at the wine with a napkin. “Next time I’ll bring a sword instead.”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut glass. Bruce buries his face in his palms and mutters that “it’s alright”
Jason swears he isn’t laughing. Not out loud, anyway.
But the slight arch of Diana’s brow, the subtle look exchanged between Donna and Cassie—yeah, that is when the whole night starts going off-script.
You stand there in the doorway like you’ve just walked off the wrong movie set — perfume sharp enough to make Bruce blink, your heels clicking against the marble as you finally step into the manor. The coat you’re wearing is half-slid off one shoulder, your lip gloss catching every drop of light in the foyer. The dress you’re wearing, black, skin tight and short, turtleneck but arms out makes Jason gulp. You look like trouble dressed as —very questionably— good manners.
Jason catches the way Bruce’s jaw tightens. The way Dick shifts uncomfortably beside him, like he’s watching a car crash in slow motion and can’t look away.
Diana greets Alfred again, her voice soft but clipped — that tone she uses when she’s balancing diplomacy and disappointment. “I hope what you made hasn’t grown cold. We weren’t informed about how late we’d be either” she tells him, but she’s looking directly at you.
You just smile, small and defiant. “Didn’t want to track mud on your battlefield.”
There it is again— that crack in the air, that beat of silence where everyone pretends not to react. Alfred clears his throat. Tim coughs into his sleeve.
Jason’s biting the inside of his cheek just to keep from grinning.
You glance past the room, eyes skimming over everyone without lingering. Not even a flicker of recognition when they land on Jason. Not a hello, not a smirk, not even that teasing spark you used to have when you saw him —just blank, plain right indifference as you hand the bottle of wine to Alfred with a careless, “It’s Merlot. Don’t spill it, it stains.”
“Of course, miss,” Alfred replies smoothly, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that only Jason catches.
Diana’s patience thins by the second, her smile all grace, her eyes all azul steel. “Perhaps you’d like to join us in the dining room now?”
You shrug, finally tucking your phone into your bag. “Sure. I’m starving.”
And that’s how you walk in — chin high, hip cocked, completely unbothered —while Bruce looks like he’s aged five years in thirty seconds and Diana’s aura of divine calm starts to crack just a little around the edges.
Jason watches it all unfold, hands shoved in his pockets, heart doing that stupid thing where it beats too fast for no reason. He tells himself it’s just the tension in the room, but it’s not. It’s you.
Because somehow, in a room full of gods and heroes, you’re the only one who looks untouchable, changed.
Dinner is the kind of formal that only Bruce can host—crystal glasses, polished silver, a centerpiece that looks like it costs more than Jason’s bike. Everyone’s sitting in their assigned civility, pretending this isn’t already a disaster waiting to happen.
You take the seat Diana gestures toward, right across from Jason. Perfect. Of course it’s across from Jason.
He’s in his usual black crewneck shirt, sleeves rolled, trying way too hard to look relaxed. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance as you drink some of your wine.
“Jason,” Diana says pleasantly, “I heard you’ve been keeping busy with the Outlaws.”
Great. Maybe downing the whole glass is going to taste better than the thought of that.
“Something like that,” he answers, but his eyes are already on you. You’re pretending to scroll through your phone under the table, your glossed nails tapping idly on the screen.
“Phones away, please,” Diana adds without looking at you.
You give a slow, sarcastic but syrupy smile. “Oh, sorry. Force of habit. I usually get bored faster.”
That earns a cough from Dick that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Bruce sends him a look sharp enough to wound.
Diana breathes through her nose, serene as a saint. “We value presence here,” she says, tone gentle but carrying the weight of an Amazonian blade.
“Right,” you reply, folding your hands neatly, still not looking at Jason. “Wouldn’t want to disrespect the battlefield.”
Jason nearly chokes on his drink. You don’t look up.
Alfred intervenes, ever the savior. “Miss, would you care for more wine?”
“Please. It’s the only way I’ll behave.”
That line lands like a live grenade. Bruce stares down at his plate. Cassie hides a smile. Diana’s lips tighten.
Jason’s staring at you now, openly, trying to read what’s underneath the act—whether you’re just being difficult or if this is about him. Probably both. You can feel it, his gaze; it prickles against your skin like static. But you keep your chin high, voice light, eyes fixed anywhere but him.
You swirl the last of your second glass of wine in seconds, eyes unfocused, the soft chatter around the table barely reaching you. Alfred is saying something polite about the roast; Dick laughs too loud at something Tim mutters under his breath. Everything sounds muffled, like you’re underwater.
And then Diana sets her glass down.
The crystal barely touches the table, but the silence that follows is deafening.
“So, Bruce,” she begins, voice steady but pulsing with restrained fury, “how exactly did Lex Luthor obtain your anti-superpower injectables, and why did he target my sister specifically?”
Jason’s hand stills halfway to his mouth.
Bruce doesn’t flinch, but something sharp flickers in his eyes. “We’re still tracing the breach,” he says evenly. “Nothing leaves the cave without my authorization.”
Diana leans forward, that Amazonian calm starting to splinter. “Then explain how she ended up in a hospital bed two weeks ago with your tech in her bloodstream.”
You feel the air in the room thicken, every eye sliding toward you.
You smile —that glossy, careless, wrong kind of smile. Lips pressed together in a thin line, tucked tightly underneath your teeth. You look at Alfred with absolute plea in your eyes for more alcohol before speaking “Oh, we’re doing this now?”
“Enough,” Diana warns quietly. “You should rest, not play dress-up and pour wine like nothing happened.”
“I’m fine,” you say, your tone flat, brittle around the edges. “You don’t need to keep telling people I almost died. It’s getting old.”
Diana’s voice lowers, almost trembling with control. “You lost your powers.”
You laugh, too loud. “And? Maybe I want a vacation from divine expectations and saving the world”
That’s when Jason looks up. His gaze catches yours. Hard, searching, a little haunted.
You meet it for half a second, then look right past him, the way someone does when they’ve memorized a face too well to trust themselves with it.
Bruce exhales, rubbing his temples. “Let’s not do this here.”
Diana doesn’t move. “No, Bruce. Let’s. Because my sister was targeted because of your weaponized paranoia against the league—”
“Because of Luthor,” Bruce cuts in sharply. “And because she made herself visible when she shouldn’t have.”
The table jolts. You set your glass down, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me? I made myself visible while tracking down a whole ass human trafficking gang between him and Penguin? With Jason?”
Jason mutters under his breath, “Shit.”
Diana turns to Bruce, horrified. “Don’t you dare blame her for your mistakes.” But Bruce doesn’t answer. The silence that follows feels nuclear.
You push your chair back with a scrape of wood. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come.”
Diana stands too. “You can’t keep running from accountability.”
“And you can’t keep running my life!”
The words hit the room like a slap.
You grab your coat, ignoring the stunned faces of Donna, Cassie and the boys, and walk out of the dining room— head high, eyes stinging, your throat burns with a lump that’s stuck inside it, pumping white hot pain every time you take a breath.
Jason’s up a second later, mumbling something about “getting air” but everyone knows he’s going after you.
Bruce doesn’t stop him and even gestures to a half standing Dick to sit down. He just looks tired— like he’s seen this exact kind of disaster before. Like He's been expecting this exact moment all night long. Even if he’s never been responsible for a slip up like this. Even if he was the one who allowed you and Jason to work together on this case almost a month ago.
Outside, Jason finds you on the balcony, the night pressing close, your breath fogging the air. You don’t turn when you hear him, but you know it’s him —you can feel that quiet weight of his stare everywhere, heavy as regret. Jason has a way of filling a space even when he doesn’t speak.
The night air bites against your skin, sharp enough to sober you. You press your palms to the cold railing, staring down at the glittering sprawl of Gotham on the far edge. Somewhere far below, a siren wails and fades.
The door closes behind you, hinges whispering. For a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches thin. Then,
“You didn’t tell me you lost your powers. I thought you dropped the case”
“Why would I tell you anything?” You hiss “I have other people to parent me”
“Diana’s just worried,” he finally mutters, voice rough. “She doesn’t know how else to show it.”
You snort. “Yeah, well, she can show it without trying to parent me in front of a dinner table full of bats.”
“She’s not wrong, though,” he says quietly. “You should be mad at Bruce, you shouldn’t even be standing out here, not after—”
“After I got lucky?” You glance back at him, lip gloss catching the light. “You don’t get to lecture me. Not when you lied to me about Artemis..”
That lands. He looks away, jaw flexing. “That wasn’t—she and I were done before—”
“Before I woke up in a med bay without powers? Sure. Such convenient timing.”
You turn back to the view of the garden. The wind lifts your hair, carrying the faint smell of smoke and winter.
He takes a step closer; you can feel the heat of him on your shoulder. “You’re angry. I get it. But acting like you don’t give a damn about anyone isn’t helping you or them.”
You laugh softly, bitter. “Says the king of pretending not to care.”
He exhales through his nose, defeated. “Yeah. I’m not exactly the guy who should be giving advice.”
The quiet returns. Just the hum of Gotham in the background and the ache of things neither of you know how to say.
Jason’s voice drops lower. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t come out here to fight.”
“Then why did you?” you ask without turning.
“Because you looked like you were about to disappear,” he says. “And I’ve seen enough people do that.”
Something in you stirs—an old warmth, or maybe a bruise that never healed. You tighten your grip on the railing. “Don’t worry. I’m not running off to die dramatically. That’s your thing.”
Your words sting; a meticulous weave to weaponise anything against him. What hurts him the most, used against him. There’s shame streaming inside your whole body when you mouth them. Immediate regret.
Jason almost laughs, then doesn’t. “Yeah, well. Guess we both have bad habits.”
You finally look at him, the city lights flickering across his face. There’s exhaustion there, and guilt, and something else—something that used to be yours to read.
For a second, you let the silence hold the both of you. Then you say, softer, “You should go back inside. Bruce probably thinks we’re breaking the no-violence rule.”
Jason shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue. He just leans beside you on the railing, close enough that his sleeve and your shoulder brush. Neither of you speak for a second, but the atmosphere between you feels suffocating, heavier than words could describe.
Then, he breaks the silence “If you’re mad about Artemis I should be mad about Dick”
As if, he has a right to be mad about who you dated while mourning him. While he was dead.
You look at him and then, bitterly, you look away. “Then I should be mad about both you and him confessing to Barbara and abandoning me for her?”
Jason flinches, a quick, involuntary jerk of his head. The name Barbara hangs in the air, sharp and painful. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of panic. “I—”
“Save it.” The words peel off your tongue, thick with acid. You turn, and your eyes aren't just angry anymore—they’re glowing with a searing, white-hot envy that feels corrosive. “I'm not going to be your second to last choice. I’m not your rebound when the better Amazonian warrior leaves, or the safe distraction when the original Batgirl won't choose you.”
“But you're not, i—“
“And I'm not gonna help finish the Penguin and Lex mission. You're on your own”
The wind carries your final words away, leaving a vacuumed hollowness where the tension had been. It isn't a threat, just a flat statement of fact. You are done. Done with the mission, done with the dinner, and done being a secondary consideration in the messy, complicated world of Jason Todd.
Jason doesn't flinch, but the faint light of the city catches the moment his expression fractures. The small, guarded defenses he's put up—the rough voice, the casual lean against the railing—collapse. He knows what it’s like to be powerless, rejected, humiliated. He is very well acquainted with the horrendously green ogre of jealousy. He has come second to last before, hell, he has even come last. And he’s the reason you feel that way now.
Jason hates himself in more ways than you can think of.
He should shut up. Let you go. Rethink of any choice he’s taken that’s condemned you cold and disheartened. But it’s you.
You who he met in the Tower all those years ago when Bruce saw fit Robin accompanied him to a meeting with the league, both looking like fish out of water, even if you surpassed him by two years of age. You who feared Superman just as much as he did. You who let him hide behind your body when the big ‘S’ came to meet you. When he first noticed your bangles were too big for your arms, while his suit fit him perfectly.
A troubled child turned into a soldier. Just like him.
He should shut up. But he simply can't.
“Don’t say that,” he says, his voice dropping from a rough murmur to something quiet and raw, barely loud enough to carry over the city hum. He straightens, turning to face you fully. “You can be mad at me. You should be mad at me. But you can’t walk away from the case because of this, not after what we saw. They’re trafficking. I can’t do this alone”
This time, in his eyes, it’s your first time in the cave and you’re even more scared than you were when meeting Superman. For a kid, your facade of bravery makes you look like an adult.
“Then your little girlfriends should help you”
You meet his gaze, and for the first time since you walk into the manor, the indifference is gone. Only hurt and simmering anger remain. Jason knows what jealousy is— an obsessive notion of care, love. But it’s still you. To let you walk away now, so broken, would be a second death— a final, self-inflicted execution of the best part of a self of his that died once already. That terrified, armored kid he met in the Tower? He’d promised himself he’d always have her six like she did for him. And he shouldn’t be using the mission as a reason to keep you in his life.
“The mission is what gets me stuck here, Jason. It’s what Luthor uses to put a target on my back and it’s what allows Bruce to watch while Diana and my sisters tear me down. I’m not playing Batfamily field agent anymore, especially when I’m just the collateral damage. No one cares about the forgotten Wonder Girl.”
“You’re not collateral damage,” he insists, taking a step closer. His hand lifts, a hesitant, familiar movement, but he drops it before he can touch your arm. He looks so visibly upset “You’re the one who finds the warehouse. You’re the one who gets me the intel on the smuggling routes. We catch them together. If you walk away now, they get off clean. Is that what you want?”
“I want a break from this life,” you retort, your chin lifting stubbornly. “I’m de-powered, Jason. I’m a liability now, not an asset. You don’t need me; you have Dick and Tim and Damian, and Bruce will step in. He always does.”
He laughs, a single, harsh sound devoid of humor. “I don’t want them. I want you.”
The words hang between you—simple, heavy, and too late.
“Well, you should have thought about that before you, what was it, confess your undying love to Barbara?” you shoot back, the bitterness sharp in your tone. “Or before Dick decides to join in. I hear the whole thing. Do you really think I don’t know? You all treat me like an emotional pit stop, somewhere you stop when the main road is closed.”
Jason runs a hand over his jaw, the sound of the stubble rough under his palm. “It’s a mistake. A massive, stupid, cowardly mistake to not just be honest with you. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you. It’s… I’m trying to avoid this exact conversation. Because I know if I say it out loud, I lose you.”
He is looking at you with that open, unguarded intensity that has always been your undoing.
“You’ve already lost me,” you say quietly, your voice cracking only slightly as you turn back to the cityscape. “And you lost the Artemis you loved so much. Right? You try to hedge your bets and end up with nothing. Now I need to figure out how to live a normal life with an Amazonian mom and a god complex sister watching my every move.”
Jason sighs, the sound heavy and tired. He doesn’t try to argue about Artemis, or about Dick, or about Barbara—not anymore.
“Okay,” he finally concedes, his voice barely a breath. “Fine. You want a break? Take it. I’ll finish the case myself. But I’m not going back inside while you’re out here. And I’m not letting you walk out of my life because I mess up. Not when you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” you whisper, but the lie feels flimsy, like spun sugar in the cold air. “I never needed you”
Lies—you needed him every time Diana would get mad at you. When her anger would turn into silence, he was always one phone call away. You needed him to convince Bruce to tell Diana that you should study at Gotham Academy. You needed him on your first day of the last class of middle school. You needed his help with math. You needed him more times than you’ll ever admit.
He moves again, one last step, until he is right behind you. His presence is a solid, undeniable heat against your back. He doesn’t touch you, but the closeness is an invasion.
“Don’t push me away,” he pleads, the low, gravelly sound a ghost of the growl you hear from Bruce earlier. This one is different, though—it’s all need and very little threat. “I’m sorry, goddammit. I’m sorry I’m a selfish idiot. I’m sorry I put my foot down on this case and get you hurt. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry about Artemis. But right now, you’re in a wonderbat intervention with no powers, talking about abandoning your life’s work. You can be mad at me, but you can’t be reckless.”
“I wanna leave”
He pauses, letting the silence hang.
“Let me take you home. Or at least somewhere warm. We can figure the rest out tomorrow. Just… let’s get you warm. Please.”
“No Jason,” you say, turning sharply, the chill air catching the skin of your biceps, making you wrap your arms around yourself.
You don't get far. His hand flashes out, his grip firm on your forearm—not hurting you, but absolutely stopping you. The heat of his fingers is a shocking contrast to the cold air and your exposed skin.
You whirl back around, your eyes blazing with the same furious defiance you showed Diana inside. “Let go of me.”
His jaw is set, his eyes dark and unwavering. “I told you, I’m not letting you walk out there alone right now.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore!” you hiss, pulling against his grip. The black dress is no match for the Gotham wind, and a sudden shiver races through you, which only infuriates you more. You hate that he can still affect you, that he's still right about you needing warmth. “I can take care of myself. I’ve done it before, and I can sure as hell do it now that I don’t have an arrow and a bow breathing down my neck.”
“You are wearing seven-inch heels, you've had too much wine, and you are radiating fury,” Jason counters, his voice low and dangerous, holding an echo of Bruce’s own protective growl. He doesn't budge. “Let me drive you. Or let Alfred call a car. But you are not walking out the front door and into the city while you’re like this.”
You lean in, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You think a ride home is going to fix a night where your whole family watches mine fall apart because of our screw-up?”
He releases your arm, the touch replaced by a sudden, heavy pressure of air as he steps even closer. His shadow engulfs you.
“No,” he admits, the word a weary exhale. “I know it won’t fix it. But it stops you from getting arrested for public intoxication or mugged, which would be a colossal pain in the ass to explain to Diana. Just one good decision, okay? Let me make one good decision tonight if you don’t want to do it yourself.”
He looks completely defeated, his earlier defiance gone, leaving behind only raw fatigue and a stubborn concern.
You yank your arm back completely, the lingering heat from his touch a sharp contrast to the biting cold. "Just because i don’t have my powers doesn’t mean I’m useless," you state flatly. "And I'm not calling anyone. Diana and the girls are leaving soon. I’ll wait."
You turn your back on him and head for the main exit, your heels clicking rapidly on the marble. You move past the foyer, bypassing the dining room where the heated fiction of dinner is still playing out, and walk straight toward the front doors.
Jason watches you go, his body frozen in defeat on the balcony. He doesn't move to follow. He can’t. He knows that line—I don’t need you—even if it was a lie, or something you drunkenly said, was the deepest cut. He stares out at the cold, unfeeling Gotham skyline, thinking he could actually burn the entire city down in what remains of tonight to match the ache in his chest.
You stand in the echoing expanse of the manor foyer, your exposed arms now, truly feeling the chill of the marble and the night seeping in from the heavy oak doors. Your coat, half-slid off your shoulder, feels more like a burden than a comfort. You focus on the glossy black of the wine stain on the rug where you spilled the Merlot, counting the seconds until you hear the dining room chairs scrape back.
A moment later, the dining room doors open, and Alfred emerges first. He sees you standing there, a defiant, shivering silhouette in a flimsy mini dress, and his expression softens, a flicker of true worry crossing his normally composed features. He carries a small, empty tray and no seemingly anger for the way you spoke to him earlier.
“Miss,” he says quietly, his voice a low hum that won't carry back to the room. “Perhaps a blanket, or a cup of warm tea while you wait?”
“No, Alfred. I’m fine,” you manage, your voice brittle. You hate that he can see the lie in your posture.
He nods, accepting your prideful refusal, but he pauses before retreating. He meets your gaze, and his eyes, so rarely judgmental, hold an unmistakable depth of compassion. “I believe I heard Miss Diana mention that they would require at least a quarter hour. She is still finishing a rather pointed conversation with Master Bruce.”
You simply nod, grateful for the honesty, but the knowledge that they are still inside, picking through the rotting carcass of your failure, makes your skin crawl.
The conversation eventually breaks. First, you hear the low rumble of Bruce’s voice, heavy with exhaustion. Then, the clear, crystalline authority of Diana’s voice, which cuts through the air like a knife.
Then, they appear.
Diana is first, her posture impeccable but her features drawn tight, the regal calm finally shattered. She doesn’t look at you. Donna and Cassie follow, their expressions mirroring a mixture of discomfort and concern. Donna gives you a brief, apologetic glance, while Cassie, ever perceptive, meets your eyes with a flicker of raw understanding before quickly looking away.
Bruce lags slightly behind Diana, looking exactly as Jason had imagined—like he’d aged five years, his tie loosened, his composure hanging by a thread. He meets your eyes, and his gaze is heavy with accusation, the silent affirmation of the disaster you caused.
Diana stops directly in front of you. Her blue eyes finally lock onto yours, not with anger, but with a profound, terrifying disappointment.
“We are leaving,” she states simply. She glances at your exposed arms, the full eyelash extensions, the nails you've manicured to the most extreme length you possibly could and the too-short dress, and puckers her lips. You look all but ready to entirely give up the hero life and commit to just being pretty.
“I will not discuss this here.” She sighs “You will return to Themyscira with us, immediately. This 'break from divine expectations' ends now. I will not have my sister vulnerable in Gotham.”
“I’m not going back,” you reply, your voice a determined whisper, unwilling to break under her stare. “I don’t belong there right now.”
Bruce finally steps forward, his voice a quiet command aimed squarely at Diana. “She can stay here, Diana. She’s just as protected here as she would be in Themiscyra”
Diana turns on him, her control snapping. “You have already proven your protection is worthless, Bruce! Her vulnerability is because of your paranoia, and your weapons!”
The silence that follows is absolute. The front door of the manor feels miles away, and you are trapped between two warring titans.
Bruce’s face is granite, his eyes heavy with the weight of her truth. He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to double down or apologize with the economy of a CEO, but before he can, another voice slices through the brute tension—bright, easy, and completely out of place.
“Hold up. Everyone take a breath.”
Dick emerges from the dining room, moving with the acrobatic grace of someone determined to prevent a diplomatic crisis. He’s all charm and composure –as usual–, though the strain around his eyes shows he’s ready for a fight. He places himself casually between Diana and Bruce, offering Diana a small, genuinely concerned smile.
“Diana, look, you’re right to be upset. Bruce, you’re… well, you’re Bruce. But this isn’t a divorce court on who gets the kid. Plus she’s cold” Dick says, his gaze sweeping quickly over you and your shivering form. He takes in your defiant posture and the cold marble floor. He seems to understand immediately that what you need least is another debate over your short term future.
He turns to you, his eyes gentle but firm. “You look like you’re about to catch a cold. And you’ve had a night, to put it mildly. I’ve got an extra guest room that is definitely not in a cave, and it’s miles away from any Amazonian or Wayne Enterprises boardroom. How about you crash at my place tonight? No questions, no arguments. Just a solid lock on the door and maybe some really bad takeout.”
Diana’s glare doesn't soften, yours does, at the expense of a friend that you trust. “Richard, she is not a child to be babysat. She needs to be secured.”
“She is family, Diana, and she’s not going to feel ‘secure’ in the middle of a war zone,” Dick counters smoothly, glancing pointedly from Bruce's rigid form to Diana’s tense one. “She needs space. A safe, neutral space. My apartment is the definition of neutral.”
Bruce finally speaks, his voice a low, heavy rumble of reluctant agreement. “It’s acceptable. I need to handle the situation with Luthor and the tech breach, and Dick’s apartment is monitored.”
You seize the lifeline immediately. It’s better than being trapped on Themyscira or in the Batcave. “Fine. I’ll go with Dick.”
Dick offers you a look that says, ‘thank you for not making me argue for another hour’. He turns to Diana. “I’ll bring her back to you when she’s calmed down, Diana. You can have your conversation then, in private, where no one else is listening in.” The final shot is subtle, but it's aimed at the core issue: the public dismantling of your dignity.
Diana stares at Dick, then at Bruce, then finally back at you. She knows when she’s been checkmated by bureaucracy and common sense. She gives a clipped, formal nod. “Very well, Richard. But I expect a full report, and she is to remain inside your sight.”
Donna steps forward and gently puts a hand on your arm. “We will call you tomorrow.”
“I liked the lashes by the way” Cassie gives you a small, genuine smile before following Diana out.
Dick immediately turns and holds out his hand to you, his concern shifting from diplomacy to pure practicality. “Alright, let’s get you out of those heels and into the Nightwing mobile!”
You take his hand and a chuckle roams out of your throat. The touch on his skin is simple, a promise of escape. As you let him lead you out, you steal a glance toward the balcony where you last saw Jason. It’s empty.
As the front door closes behind you with a heavy, final thud, two younger voices drift from the hallway connecting the foyer to the den.
“Todd is gonna freak out,” Damian tells Tim.
“Oh yeah,” Tim agrees, already sounding exhausted by the impending drama. “He is absolutely going to freak out.”
“Wait- You support them together too?”
“Do I support her with Jason or Dick?” Tim asks, puzzled.
“Todd obviously”
“Oh yeah yeah, they’re literally made for eachother”
Jason is a gargoyle on the cold marble of the balcony, his jaw clenched so tight he feels a dull ache behind his teeth. He hasn't moved since you yanked your arm away and strode back inside. He watches the light of the foyer from the corner of his eye, listening to the muffled, escalating confrontation between Bruce and Diana.
When Dick’s voice cuts through the argument—calm, collected, and impossibly right—a fresh, horrible wave of possessive anger washes over Jason.
Dick, the golden boy. The one who always knows exactly what to say to disarm a god or diffuse a bomb. The one who knows how to make everything right, the one who is calm and collected, the one you dated after his death. Dick Grayson, the epitome of a big brother, who knows how to slip between cracks, steps in to be the savior once again, offering the neutral ground that Jason couldn't.
He watches Dick emerge, moving with that easy confidence, placing himself between the heavyweights. Jason doesn't hear the exact words, but he doesn't need to. He sees the gesture: Dick’s hand reaching out, not to restrain, but to guide.
He sees you take that hand.
The gesture is simple, but it feels like a punch to Jason's gut, twisting the knot of jealousy he already carried into the past into something sharp and new. Dick gets to be the hero, the protector, the temporary, safe sanctuary. Dick gets to take you home.
Safe, neutral space. That’s what Dick calls his apartment. Jason scoffs under his breath. It's a space free from expectations, free from the Batfamily baggage Jason is currently buried under. A space where you can both talk about shared trauma—the kind that brings people like Dick and Barbara and you closer—while Jason is left out here, alone, smelling the failure and cold air.
He watches until you and Dick are just two dark shapes moving toward the front doors.
"I don't want them. I want you," he'd said. It is too late. Dick is the better choice, the easier escape. The one who hasn't been juggling an Amazonian ex, after confessing love to Batgirl, and generally making a mess of your life– twice.
Jason finally pushes off the railing, the friction of the stone a pointless sensation against his ruined nerves. He doesn't go back toward the dining room. He turns and walks to the far end of the balcony, resting his head against the cold glass of the window, unable to watch anymore. The city lights blur into streaks of indifferent color.
He has just given Dick the ultimate victory: the one night where you will be vulnerable, safe, and most importantly, with him. And how can he be sure Dick and you have nothing going on anymore? That there aren’t any lingering feelings from a teenage love that ended just as fast as it begun?
Jason closes his eyes, the memory of your furiously fuming face the last thing he sees. He loses you not because he isn't strong enough or smart enough, but because he is a cowardly idiot who tries to hedge his bets and ends up with nothing.
Outside, the air bites sharper than you expect. Gotham’s winter creeps in through the seams of your dress as you follow Dick down the steps, heels clicking against the wet stone. The manor looms behind you, silent, ancient, and heavy with everything unsaid. You don’t look back.
Dick presses the key fob and his car chirps, headlights washing gold across his face. He opens the passenger door for you without comment—other than a side eye because he knows you hate men that do that—just a faint grin that’s meant to be comforting but lands somewhere closer to tired. You slide in, pulling your coat tighter, watching him circle to the driver’s side.
The city unfolds in streaks of sodium light as he drives. Gotham at night feels like it’s always mid-breath; never asleep, never alive. You rest your head against the cold window, eyes tracing the blurred reflection of your face in the glass. The silence stretches until Dick breaks it, soft but steady.
“I’m sure Jason didn’t mean it,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “Whatever went down upstairs. He’s just…” He exhales through his nose, searching for the word. “Jason.”
You huff a faint, humorless sound. “You don’t even know what he said. And him being himself's not an excuse.”
“Didn’t say it was,” he replies, tone light but edged with something older. “I just need context.”
The car hums, steady. You don’t answer. You don’t want to talk about Jason—not when his shadow still feels like it’s pressed against your ribs.
Dick glances at you once before turning back to the windshield. “But you know,” he says, voice low, “you’re allowed to be the one who walks away for once.”
The words settle like static. You keep your gaze on the glass, on the city lights flickering like heartbeats.
Soon, Gotham’s black and white has been replaced by Blüdhaven’s blue and purple neon on almost every building.
Inside Dick’s small, aggressively cheerful Blüdhaven apartment, the tension finally begins to bleed away.
You are curled up on his couch, wrapped in one of his soft, oversized college hoodies, with a chunky knit blanket pulled up to your chin. Your elaborate dress and ridiculous heels are forgotten in a pile near the door. Dick sits in his favorite armchair, equally casual in sweats.
In an attempt to earn best friend kudos, he makes you a massive mug of tea—Earl Grey with milk and an obscene amount of honey—and puts on some terrible 90s action-comedy that demands exactly zero attention. The only light in the living room comes from the television and the orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. It feels like a sleepover, a decade too late, and you almost forget that outside this apartment, your entire life is in crisis.
He sips his own tea, the steam warming his hands, and watches the TV for another moment, letting the comfortable quiet settle. Then, he presses the mute button on the remote.
“Okayyyy, the silence is officially driving me crazy,” Dick chirps, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze is gentle but direct, his eyes batting with an annoyingly sweet blink-blink-blink, the big brother concern back in full force. “And I know you’re using that terrible movie to avoid the last three hours of your life.”
You exhale slowly, clutching the mug tighter. “It was a very good terrible movie.”
“It was not. It was just loud. Look, I’m not Bruce, and I’m definitely not Diana. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and maybe get a hint of what the hell happened out there on the balcony.” He pauses, then lowers his voice. “What did you say to Jason? Tim messaged me he’s trying to unscrew his whole bike and screw it back together.”
You look down at the swirling surface of your tea, the honey turning the golden liquid cloudy. “I told him the truth.”
“Which truth? The 'I’m de-powered and scared' truth, or the 'I hate being stuck between two dysfunctional hero families' truth?” Dick asks, hoping it’s at least one of the two.
You lift your head, meeting his eyes. The anger is mostly exhausted, leaving behind a deep, aching vulnerability. “The one about me knowing about Barbara.”
Dick winces, leaning back. The casual posture instantly dissolves. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ah. He told you that?”
“You both did,” you correct, your voice flat. “I heard everything in the cave when I last visited. The kiss, the letter, the shared trauma, the whole ‘I wanted to be better for her’ mess.” You take a shaky breath. “I told him I’m done being the second choice, the emotional pit stop, or the convenient rebound when Artemis leaves or when you two are too scared to commit to Babs. I told him I’m done with the mission. I told him he lost me.”
Dick runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair. He doesn't try to defend himself or Jason; he simply accepts the accusation. A few years ago, he would have acted defensively regarding his stance when it comes to you. Now, when what’s left behind for him and you is friendship, he only says, “That’s… rough.”
“Well i don’t think he cares anyway”
“Don’t say that” Dick says, playfully shoving your side. You barely move when he nudges you, but the corner of your mouth twitches, betraying the tiniest crack in your armor.
“Come on. Don’t say thaaat,” He repeats, quieter this time. “You know he cares. He just doesn’t always know what to do with it.”
You stare at the muted television, where two badly CGI’d helicopters chase each other through an explosion. “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”
He exhales, settling back in his chair. “Jason’s whole thing is pushing away the people he doesn’t want to lose. It’s his one consistent talent. That and brooding on rooftops.”
“That makes two of you,” you mutter.
He grins faintly. “Touché.” Then, after a beat, “You know, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you were ever a second choice.”
Dick speaks for himself first, then for Jason. Though it hurt once upon a time, he has accepted your tenderness lies with the latter.
You scoff, half a laugh, half a defense. “Please. You all orbit Barbara like she’s the North Star. I’m just… what? A temporary moon?”
“More like the eclipse that screws up all our schedules,” he says, voice softer than the joke ever deserves. “You came in and changed everything, and Jason—he doesn’t know how to live in the light of that yet.”
Your response is simply a pout.
Dick studies you for a long moment, the playfulness slowly fading. He pauses, then his expression shifts, turning probing, his eyes squinting. “But you wouldn’t have thrown away the Luthor case just over that. Yeah you lost your powers but you’re not that reckless. This is about more than just Jason’s bad decisions, isn't it? You’re punishing him, aren’t you?”
You look away, but the words hit harder than you want to admit. “I’m not.”
He tilts his head. “Then why don’t you just tell him you love him instead of hiding up here and pretending you don’t care?”
“What!?”
His grin snaps back, too wide, too knowing. “Ha! You do love him. You loooove him.”
“Dick, are you five years old?”
He leans back, hands raised in mock defense. “Emotionally? On a good day.”
“Yeah well. I love him. What about it?”
He laughs at his own joke, but the sound fades quickly, leaving only the quiet hum of the city beyond the window. The smile slips. His tone levels out, steady, serious in that rare way he gets when he stops performing.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “I’m not trying to make fun of you. I just… know what it looks like when someone’s scared to admit how deep they’re in.”
You exhale through your nose, eyes fixed on the skyline. “I’m not scared.”
“Yeah, you are,” he says. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be sitting up here trying to convince yourself that pushing him away is strength. You’d be down there telling him he screwed up and figuring it out together.”
You press your lips together. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Dick agrees. “But the thing about Jason is—he’s a mess, sure, but he’s not a liar. If he’s showing up, it’s because he means it. You scare him, and that’s saying something. The guy died once and came back, and somehow you are what freaks him out.”
Your throat tightens. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re the first person he hasn’t been able to out-brood. The first one he’s had to actually face. And now you’re running from him the same way he runs from everyone else.”
You glance at him, sharp. “You think I don’t have a right to walk away?”
“I think you’ve earned the right to stop fighting people who want to love you,” he says quietly. “Especially the ones who don’t know how to say it right.”
Dammit, you hate that Dick knows you too well. He waits patiently, letting the silence hang and meddle about, warm and heavy in the dim apartment.
You stare at Dick, finally unable to sustain the protective indifference you’ve managed to upkeep for so long now. The tears come suddenly, hot and stinging against your cheeks, a shocking betrayal after hours of rigid control. You quickly raise the mug, using the steam to hide your face.
“Aw, hey, come on don't cry”
You lower the mug, your eyes red and glistening with fat, salty tears. "I hate it, Dick. I hate that I care what he does. I hate that the thought of him being happy with someone else, someone safer, makes me feel like I did when I was fourteen and Bruce wouldn't let him talk to me for a week because we tried to drive the batmobile on our own"
Dick slides out of the armchair and moves to sit beside you on the couch. He doesn't hug you; he simply rests his hand firmly on your shoulder, anchoring you.
“You love him,” Dick states like it’s a fact that stings him, not as a question, but as the unavoidable truth of the night.
You stay silent, letting the confession—Dick’s words and the unspoken truth behind them—settle over you like a weight you can’t shrug off. The mug in your hands grows cold, forgotten, steam curling into the dim light above.
He doesn’t push. He doesn’t speak again. Just the quiet press of his hand on your shoulder, steady, unyielding, reminding you that someone sees you, really sees you, and isn’t letting go.
Your tears slow, leaving streaks over flushed cheeks, your breath ragged from hours of holding in more than just frustration. You swallow hard, voice small and raw. “I… I don’t know how to stop myself from feeling like this.”
Dick tilts his head, eyes soft but sharp, tracking every tremor of your body. “You don’t have to stop,” he says. “Not yet. And not alone. You just… need to admit it to yourself first.”
The words prick at something you’ve been keeping buried. You glance at him, half-expecting a smirk, a joke, anything to shield you from the vulnerability. But he’s serious, impossibly steady, and it terrifies you more than you expected.
“I do love him,” you whisper finally, so quiet it almost disappears into the shadows of the apartment. Your chest tightens at the sound, as if saying it aloud makes it irrevocable.
Dick’s hand doesn’t move, but the pressure shifts subtly, just enough to say, I know. And it’s okay.
You bury your face in your hands, the confession shaking you, and Dick finally wraps an arm around you in hopes to hold you through this as tears stream down your eyes and into the palms of your hands. For the first time in hours, you allow yourself to breathe fully, knowing the truth is out—and that someone who understands is sitting right beside you, not judging, not teasing, just being there.
You look at Dick, tears still tracking through the dry anger on your face. "He just ran from me one too many times, Dick. And I am tired of waiting for the day he realizes the risk is worth it."
Dick squeezes your shoulder. “He knows the risk is worth it,” he says quietly, his eyes dark with regret. “He’s just an idiot. And a coward sometimes. And I think he was afraid of losing you by telling you he has feelings for you.”
He shifts, looking toward the hallway. “Look, I can’t fix Jason. I can barely fix my own relationships. But I can tell you this: the jealousy you’re feeling—don’t deny it— is the clearest indicator of where your heart is. And you just gave him the shock he needed to actually look at what he lost. Also… I think we should order burgers.”
“Jason’s favorite?” Your lip quivers. A tear escapes your wide, sadness blown eyes, streaking down your cheek, and you sniffle, trying to pull yourself together.
Dick stands, stretching exaggeratedly. “Shit– I’m going to make you some actual food. For tonight, you’re safe. You’re warm. The lashes are still killing it. The universe hasn’t collapsed. You focus on the fact that you still have a whole Amazonian sisterhood to help you figure out how to be an ass-kicker without the powers. And tomorrow, we figure out how to perhaps confess to Jason before the whole Batfamily ends up without vehicles.”
The weeks following the confrontation at the Manor have been a cold war.
You and Jason exist in parallel universes, both working the Luthor and Penguin case—yes the one you dramatically declared you dropped out of— but never, ever meeting. You've become a ghost, working from Dick's secure Blüdhaven apartment or remote safe houses, reporting only to Diana and Bruce.
Jason, meanwhile, has been relentless on the streets, turning his guilt into destructive, high-impact patrols. Last week he sent a singular, unanswered text that just said, "Talk to me."
You ignore it, of course taking the much preferred route, to deal with it in an infinitely more childish way of coping which is whining incessantly to Dick about how utterly immature Jason is, and bubble about it for quite a few days. Something about you taking pride in Jason ‘breaking no contact first’ and being a ‘yearner’
The city feels smaller when you don’t have him on your radar. You can move through Gotham—or Blüdhaven, more often than not—without the pull of his gaze, without the low hum of his judgment lingering in your spine. You can pretend, for weeks at a time, that you don’t care that he’s out there, cracking skulls, raining down vengeance for your stupidity. Spoiler alert– you do care.
Jason won’t let Tim breathe about it. He talks about you non-stop, a continuous, high-volume drone, always, always making it explicitly clear that all the information he’s sharing is strictly confidential and shall not be shared with Grayson or anyone else. Said information usually consists of him absolutely going through the five stages of grief about you. One moment he’s angry, then he wonders where he went wrong, then he says he’s okay with it, that he’s gonna let it go.
Damian happens to be caught in the fire when he finds you asleep before the batcomputer hugging a suspiciously looking, very well known edition of Pride and Prejudice. The one Todd lent him. When he rips it off your hands and wakes you up he swears your eyes well up with tears.
Naturally, the stress is too much for the younger generation and golden boy older brother to bear. So they decide to do something about it.
Thus Dick, Tim, and a begrudging Damian have been meeting covertly in the Manor Gym night after night, the only place where Bruce's eyes and ears can't easily follow them while he’s off with the League on some Darkseid intergalactic business.
After days of conspiring and many mid-day Alfred snacks, they come to a foolproof plan. The one that always works.
Their plan is simple, efficient; They're going to lock you down. Or well, in.
Tim calls you late Friday night.
His voice is tight with engineered panic. "It's the final piece of data on the Luthor encryption key and it relates directly to the Penguin case you took on. It's stored locally in the Cave—Bruce never uploads this stuff. Pffft, This guy right? We need you to review it now before the scheduled scrub. Dick is tied up. Can you get here?"
Knowing the Luthor and Penguin files overlap with your current focus, you reluctantly agree despite finding it very hard to believe the comment about Bruce.
A nationwide human trafficking scandal is on the stake anyway.
Dick texts Jason a single, non-descript message: "Warehouse 12. New weapons shipment. Big."
Jason, already on patrol, takes the bait instantly. He speeds to the location only to find a single, cheap plastic toy gun inside. Frustrated, he receives Dick's follow-up text: "Psych. Now meet me at the Cave. Emergency Batcomputer update."
Damian is in charge of actually powering off facial recognition to get you out of the cave. And then, he is forced to fleet under Grayson’s order because the following events might not be very ‘PG-13’
You descend into the Batcave via the elevator, annoyed at Tim's urgency but focused on the screen of your phone.
You step out onto the smooth concrete floor and immediately spot Jason, standing near the main terminal. He's still in his Red Hood gear, helmet resting on the console, his posture coiled and furious.
“Dick? What the hell is going on?” Jason demands, his voice a low growl. "I just wasted an hour chasing a—"
Before he can finish, the heavy steel door of the elevator shaft clangs shut. Simultaneously, the airlock doors on the vehicle bay slide closed. The main power lights flicker, settling into the emergency red glow.
Then, Tim's voice crackles over the loud, unfiltered comms system, echoing throughout the massive cavern.
“Alright, the doors are sealed. Red Hood, she's not leaving until you talk”
You shoot a panicked look at Jason before Tim continues by calling your name, “he's not getting out until he talks. We disabled the auxiliary controls. You have all night. Batman’s off with the League. Don't touch the Batwing.”
Jason whirls toward the Batcomputer, where Dick looks at him through the screen, leaning casually against a gargoyle on the other end of the city, giving a tight, unrepentant shrug. Damian is visible beside him, arms crossed in self-satisfaction. The little brat mocks him– going as far as to shove his tongue out of his mouth and give him a clowning expression.
“You little shits! Open this now, or I swear I will turn this whole cave into a grease fire!” Jason roars, taking a step toward the deck.
“You won't,” Dick counters, his voice calm and clear. "And we know you two are both too stubborn to call a truce on your own. Consider this a mandated therapy session. The only way out is through, Jay. And we're all very tired of the brooding."
The comms click silent. Dick gives you a tiny, apologetic wink before he and the others disappear behind the glitching screen.
“I’m gonna kill him” You mumble, heart stammering inside your chest. The panic is quickly being replaced by a surge of defiant anger—anger at Dick, at Tim, at Damian, and most of all, at the man standing ten feet away who just had to be the reason for this absurd, humiliating trap.
“Texting me is one thing” you say, raising your voice in his direction “But having your brothers trap me here with you? That’s a new low”
Jason turns from the now-silent Batcomputer screen, flipping his helmet off the deck and letting it fall with a deafening clatter onto the concrete floor. His eyes, raw and shadowed by weeks of anger and guilt, bore into yours.
“I ain’t done shit!”
Jason’s chest heaves with the force of it— a short, ugly sound that could be grief if it weren’t so close to anger. The concrete smells like dust and ozone and the cold from the night. He plants his boots, both a challenge and a plea.
“I ain’t done fucking shit!” he repeats, louder, and the words ricochet off steel and glass.
You take a step closer despite everything, because you’re maddened and exhausted and the heat of him is a furnace you can’t help leaning toward. “Then why the hell—” you start, but stop midway when you see the way Jason’s jaw tightens.
He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at you properly, something raw and ragged in his eyes. “Yeah. I texted you.” The admission is too quick to be prideful, too honest to be strategic. You blink in confusion “Said ‘talk to me.’” He swallows. “I didn’t— I didn’t set this up. I just talked to Tim about it”
“Don’t lie to me,” you spit. “Don’t make me the idiot who walked into a fucking playset you staged.” Fury is a blunt instrument and you wield it too well; it keeps the tremor from your hands steady. “If this was a ‘talk to me’ thing, then why the theatrics?”
“So I’m the liar again?”
“You know what? I had regretted calling you a liar during our talk in the balcony but after you not admitting you trapped me here with you, I’m glad I didn’t believe it when Dick said you’re not a liar”
In a quick moment of realisation Dick’s name dies on your tongue. Twice.
“What the hell?” Jason demands, his voice a low, rough growl, skipping past the immediate crisis to the source of his misery. "You've been ignoring me for three weeks. You won't answer my text. What did you tell Dick that convinced him to pull this kind of juvenile bullshit?"
“Me!?”
You cross your arms tighter, refusing to let the panic of him turning this on you show. Your pride—the pride in his single, unanswered text, the pride in being the 'winner' of the no-contact—is the only defense you have left.
You hold his stare, refusing to let him turn this into an attack on your character. The surge of anger, though, is mixed with a chilling, sudden confusion about what Jason is actually denying.
“Yeah you. If you wanna talk to me then answer my text. Don’t involve my brothers”
All the self restraint you’ve got is needed at this moment not to snap again. You look at Jason, really look and decide to believe he probably knows nothing about the fact that his brothers locked you in the cave. You can’t deny the desperate sincerity in his voice, and the possibility that Dick and the boys actually acted on their own initiative is a sudden, dizzying thought.
“Okay Jason,” you start “Let’s say you didn't orchestrate this”
“I didn’t!”
“I’m not blaming you,” you snap, stepping closer, heat crawling up your spine. “I’m just… I’m pissed that my whole life gets invaded by third parties. I don’t need this, Jay!”
His eyes soften, almost imperceptibly, and the fury bleeds into something taut, heavy. “You think I wanted this either?” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher with exhaustion and something closer to hurt. “I’ve been trying to reach you, okay? Three weeks! You vanish, you ghost me, and I’m left here—wondering if you’re okay, wondering if you even care!”
The words hit you harder than his anger. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, the only sound is the echo of your own ragged breathing. You want to argue, to push, to retreat behind the armor of pride, but it’s too raw, too real.
“I do care,” you whisper, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “But you can’t just—just—fuck okay screw this. I can’t say it”
You push past him, walking towards the Batcomputer terminal, the red light glinting off the tears you refuse to shed.
You gesture vaguely towards the locked doors.
"You and I are locked in here for the night. You're the one with the reputation for solving impossible situations with pure, bloody-minded force.” You turn back to the Batcomputer, your fingers already flying across the keyboard, bringing up the Luthor/Penguin data.
“If we’re going to fix anything. Let’s start with working. I'm fixing the mess we made. I'm not going to sit here and waste the night on your emotional cowardice." you finish, your voice cool and professional.
Jason stands frozen, helmet on the ground, trapped between the walls, your work, and your unforgiving challenge. He has the words, but you’re demanding the action.
Jason’s hands clench into fists, his whole body taut with the impulse to smash something. He could still argue, yell, or simply walk away and find a quiet corner of the cave to brood.
But your words of challenge and a devastating thought that you'd confessed your love to Dick first—have landed too clean. Like the sharp edge of a knife. You’ve taken his pain and turned it into a mission.
He looks at you, hunched over the Batcomputer terminal in the aggressive red light, already focused on the work, already moving on. He sees the flicker of tears in your eyes, but also the resolute set of your jaw. He knows you mean every word. He has to prove he can solve the problem.
He takes a deep breath, forcing the raw anger down, replacing it with a cold, almost detached focus.
“Fine,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, but controlled. He walks toward the Batcomputer, not toward you, but to the equipment bay. He grabs a spare headset and clips it on, accessing the private comms channel.
“You want to work? We work,” he mutters, pulling up a schematic on a secondary monitor. “You said the Luthor key overlaps with the Penguin location data. Let's see if we can find a back-end exploit that lets us override this lock without tripping an alert. Tim and Dick didn't think about the code redundancy loop in the original Batcave schematics.”
He glances at you, his eyes hard but focused entirely on the screen, accepting the truce of work. “But don’t think this means you win, either. You’re working out your pride on a crisis that could actually kill us. Now look at the timestamp on that data scrub. Is it the Penguin’s own timer, or Luthor’s contingency?”
Jason is working with an intense, surgical focus, navigating the complex Batcave network with practiced ease. He pulls up a series of nested code streams related to the Penguin’s use of Luthor’s encryption for shipping. For a few minutes, the only sound is the frantic tapping of keys and the quiet, technical murmur of Jason talking to himself through the headset.
You, meanwhile, are intensely trying to focus on the work, your adrenaline and hurt still raging under your professional exterior. You're analyzing a timestamp, trying to ignore the proximity of his shoulder inches from yours.
Jason hits a sequence of commands and the secondary monitor flashes with a section of compressed code.
"There," he mutters, leaning in, his voice slightly muffled by the headset mic. "See that signature? It's not Penguin. It's a derivative of the code Luthor used in the '09 banking raid. Old school. Why would Penguin use—fuck! Fuck this shit."
He cuts himself off, his frustration spilling over, and he rips the headset off, throwing it back onto the console with a sharp clatter. He turns, planting his hands on the console table, forcing his stare onto the opposite wall, but his anger is still laser-focused on you.
“You know what the worst part is?” he demands, his voice low and tight with venom, finally snapping the work truce. “The worst part of standing there on that stupid balcony, drowning in my own failure, wasn't Bruce’s face. It was Dick.”
You finally stop typing, your spine rigid. You knew, for better or for worse, that this was coming.
“You looked like you were about to collapse, and Dick—golden boy Dick—he just walks in, calm, collected, with his stupid, gentle grin, and plays the savior. And you just... you took his hand. You walked right out with him.”
His head snaps back to you, his eyes burning with accusation. He doesn't wait for your response. The floodgates are open, and the weeks of internalized humiliation and possessiveness pour out “He gets to be the easy choice, the easy way out. The hero pass”
“I’m the one who has to stand there and watch Bruce and Diana carve you up while I freeze, and Dick gets to be the reward for your pain. Dick gets to put the blanket on you. He gets to comfort you and listen to you confess all the things you won’t even say to me. It’s happened before, when I died.”
He pushes off the console, taking a menacing step toward you. “I knew you were safe, yeah. But you were safe with him. You’ve made your point clear about Artemis. I’ve spent the last three weeks on patrol picturing you in Dick’s apartment, wrapped in his clothes, talking about shared trauma while I was out here losing my mind because I didn’t know how to apologize.”
He finally looks at you, his eyes wide and burning with raw, agonizing jealousy. "Tell me you don't look at him and think, 'Why can't Jason be like this?' Tell me you don't feel a flicker of that old, easy history when he is sitting there, playing the perfect, uncomplicated friend!"
He stops, chest heaving. He has finally said the worst thing: he has admitted his deepest, terrified belief that you choose Dick's comfort over his own complex, frightening love.
You stare at him. The fire of your own anger—the pride, the defense, the calculated indifference—suddenly goes out, leaving behind a profound, aching realization. He isn't lashing out to hurt you; he is tearing himself apart because he truly believes Dick is a better man for you. Just like you thought Barbara and Artemis were better women for him.
This Jason is still the kid you hurled behind you when you first met Superman, muttering something about being discreet. The teenager that Joker tortured and killed and took away from you. The one you mourned before you even turned 18 years old.
The best friend who convinced Bruce to tell Diana to let you enroll at Gotham Academy. He listened to you cry when she would be mad at you because you were a reckless kid with newfound powers or when that girl from your Maths class tried to bully you.
Maybe, in the end, no Barbara, no Artemis, no Dick can come between you.
The frustration of his stupidity is too much. The pain in his eyes is too real. His self-loathing is too close to your own secret fear that he is right. You don't want the easy comfort; you want the hard, chaotic, terrifying truth of him.
You take the one step that closes the distance between you. Your hand, which was steady seconds ago, comes up and cups the side of his jaw, thumb resting gently on the sharp edge of his cheekbone. The other wiggles across your body and entangles your fingers with his, guiding his hand to the small curve of your lower back. His other hand follows respectfully.
“If you’re in love with Dick then give me back the Nirvana shirt I gave you in middle school!” He pouts, petty.
Your eyes widen, shock written all over your face in a matter of seconds. A hiccupy sound of surprise exits your throat "You're taking this too far.”
Jason’s eyes, burning with raw agony moments ago, narrow in genuine confusion. The intensity of his rant shatters. He leans into your touch, the heat of his skin familiar and grounding.
“Am I?” he asks, his voice thick with bewilderment, the earlier roar gone. “I gave it to you because I liked you. And you didn’t even get it”
The words reach an unhealed part of your past. The cut that always bleeds. At sixteen you didn’t want to date a fourteen year old. At eighteen, when Jason dies, Dick’s face is like an endless possibility of what Jason might have looked like when he’d turn twenty. You spend days locked up in Jason’s room, wearing his shirt until Dick convinces you to eat something, drink water. But you keep the shirt as the only relic of Jason you could ever have for the rest of your life.
You wouldn’t give him back that shirt, even if you had to write it off in your will.
Your breath hitches, the tears you’ve been holding back for weeks stinging your eyes. The absurdity of arguing over a moth-eaten tee shirt while trapped in the Batcave by his brothers is devastatingly close to home.
“This is the only thing I’ve got from before you died. You're not taking it from me. I need it.”
A faint, broken smile touches Jason’s lips. It’s not a cruel smile, but one of relieved realization. He’s looking past the fight, straight at the raw, vulnerable heart of your attachment.
The shirt isn't just clothing; it's the physical relic of unrequited history and the tangible proof of your mourning. Your refusal to give it back is the first and most powerful clue that Jason’s fears about Dick are unfounded.
“Ha!” He chuckles, the sound raspy. “I knew you didn’t mean that you never needed me.”
The smile is too much. The relief in his voice is too much. You snap, the three-week dam of fear and anger finally bursting.
“I'm in love with you Jason!” You cry out, your voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Not Dick! I’m keeping the shi—” You clap a hand over your mouth, cutting off the confession too late, your eyes wide with the shocking betrayal of your own protective silence.
Jason freezes.
For once, the constant restless movement that defines him, the pacing, the half-steps, the clenched fists, stops dead. The words hang between you, fragile and burning, like a live wire neither of you can touch without getting hurt.
His eyes go wide, a thousand emotions crossing his face so fast they blur together: disbelief, shock, anger, and something far more dangerous that lies at the end of Pandora’s chest—hope.
He stares at you. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. All the rage, the jealousy, the self-pity—it all evaporates, leaving him stunned. His gaze is desperate, searching your face for any sign that the words weren’t just another angry lie.
He drops his hands from your waist, only to immediately raise them, framing your face with his palms. His thumbs gently wipe the tracks of your glossy tears.
“Say it again,” he demands, his voice a low, rough whisper, barely audible over the hum of the computers. His eyes are shining green now, dark like a forest under a crescent moon and impossibly open. “Look at me. Say you love me. Say it again.”
You shake your head quickly, heart hammering so hard it feels like your ribs might split apart and let the vital organ slime down the floor of the cave.
“No,” you mutter, hand still over your mouth. “Forget it. I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t lie to me now,” he interrupts, surging forward, making you trip a step back towards the computer deck. His voice isn’t angry anymore. It’s raw, stripped of every defense he’s ever built. “You can call me every name in the book, you can hate me, you can ignore me for weeks, but don’t take that back.”
You lower your hand, your breath trembling. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
Jason huffs out a laugh that sounds like it hurts. The corner of his lip twitches “Yeah, well. You’re the one who yelled it.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another. The kind that feels endless and your heart still wants to split your chest apart.
Jason does the least expected thing in the world at this given moment— he pulls you in. Hugs you. Right into his chest. Enormous biceps trap your back onto him, pressing you close, close, close until you feel like your lungs will collapse.
He’s not thinking in full sentences at that point. It's all static and pulse. Yours? His? He doesn’t even fucking know.
The hug isn’t even a decision that he takes; it’s instinct, a grab at proof that he’s real and that you didn’t mean to wound him and that he understands. The anger that’s been driving him burns out mid-motion, replaced by a kind of stunned quiet. The air in the cave still tastes like gun oil and adrenaline, but what he’s holding isn’t a fight anymore —it’s someone who said the one thing he’s wanted to hear since he crawled out of his own grave.
In his head, it’s chaos. But his body’s language is simpler: hold, breathe, anchor. His chin finds the top of your head, his heart is hammering like it’s still trying to outrun death. He smells the faint detergent on your shirt, your shampoo, the salt from your tears. It’s so small, so human, that it breaks something open in him.
His heart wants to crawl out of his chest too and if it’s a race between your vitals on which is going to give in to failure first, he’s definitely winning.
He pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against yours, both of you gasping for air, but his hands roam on your face, the back of your head, to hold you place. He wants you to look at him in the eyes when he says,
“I’m in love with you too. Have been, forever”
The words land and just… stay there. No thunderclap, no music cue. Just the thrum of the cave’s machines and his breath shaking against your temple.
You don’t move at first. You can’t. You feel the tremor in his chest before you hear it—the uneven rhythm of someone who hasn’t said I’m in love with you out loud in years. Someone who’s been holding it in.
The warmth of his hands on your face doesn’t feel like possession; it feels like someone holding a miracle too tight, afraid it’ll vanish.
Your eyes trace the new softness in him, the way the fight has bled out but left him raw, eyes red-rimmed, mouth parted like he’s still bracing for you to take it all back.
So you don’t say a word. You just breathe, steady, until the static in your head fades enough to find his pulse beneath your fingers. Then you tilt your chin up, slow. His breath catches.
You look at his lips, chapped, a fading powdery pink draft of skin, then that freckle on his left eyelid. The one on the eye bag underneath his right one.
The whole world has shut off for one second.
And then, when you kiss him, the clocks start ticking again.
You’re not giving in to prove him wrong or to make a promise—just an answer.
The kiss doesn’t feel like triumph— it feels like recognition. He freezes for half a heartbeat, then exhales into it, the weight of you lifting just enough for him to kiss you back, slow and trembling. He doesn’t deepen it yet; he just stays there, lips pressed softly to yours like he’s afraid a bigger movement might ruin the fragile truth sitting between you.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his breath warm on your skin. “I love you. I won't run. I swear I won’t run again. I promise.”
The way he kisses you next could only be described as blasphemy. A sin. Unholy.
It is not sweet or tender. It is a desperate, consuming plunge that feels like a violation of the sterile, rule-bound space you inhabit. It is the raw, unedited violence of his resurrection funneled into an act of love. It’s rough, lip-numbing.
You press into him, gasping, your fingers digging into the tough, corded muscles of his neck. This kiss is uneven, and tastes like the salt of old tears and the fierce, bitter copper of an adrenaline spike. It's too fast, too sloppy and too hungry—the emotional equivalent of the Batwing takeoff—and it shatters the last remaining piece of your composure.
It is blasphemy because it makes a mockery of all the 'clean' relationships you're supposed to have: the sisterly Amazonian bonds, the measured partnership of the Justice League kissing the outlaw that’s back from the dead. This is a covenant sealed in stolen moments and self-destruction.
It is a sin because it makes you crave the chaos. You feel the answering darkness in you rise up, matching his hunger, and for a terrifying second, you want nothing more than to burn down the entire world with him.
It is unholy because it feels like two people who have been fighting death finally choosing to fight for life—and choosing the most dangerous, unstable way to do it.
The second Robin. The second Wonder Girl. Pulled together by strings of fate.
He finally pulls away, the urgency of the moment—and the impending elevator doors—forcing him back to reality. His eyes are dark, blown wide with an intensity that matches the sheer, terrifying depth of what just passed between you. He is breathless, and his jaw is clenched.
“God,” he rasps, his voice a low vibration against your ear. He kisses your temple once, quick and hard, a possessive gesture. “We need to go upstairs. Now.”
Jason ignores the security system, using his own code for situations just like this one —getting out of the cave during emergency lockdown— and bypasses the main foyer, dragging you up the stairs to the manor and into his old childhood room.
The door slams shut behind you. The room is dark, lit only by the cold, indifferent glow of Gotham's lights filtering through the blinds. It’s barerer than you remember: a bed, a desk buried under old patrol maps, and a tactical rack where his Red Hood armor hangs like a silent, metal sentinel. His mini library that Bruce built.
You are leaning against the door, breath coming in ragged gasps, still shaken by the altitude, the escape, and the kiss. You are suddenly acutely aware of your figure that's trapped inside and in between both of his arms.
Jason fumbles with locking the deadbolt. The adrenaline has not burned out, but it has shifted. His movements are slower now, predatory. He parts from you and crosses the room in three strides, but stops just short of touching you.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He simply reaches you and unzips your compression jacket in one smooth, decisive movement. The fabric sighs open, pooling around your feet. His leather jacket shares the same fate hitting the floor with a soft, dull thud.
Your eyes meet his. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, his gaze is dark, searching, stripped bare of the anger and the excuses.
You could tell him you’re scared.
You won’t.
Since he came back four years ago, you and Jason have had sex twice, maybe thrice if you decide that most recent the time you absolutely nuked each other dry through your clothes on top of his bike matters at all, or even counts. You didn’t look at him for weeks after, never risked seeing what it did to him, or to you.
Now he’s right here, close enough that every breath you take brushes against his. His hands are still on your face, steady but trembling at the edges. The hum in the air fades until it’s just that shared pulse, that quiet between heartbeats where you both realize no one’s running this time.
His eyes search yours, as if waiting for you to flinch, to joke, to find a way out. You don’t. You just hold his gaze until the fear blurs into something heavier.
When you finally move, it’s not a decision—it’s gravity. Your lips find his, slow and sure, and for once there’s no heat or mask to hide behind. Your hands wrap around his neck, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling him down.
The kiss is a blur of need and desperation, a claim staked in the only territory that matters now. Your lips. The patted space between them. He groans, low, guttural, and the sound vibrates against your lips. He breaks the kiss, pulling away just an inch, his eyes locked on yours in the dim light. His pupils are wide, black pools swallowing the faint light of green around them.
“Bed, now” he dictates, his voice rough, heavy with the weight of the last three weeks and the unholy truth of their confession. It isn’t a question; it's a command.
You don’t need to say yes. You answer by hurriedly pulling your tank top over your head, letting it join the growing pile of forgotten clothing on the floor.
He tries to work on your jeans but his fingers tremble slightly as they brush against the button of them, hesitating before completely undoing it.
The sound is loud in the tense silence between you both. He doesn’t look up at you—doesn’t meet your eyes—as he works on pulling down the zipper. He grins, leaning back just an inch, a breath of space, before yanking your pants off in a single motion.
Jason’s gaze burns over you, an inventory of everything he nearly lost. At the cost of it not happening again, he doesn't waste another second. He lifts you, not gently, but with a sudden, powerful surge, trapping your legs around his waist and grabbing the plush skin of your ass so violently that you know it’s going to bruise.
He carries you toward the bed, stumbling slightly on his way—a reminder that he is not the golden, graceful crispy ironed duvet, shifting you so you are pinned beneath him. The cold metal of the buckles on his belt presses into your hip when he rolls his hips into yours experimentally, a tangible reminder that his cock is pulsing through his cargos, just for you.
His hands are everywhere—possessive, reassuring, demanding.
You lay there in your underwear, your body trembling slightly from the cold of the room, the adrenaline, and the consuming pull of his presence.
Just as the kiss deepens, just as the last barrier of composure threatens to shatter, Jason draws back. It’s a deliberate, agonizing retreat that leaves you suspended in need. He doesn't move off of you, though, even if you moan in protest; he just props himself up on his elbow above you, his chest heaving, his eyes heavy with a teasing, wicked hunger.
He pushes a strand of your bangs away from your forehead and lets you brush your lips to his before flinching his head back, denying you another kiss
“This reminds me,” he starts. An evil chuckle escapes his mouth “the other time, you said you never needed me”
“Jace”
“Uh-ah” he shushes you, bringing a finger to your lips that you threaten to suck into your mouth “I’m gonna need you to take it back. And beg.”
A soft, sudden growl escapes him. He grabs the back of your thighs, effortlessly pinning you to the bed beneath his body in one swift, fluid motion, your legs over his shoulders, locked.
He doesn't kiss you. He doesn't move. He simply lets out a slow, satisfied exhale that brushes your ear, a sound of absolute, predatory triumph.
You refuse to look away, the burning heat in his eyes mirroring the consuming need in your own chest. The position he’s put you in is undeniably worse than a headlock, leaving you entirely open, entirely his. He's asking you to admit defeat, but your pride is the last thing you have left.
You swallow, the tremor in your voice betraying your composure. “I won’t beg,” you whisper, the words an act of final, desperate resistance. You grab his wrist, your fingers digging into the strong pulse point there.
You dig your fingernails in, but he barely flinches. The pressure doesn't bother him; he just leans in closer, his smirk turning sharp.
You grit your teeth, the effort to hold back a sob making your jaw ache. His victory is palpable, the cruel warmth of his bulge pressing down on your cunt.
“Really?”
“I bet, you can't make me say please.”
He snorts, reaching down to grip your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes hold a dangerous look of pure lust.
"Oh, trust me, princess. I haven't even begun, yet. I think I should play with you a little longer, hm? Until you're begging me to give you what you really want. Then, and only then, will I decide to give in. And when I do, it'll be so worth it."
A malevolent laugh escapes him. He leans in to nip at your sensitive throat, finally relenting with a smirk.
His hand leaves your thigh and rises, the movement slow and deliberate. You track it, helpless, as his fingers hook beneath the strap of your bra where it meets your shoulder.
He doesn't tug or rip. He simply pulls the strap down your arm, exposing the side of your breast to the cool air, leaving the fragile fabric bunched up at your elbow. His eyes never leave yours, waiting for the capitulation.
His free hand wiggles underneath your back—hot, too hot—and moves to the center of your back, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. A quiet, metallic click, and the garment goes slack. He slides the now unfastened fabric from beneath you, discarding it with a casual flick of his wrist onto the floor.
The predatory triumph in his eyes is back, intensified, and he finally lowers his head, not to kiss, but to claim.
He nips at your earlobe, a promise and a threat. "You have no idea what I've been imagining doing to you."
“Like what?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He growls, his voice dropping to a husky whisper right against your ear "Like teasing you until you’re begging me to cum. Like marking every inch of this perfect body as mine."
He bites down gently on your shoulder, then continues in a darker tone "And like making sure that when I finally give in and let myself have what we both want so damn badly? You’ll never forget who owns you."
He bites at your earlobe again, his voice husky, hands groping your ass to adjust you better against him as he grinds against you. "Maybe I'll start with some of the, ah... less intense things, first. That way you won't be overwhelmed all at once. I know how sensitive you are."
Jason doesn't wait. The second the admission is out, the second the bra is gone, his mouth descends.
He doesn't attack with fury, but with a calculated, devastating hunger. His lips and teeth find the tip of your exposed breast first, a harsh, possessive tug that makes your entire body arch up impossibly into his. A moan rips from your throat, swallowed instantly by the charged air between you.
He sucks hard, using his tongue and teeth to work a tight circle around the nipple, drawing the heat and blood to the surface. The deep, wet sound of his mouth against your skin is deafening in the silence of the room. Your hands tighten around his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle, trying to anchor yourself as a wave of intense, focused sensation washes over you.
He pulls back to look at his handiwork—your breast is perked, the nipple rigid and glistening. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, burn with satisfaction. Your clit gives you a warning pulse when he grinds you against the seam of his pants again.
"God. You’re so damn beautiful." His eyes rake over you. "Seeing you all spread out beneath me like this... I could stare for hours."
“Jason come on—”
“Sssht—Now let’s see,” Then he nips at your throat, his voice dropping to a low purr. "That pretty little spot on your hip... maybe I'll give that special attention. Or that sensitive bit on your inner thigh. I can’t tell you how many times I've imagined it."
You’re… speechless to say the least. The very few times the two of you have had sex have been normal. Almost talkless. The much needed foreplay and an exchange of words that could boil down to not even sweet nothings.
What’s happening now is feral. An instance that’s making you embarrassed and flustered in all the wrong ways. Telling him how much you want him, begging him—it feels stupid, embarrassing, it’s making you—
“You're making me—“
Jason growls against your skin, smirking as he feels the undeniable shiver that runs through you.
"Making you what, sweetheart? Finish your sentence. Tell me what I'm doing to you." His teeth graze your collarbone, a gravelly whisper.
“Nghhh” you moan
"Come on…Tell me how badly you want it, princess. Tell me just how badly you crave it— We both know it. You want it. It's just a matter of when you'll beg for me."
“You're making me wet, Jay.”
He laughs, immediately satisfied. His fingers trail down your side before suddenly gripping the inside of your thigh and squeezing possessively.
He presses open mouthed kisses down your body, trailing his tongue on every spot his lips wrap around and each kiss makes you jolt, cunt squeezing around nothing.
"Oh? Really now? Thought so,” He bites the soft skin of your hip with a smirk when he reaches the band of your cotton underwear. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, babe. And we haven't even gotten started yet."
Then, with an abrupt change of focus, he begins to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across your sternum, up the soft dip between your breasts, and up the other side. His tongue sweeps up to the second peak he left untouched before, and he takes it into his mouth with the same intensity, demanding the same raw, breathless response.
You stop fighting. Your body is a nerve pulled taut, trembling under his focus. The demanding pull, the wet heat—it’s too much. Your head falls back against the mattress, your defense completely shattered.
The second Jason brings his hand to your clothed slit, pressing two fat pads of his fingers right oover your aching clit, your whole body shivers.
“Ready to say please?” He waits, letting the silence and the proximity do the rest of the work.
You shake your head in denial and his fingers press onto your clit harder in one, two, three, four swirls before he shifts. He removes his hand entirely, sitting up slightly. He leans forward, right next to your ear
“Maybe I could use my mouth on you,” Jason whispers.
The words are soft, a sudden break in the harsh tension. The quiet invitation—the shift from his aggressive challenge to a devastatingly intimate offer—slams through your last bit of composure.
He watches you, a smug triumph flashing in his dark gaze.
He trails his fingers back down your body, slowly, before his hand settles on the inside of your thigh. His head follows as he leans in close, his mouth hovering just over the inside of your thigh, claiming his generosity.
“See, I can be nice,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as he begins to trace the sensitive skin near the edge of your underwear close to your center. "But nice doesn't mean patient. It just means I'll make sure you're damn near screaming for me before I even bother with those pretty little panties."
He shifts, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for the exact moment the resistance breaks. You expect him to move slowly, to prolong the agony of the hover, but Jason is done with subtlety.
"Fine," he grits out, the word raw. "You want to know what I risk for a sound? Here."
He pushes your hips down, his leg weight heavy and commanding. He lowers his head, and the cold air is immediately displaced by his hot, broken breath against your soaking wet cotton.
His tongue is a sudden, scorching press against your inner thigh—a sharp, wet line drawn right up to the edge of your underwear. He doesn’t go over the fabric. Instead, he uses his teeth, tugging the damp cotton down just enough to expose the slick, sensitive skin beneath.
The pressure is agonizing. You gasp, arching your back against the mattress, your fingers sinking into the duvet.
"Don't you dare bite that pretty lip, princess," he dictates, his voice muffled, a low vibration against your hip bone. "I want to hear every sound I pull out of you."
Then, he commits. He sweeps his tongue over the pulsing, aching nub of your clit. It's a possessive demand, and the shock is so intense that your entire body snaps taut, your hips lifting into the air without conscious thought.
He pulls back an inch, his eyes flashing up to your face, triumph and a dark, raw need burning in his gaze. He smiles, a savage, satisfied curve of his lips.
The sound that tears from you—that high, desperate, broken whimper—is only half the admission he’d been waiting for. You didn't even know you were capable of making it.
The pleasure, the shame, the sheer overwhelming focus of it all snaps your control completely. You don't try to speak. You don't dare challenge him again.
Instead, your hands shoot out, gripping the sides of his head, your fingers burying themselves in the dark, damp strands of his hair. You pull him down—hard—a wordless, frantic plea for him to return, for him to finish what he started.
He groans, the low, guttural sound rattling against the mattress. The savagery in his eyes doesn't fade; it sharpens. He doesn't go back to your throbbing center, not yet. Instead, he settles his mouth against the wet heat he created on your inner thigh, taking a possessive, teeth-grazing bite of the sensitive skin.
"Beg for it, sweetheart," he dictates, his voice muffled against your flesh, heavy with the promise of more. "Tell me what you want me to do next."
"Take my panties off, Jason, please."
The demand is strained, not the begging whimper he wanted, but close enough to shatter the last barrier. He grunts, a raw sound of satisfaction tearing from his throat.
He pulls back an inch, his eyes flashing up to your face, triumph and a dark, raw need burning in his gaze. He smiles, a savage, satisfied curve of his lips.
"That was a damn good first attempt, but you’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart,” he says, his fingers already working on the cotton band of your underwear.
He doesn't bother with finesse. With a sharp, possessive yank, he tears the uselessly wet fabric down your thighs and kicks them off the end of the bed.
“I’ll still reward you” He doesn't pause, doesn't wait. He immediately replaces the cotton with his mouth. The cold air hits your slick skin for one agonizing second before his hot, wet tongue takes a slow lick from the bottom of your pussy to the tip of your clit.
He starts with a devastating pressure right over the source of the ache, then uses the rough pad of his tongue to rake across your core.
A genuine scream—raw, broken, and utterly involuntary—tears from your lungs, muffled only by the worn duvet beneath your head. Your hips surge off the mattress, seeking the relentless pressure.
He stops, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with the finality of victory.
"There it is," he breathes, his voice thick with triumph. “Do we like?”
“Yes!”
“Mhhhm” He grunts in satisfied acknowledgment against your pussy, his eyes staring right into yours, still heavy with that raw, victorious lust. He doesn't pull back again. He dives back down, relentless, using his tongue, rubbing it in figure eights over and over on your puffy clit.
You’re only gasping and sobbing against the mattress. A slurry mess is what you’ve become, with fat tears gathering at the corners of your tightly shut eyes
The sounds you make are primal, unedited, and for better or for worse, belong only to Jason. You can only pray, amidst your mind that’s already turning into goo, that Alfred is not anywhere near this wing of the manor.
Jason doesn't move off your pussy, not wanting to shake the immense wave of pleasure he's creating. His tongue is suddenly everywhere—slick, insistent—pushing you past the final point of thought, past the edge of control. The rhythmic pressure of his groaning every time he dips his tongue into your syrupy hole, is forcing a continuous, broken whine from your throat.
You are completely lost to the sensation, clinging to the fabric of his duvet, your hips bucking instinctively. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the rough pad of his tongue, and the shocking sound of his satisfied moans against your clit. Every muscle in your body locks, tightening against the consuming force of his attention.
He shifts his head once, a slight movement that changes the angle and pressure, and the world shatters. Your chest heaves with short breaths and Jason bullies a thick finger inside you with vigilance.
He twists it once, thrice, twice –you don’t even know how words work and in which order right now– and your legs start shaking, locking around his neck, urging him to put his mouth on you immediately.
And fuck, if that’s not the hottest thing Jason has ever seen. Fuck being told he has the best thighs in the world on the regular; It’s your thighs he wants to die in between of.
So he complies with you, only because he’s so close to actually breaking you; His lips find your clit again and suck subtly. Your fingers leave the duvet and claw uselessly at his hair. You can't breathe, can't think. Every muscle is pulled like a rope, your thighs trembling as you try to press yourself harder into his face. The pressure builds, a tight, coil of pure hedonism winding tighter and tighter in your core.
He uses his thumb—the same thumb that had been teasing you earlier—and presses down hard on your swollen, sensitive clit, even as his mouth continues its ruthless, focused assault.
The contrast is dizzying. The soft kitten licks of his combined with the mixture of wetness of you and his tongue versus the roughness of his thumb. He is just everywhere, missing nothing, taking everything.
You shutter. Or, you’re going to shutter. Very soon and very suddenly. And you can't even shut up about it.
“It’s coming– I’m gonna come Jay– fuckfuckfuck” You repeat, over and over, like a mantra.
Jason pulls away in one swift move and at first you don’t realise he’s not just taking a breath. You try to push his head back onto you, hips bucking, missing the warmth of his mouth on you, his fingers not even anywhere close to being enough for you.
You look at him, panicked, eyes surging to search his face for a reason as to why he’s not mouth to mouth with your pussy yet, only to see him smiling at you with his eyes squinted, wiping the string of wetness connecting him to you.
He sniffles, then wipes his nose, lips parting with cockiness, despite the fucked out expression on his face, as he swipes his thumb over your clit one final time, only to trace a line of slickness up your thigh, his eyes locked on yours.
Your whine of his name could only be described as a scream, really. Not Jace or Jason, but a sound closer to a wounded animal's cry.
“I told you,” He rasps “Good things come to those who beg”
Your legs kick, your body bows. You’re only left wondering– Where the fuck did Jason learn how to eat pussy like this?
The rush of his words, the conceited, arrogant confidence of his claim, cuts through the haze of your pleasure. He leans back, expecting you to simply concede, to fall silent under the weight of his control. His fingers trap your chin, forcing your face into his.
“What do you say, pretty?”
“Fuck” You start mumbling “’m sorry, i need yah Jay, please– Please–”
He swallows the sound you both make ,with his lips on yours and only pulls back once the shudders begin to subside. He rises, his chest heaving. He looks down at you—limp, spent, glistening—and his eyes are dark with victory.
“Please what ‘Jay’?” He asks, mockingly.
"Please, fuck me!" The word tears from your throat, raw and broken, a sound that finally holds the deep, true desperation he’s been hunting for. "Please, Jason. Don't stop. I need you inside me, now. Please. Please. Please, I need you."
You don't just say the word; you choke on it multiple times. Your hips are bucking again, frantically trying to bridge the small, agonizing distance between his body and yours. The sound is ragged, humiliating, and just perfect. Giving in feels so. fucking. good.
Jason goes utterly still.
His eyes widen, the triumphant smirk freezing on his face before it melts into an expression of pure, unadulterated shock and yearning. He stares at you, absorbing the sound of the word he earned.
"God," he growls, the sound thick and final. “Look at you.”
He doesn't waste another second. He yanks his boots off, kicking them carelessly onto the floor. With one fluid motion, he strips off his own cargos, the kevlar under armour and boxers, tossing them aside. The cold metal of his belt buckles finally clatters away, leaving him fully exposed, completely vulnerable, just like you.
His body is hot, hard of sculpted muscle and littered with scars that vary in size, and so very immediately pressed between your legs. He braces his hands on the mattress beside your head, leaning over you, his gaze intense as he slaps the eight of his dick on your pussy and finally, lines himself up with your entrance.
But instead of slipping inside, like he could have done sooo easily, he pushes himself to tease you a little more, even if his bulge is begging him not to.
He slugs his body over yours, his weight heavy and intoxicating. His cock drags, slowly, excruciatingly, from your throbbing, squelching hole to your clit, smearing slickness across your hypersensitive core. He goes to repeat the motion, twice, the rough texture of him drawing a sharp, frustrated gasp from your throat.
"Fuck," he rasps, his hips pushing into the friction again. “Can I put it in?”
You nod frantically in response, saying yes, yes, yes, yes, like it’s the only word you know how to say.
He moves once more, his cock sliding just past the swollen entrance, riding the delicate ridge of your sex. The friction is unbearable, building the pressure you thought had already peaked.
Your hand reaches over his tip, fast. Pressing it down against your clit in heated need, desperate for some more friction and Jason’s just taking it, shimming his hips back and forth until he slips, once, inside your velvety pussy.
Jason groans. A long, trembling broken whine of a sound that lasts as long as it takes for him to bottom out inside you. Your pussy splits around him, pulling him in tight, clenching impossibly. Nothing has ever felt this good in his entire life.
Your breath is punched out of your lungs. The other wise sound of an “ooof” escapes you once your walls stretch just enough to accommodate him.
The silence that follows Jason's groan is only broken by the frantic, heavy rhythm of his own pulse hammering where your bodies meet. The way his chest stutters by his broken breathing.
He waits, not moving, savoring the feeling of being completely sheathed inside your throbbing walls. His hands slide from the mattress to your waist, gripping you hard enough to bruise.
"Mine–ffffuck," he rasps, the word a vibration that starts deep in his chest and echoes through your core.
Then, he moves. It’s not a graceful rhythm, but a hard, punishing thrust that forces another gasp from your lips. He pulls back almost completely, then slams home again, deep and desperate, seeking friction where you are already raw and sensitive.
You can't do anything but cling to him, your back arching off the bed with every collision. The intensity is immediate, sharp, overriding the lingering exhaustion of how badly he’s teased you prior. You feel the familiar, dizzying spiral starting again—faster this time, rougher, fueled by the desperation of his entry and how snug every ridge of his cock fits inside you.
"Look at me," he commands, his hips pausing, his fingers digging into your flesh. “How long has it been since we did this?”
The pleading in his eyes could actually, irrevocably destroy you.
“One year. Four months” you slur the words strained, the numbers sounding immense and tragic as they exit your mouth.
He doesn't let the emotion interrupt the act. He takes your answer and weaponizes it.
"Too damn long," he growls, shoving his hips forward with bone-jarring force. He starts the relentless tempo again, faster, heavier, each deep thrust punishing the long separation.
He pulls back, his hips rotating sharply, then fucks forward with piston-like thrusts. The headboard behind you thuds against the wall, a heavy, rhythmic declaration of their collision.
He is all angles and power, driving into your core with extreme speed. Your arms wrap automatically around his torso, holding on for dear life.
Jason doesn't slow, even when your nails dig into the skin of his back –he only hisses– maintaining the depth and impact of fucking into you, aiming to smash the lingering haze of your previously ruined release and rebuild the climax with his sheer force.
Your hips rise to meet him, an involuntary response to the violence of his tempo. Your thighs lock around his waist, trying to anchor the sensation, but you are just along for the ride. Moaning his name over and over, trying to be louder than the wet sounds of skin on skin that fill the room a hundred times a second.
He shifts his grip, one hand flattening against your stomach, pushing down slightly, forcing him deeper into the curve of your body. The pressure is intense, focused entirely on the friction. And then, he leans his weight down, grinding his chest against your already sensitive breasts.
He pulls back, again his jaw tight with effort, and delivers three sharp, stuttering thrusts, so deep they make your vision swim.
He’s lost all his ability to speak. All of his cockiness and authority, gone, to the sound of his own moans. He leans down, taking your mouth with a bruising, desperate kiss that swallows your ragged gasps. It's a claim, meant to silence everything but the collision of your bodies, the drop drip drip watery sound of him fucking into you. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, mirroring the invasion below, giving you not a spec of space to hide.
The way his hips rock you make your ass lift with each movement, each roll of his waist and hips inside you. Everything condemns him impossibly deeper– your sugary walls keep clamping around him so intensely that you feel every vein, every curve of his dick molding you to his shape completely.
The sensation is too much, too fast. Your lungs lock, your chest heavs in short, broken gasps “Please touch me” you tell him, voice barely above a whisper
“Where baby?”
“My p-pussy-”
He half-laughs, amused at your sudden stammering, but he doesn't even use the mocking princess title. He breaks the kiss, only to drop his head and press his mouth against your ear. At the same moment, his hips shift slightly, and he brings his free hand down. His thumb finds your swollen, sensitive clit, pressing down hard and working it in a tight, merciless circle while he drives deeper inside you.
The simultaneous pressure—the internal crushing force of his thrusts combined with the external, focused torture of his thumb—sends you spinning.
You feel the familiar tightening deep in your belly, the warning signs of a secondary peak that is rougher, more demanding than the first and find solace in the fact that this time, you’re going to get your release.
You try to move your hand to his shoulder, to slow him down, but he simply catches your wrist and pins it above your head with his other hand, maintaining the relentless drive.
He delivers a broken series of hard, long and shattering thrusts and the world dissolves into noise and pressure. Your climax is explosive, a violent, full-body surrender that makes your back bow and your legs lock around his waist with uncontrollable force. You scream his name, the sound muffled against his skin giving him the final victory he demanded.
Jason collapses on top of you for a moment heavy, spent, his breath sawing raggedly against your neck. The intensity of the climax still pulses all around him, and you're left limp and boneless beneath his weight.
He rocks mindlessly into you as you buck your hips against him too, riding your orgasm into a sweet prolonging that feels like eternity.
"On your knees," he commands, pulling out of your slick core in one agonizing, slow withdrawal. He gives your face a playful pat on the cheek.
He doesn't move far though, just rising enough to help you stand as you wobble and shuffle, to bring his pulsing length to your face, his gaze burning into your own. "I wanna cum in your mouth."
You open your mouth, looking up at him, wordless. Your body is still shaking and the sudden vertical shift makes your head swim, but the ingrained obedience to his command is absolute. You are too spent to argue, too raw to refuse.
Jason watches you for a beat, his expression a complicated mix of being utterly spent and yearning for what you’re about to do to him, and grabs his cock at the base to rub it back and forth onto your swollen lips.
The motion is slow, possessive, smearing the remnants of your own release across your mouth. The contact is an intimate claim, a shared secret between the two of you in the dark, quiet of his room.
You remain kneeling, your eyes locked on his, accepting the gesture entirely. The heat is intoxicating, the taste a visceral reminder of the pleasure he just surrendered in and the absolute dominance he exerted only moments ago.
You reach up, one hand circling his hard wrist, holding him steady, keeping the friction exactly where he put it. You use your tongue, flicking out to clean a path along the underside of his length.
He groans, a low sound pulled deep from his chest, and his eyes briefly slip shut.
He leans forward, gripping the back of your head firmly but ever so gently, guiding you to his rigid length. You tuck your lips over your teeth and suck, taking him fully into your mouth.
Your tongue dances over every vein, every single rigid of dick that you can reach without breaking the suction you’re creating.
The first buck of his hips into your face is slow, his hands tangling through your head to come and cup your jaw tenderly. The action alone sends you into frenzy— you bob your head and hollow your cheeks out until he fills your mouth completely.
You’re making sounds you never thought you could possibly make. Lewd slurping and the occasional smooching whenever he makes a move that slightly breaks the suction of your mouth around him.
Jason allows you to pull away for air just once, your hand coming to form a ring over the base of his cock and his balls. You let the weight of it slap your cheek as you take both balls onto your mouth and lick.
He hisses, utterly spent, but his eyes refuse to leave yours for a second.
Popping his balls of your mouth, you gather enough spit to pool it at the edge of your parted lips before rubbing his swollen tip over them again.
“Fucking hell,” he moans “You’re pure sin.”
Jason stops you from teasing him any more– He brings his hands up, gripping the back of your head with a sudden, powerful grip and thrusts forward, driving deep into your throat. The move is so forceful, it makes you choke. He sets a hard, desperate rhythm, pushing himself to the edge quick, quick, quickly.
His breathing turns into sharp, broken gasps. He is focused entirely on the explosive feeling building inside him, his eyes squeezed shut against the sensory overload.
"That's it, babe," he chokes out, his voice thick with struggle "I'm cumming—God!"
He empties into your mouth—a thick surge of hot white that lasts agonizingly long. You feel him shudder violently above you, his whole body locking as he spends himself completely, every muscle straining. You swallow, obediently, to the very last drop.
Jason finally leans back in an arch of his back, and you downright ogle at the way his abs flex. Then, he pulls out of your mouth with a thick, shuddering gasp. He doesn't move far, though, just standing there, spent, sweaty and out of breath, watching you. His eyes blink open, irises blown with exhausted satisfaction.
He holds you for a moment, his hand tight in your hair.
"Stay," he rasps.
Then, with a rough, sudden move, he shifts. He uses the hand gripping your hair to pivot your head sharply, then your hips, while his body weight executes a rapid turn. He manhandles you on your chest, moving you in one fluid motion so you are now pressed onto your stomach, flat on the mattress beneath him.
“I’m not done,” Jason rasps against your back, placing a kiss onto the middle of it.
You can only groan as you brace yourself against the mattress, heart hammering, your sex immediately slick and open for him.
Jason’s hands both land on your ass, making you hiss, then, he uses his thumbs to spread your cheeks open, making a loud hissing sound at the sight of your wet and already ruined pussy.
He grips your hips—hard—his fingers digging into your flesh to anchor you to the bed. He pulls back slightly, then plunges.
His shimmies inside you, with a force that makes your knees slip slightly on the bed and an uncontrollable gasp is knocked out of you by the motion alone.
He drives into you, hard and fast. The angle is brutal, leveraging his full weight, and the sensation is a squelching friction, the peak you thought you could only reach once tonight starts coiling again deep and low inside your tummy.
Jason pulls your hair, this time to keep your neck arched and exposed, and repeatedly growls against your ear, "all mine." Each syllable punctuated by a deep, relentless thrust, your neck coated with saliva from his open mouthed is kissed on every spot he can latch onto.
“Jay..” you interrupt him with a slur
“Yeah baby?”
“Jay, pillow…ah— hips”
Jason gasps, too keen to follow the rhythm of his hips fucking into yours, too focused on how tight your pussy feels around him. He doesn’t even have the energy to tell you how solid his cock pumps with blood at the though of having already fucked you stupid. How much his chest shudders at the feeling.
He does the only thing he can— he shows you.
Instead of grabbing a pillow, he bends his back, lifts your hips and snuggles one thick forearm under your hips to support you, while the other drives your hips onto him repeatedly.
You claw at the covers underneath you, the fabric bunching in your fists. You're unable to maintain any thought outside of the explosion point, your mind finally a puddle of goo. The pressure of this new angle builds sharply, vibrating all focus at your core, right where his hips meet yours again and again.
He feels like heaven inside you. Too thick, too hard. Each thrust bruises your sugary walls and makes you scream almost exactly like a pornstar.
Then— he slides the hand from your hip, reaches forward, and finds your clit, pressing his middle finger down hard against the slick, sensitive nub. He keeps up his rhythm, achingly slow, trapping you between the mattress and himself.
The sensation is too much, too immediate. Too everywhere. Your hips buck backward, desperate to find the bottom of his thrusts, and a high, uncontrolled moan rips from your throat as his tip finds and violates that one spongy spot inside you that feels just right.
He lets out a series of thick, guttural grunts as he unleashes a final, shattering barrage of strokes. He feels the inevitable clenching deep inside you, hits it over and over again.
He just loves how your pussy clamps around him when you come, how you just gush so perfectly for him. How slippery and hot you feel, just for him. How—
“Fuck, fucking shit I’m gonna cum again” JJason throws his head back, all muscles locking, his body pitching forward as he spends himself entirely inside your tight core.
The climax is almost simultaneous and that to him is devastating on its own.
You both scream, the sound swallowed by the mattress and the dark walls of his room. The world dissolves into white noise and pulsing, and his body collapses, heavy and spent, trapping you beneath his sweaty weight.
The only movement left now is the shaking release of his muscles and the pulsing aftermath in the form of sticky, white cum deep within you. He rests his head against the crook of your neck, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. The silence is finally complete.
He places a kiss underneath your chin and groans when you start shaking.
Fuck— As he watches you twitch, he realises, he completely forgot you don’t have the stamina that comes with your powers anymore.
“‘M sorry” he apologises, trying to make you turn your head to him, but you're limp, breathless. Shaking against him, like you’ve been hit by a tidal wave and barely survived.
“‘S‘Kay” you manage to say.
Jason shifts, his cock pulling out of you with a slow, gentle withdrawal that is the opposite of everything that just occurred.
He rolls slightly to the side, his cum immediately dripping out of you when he pulls you close to him, spooning your exhausted body tightly against his chest.
His arms wrap securely around you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair, pushing the damp strands back from your face. His breathing is slowing, evening out. He doesn't speak; he just holds you, anchoring you to the present.
The only exchange between you that could be considered a conversation is the kiss you seek when you shove your face right into his.
He doesn’t deny it. He needs it as much as you.
He hasn’t felt this safe and sound with you in years.
You don’t know how long you sit there, laying in each other’s arms, but at one point you manage to get inside the covers. Eventually, the chill of the room on your sweaty skin forces the move. Jason shuffles, pulling the duvet up over your shoulders, his movements now slow and meticulously careful.
He lies there for a long moment, completely still, letting the moment settle around the ruins of where you both stood contrary to each other when the night started.
His breathing is slow, evened out. Yet— he wants to do the unfathomable right now.
"Come on," he murmurs, his voice raw, finally breaking the silence. “Let’s go clean up”
In your sleepy state you protest. Your muscles ache all over in dull little spasms. You want to sleep and stay asleep in Jason’s arms for at least a week.
Your eyes keep shutting, sweet sleep enlacing you under his warm blanket. Jason’s chest is warm, his skin is soft like a feathery pillow and you sink deeper into him as your eyelids finally betray you and shut completely. Sure, cleaning up can wait. Right?
Just fiiiive more minutes.
When your eyes open again Jason is leading you into the adjoined private bath of his bedroom and is already turning on the hot water in the shower. He doesn't bother with the harsh main light, in fear of ruining your sleepiness, relying instead on the soft, dim glow from the hall as steam fills the small space.
He guides you into the stall, stepping in behind you. He finds a bottle of body wash, one that smells so much like him, but is still better on his skin than inside the bottle, working it into a rich lather on a washcloth between his big hands. He takes a moment, simply running the scalding water over your back, letting the heat seep into your tight muscles, softening you up.
You sheepishly moan at the sensation
He starts with your back, washing the sweat and tension from your shoulders and spine, his movements slow and mesmerizing. He works down your body, meticulously cleaning your legs, thighs, and finally, reaching between your legs.
He cups you gently, even if you tremor through it, running the washcloth over the raw, sensitive skin he has so savagely claimed. His eyes are kind as he rinses the last remnants of hot, sweaty sex away from your body, meeting yours briefly—a moment of profound intimacy, acknowledging the space you just shared.
Your lips form a sleepy pout as you go to hold onto his beefy shoulders. A silent plea to get back under warm covers soon.
A dangerous thought crosses him— he loves ruining you on his cock, he’s sure now, but he absolutely hates seeing you this weak.
He takes care of himself quickly, then helps you step out, wrapping you in a thick and very very soft, fuzzy bath towel. He pulls on a pair of loose boxers, ignoring the rest of the discarded tactical gear littering the floor.
He dresses you accordingly. A pair of tighter boxers and a tee that’s just too big for you.
He doesn't let go of your hand until he's settled you back into the warmth of the bed. He climbs in beside you, pulling the covers up to your chin, and immediately gathers your shivering body back into his embrace, pulling you over his chest.
You settle into the familiar contours of his body. The scent of him—smoke, leather has vanished and is replaced now with clean, damp skin, and that ridiculously cheap axe cookie smelling body wash and deodorant—it’s the only anchor you need, really.
He runs his fingers along your spine, tracing lazy, possessive patterns, his movements mesmerizing. His lips find your forehead, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your skin.
You cling to him, burying your face against the hollow of his neck, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath your ear. He is no longer the aggressive dom, but the man holding onto the one thing he feared losing most.
He squeezes you tight, then loosens his grip just enough to tilt your chin up with one finger. He kisses you again, soft this time, a slow exploration that holds all the tenderness the last hour lacked.
The light is the first thing that changes. Not the cold, indifferent glow of Gotham filtering through the blinds, but a weak, pale morning sun attempting to break through the perpetual glooming clouds that loom over the city.
You wake slowly, your exhaustion still deep. Your body is a map of all sensations—a dull ache in your hips, a lingering throb in your inner thighs, and the profound, comforting weight of Jason’s arm thrown intimately across your stomach. His head lays perfectly onto your chest, eyes closed still and you hold out a breath as not to wake him.
You shift slightly, testing the security of his hold. His arm tightens instinctively, a low, incoherent rumble vibrating from his chest.
He's not letting go.
You bow your head just enough to study his face. The tension and savage hunger that defined him last night are gone, replaced by a rare, almost startling softness. His expression is too peaceful, his upper lip, bunched and tucked underneath his lower one, his brows smooth, looking closer to the boy you remembered than the brutal man who drove you to your knees hours ago.
Your heart pulls at your chest.
You trace the sharp line of his jaw with one finger, then move to gently brush the hair back from his forehead. The duvet is tangled around your legs, and the cool air hits your bare skin, but the heat emanating from his body is that of a fireplace.
He stirs, his eyes fluttering open.
He doesn't smile, but his hand moves from your stomach to cup the side of your face. He pulls you gently forward and presses a long, slow, sleepy to your lips.
You slightly smile against his lips.
And Jason? Jason doesn't need words right now. No. He tightens his arm around you, burying his face deeper into your chest with a low, satisfied sound. He's clearly drifting back to sleep, content in the knowledge that you are pinned exactly where he wants you. And that he’s the small spoon.
The peace lasts all but thirty seconds.
Then, a loud, rhythmic knocking starts on the bedroom door—heavy, insistent, and totally unapologetic.
Jason’s body instantly tenses beneath you. The peace vanishes, replaced by the familiar, coiled alertness of a predator disturbed. His eyes snap open, cold and annoyed.
"Are you serious," he mutters, the sound is a low, murderous growl from the depths of his chest.
You shift, and Jason immediately tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you back against him.
“Five more minutes,” he growls into your skin, his voice heavy with sleep.
He ignores the knocking completely, settling his chin on you and pulling you even closer, his leg hooking over yours.
“Jayyyyybird”
A cheerful, far-too-loud voice calls through the thick wood of the door “We brought coffee and the good doughnut stuff—the raspberry jelly ones!"
That's Dick.
Seriously, who lets him be in charge when Bruce is out of town?
Jason lets out a long, slow breath—the sight of someone contemplating homicide, while you run your nails in soothing lines across his scalp. He looks up at you, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and resigned apology. He is completely naked, you are completely naked –after a very sleepy, very five am round of sex that got you to remove all clothing he worked so hard to get you in last night– and two of his brothers are standing on the other side of the door.
This is exactly why he hates sleeping at the manor.
“Go away,” he growls, pressing himself further into your chest
“We’re not going away,” Tim speaks from the other side of the door.
"They're not going away," Jason confirms to you, rubbing his thumb along your jaw. He sniffles, pulling the duvet over your shoulders like a fortress wall. "Stay here. Don't move."
He throws himself out of bed, grabbing the first piece of messy, discarded fabric he finds—one of his own boxer briefs—and yanks them on with aggressive speed and a jump. He glances pointedly at the tactical rack where a spare Red Hood helmet hangs, looking like he wants to solve this problem with ballistic speed and force.
He stomps to the door, unlocking the heavy deadbolt with a dramatic, resentful thunk. He yanks the door open, blocking the entryway with his wide, muscular frame. He's shirtless, sweaty, one eye is still drifting with sleep and he’s radiating pure, lethal irritation.
Dick is standing there, bright-eyed and entirely too cheerful, holding a tray with two large coffees and a box of pastries. Tim is beside him, looking perpetually tired and carrying a tablet.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Dick chirps, immediately trying to step sideways to peer past Jason’s hip.
"Don't," Jason growls, his voice low and dangerous. He plants his foot, making himself a solid, immovable barrier between the two idiots and the inside of his room. "The door stays open an inch, and you talk fast."
Tim, ever the detective, ignores the threat and leans around and under Dick's shoulder, eyes narrowed as he tries to scan the interior. He catches sight of the rumpled duvet and the pile of discarded tactical pants near the desk.
"Woah, wait a minute," Tim starts, a tired smirk playing on his lips. "The plan actually worked? Did we interrupt—"
Jason doesn't let him finish, although the confirmation that they set last night up is something he is going to circle back around later. He reaches out, grabs both brothers by the scruffs of their shirts, and physically shoves them back into the hallway.
"The coffee, the food, and then you get the hell out of this wing for the rest of the day" Jason snarls, snatching the tray from Dick's hands before the former Robin can even protest. He sets the tray just inside the doorframe, still blocking the view of the bed. "Take your damn selves away and go debrief Bruce."
“Whoah, a simple thank you wouldn’t hurt” Tim broods, fixing the collar of his shirt. “If Bruce comes back and finds his security protocols compromised and his cave locked, we’re dead. Be glad I set everything back to normal.”
“Fuck oooooffffffff” Jason whines.
"Come on Dick, they had hate sex and are now dead from exhaustion!"
“Scram Drake. We’re busy doing it again.”
Dick laughs, utterly unapologetic. "Okay, okay! Message received! Just needed to confirm the trajectory of the mission!" He winks hugely at the obscured room.
Jason’s face darkens. He slams the door, the deadbolt locking with a decisive, final clack, cutting off the rest of their smug laughter.
He leans against the wood for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh that holds the weight of his irritating family lurking around the worst moments. He turns around, looking back at the safe harbor of the rumpled bed and your still resting form. Yeah, that sets him back on track.
He picks up the tray, grabbing both mugs of coffee but pointedly ignoring the box of jelly doughnuts. He stomps back to the bed and climbs under the covers, pulling the thick duvet covers back over both of you.
He shoves one mug into your hand, settling his large body comfortably against the pillows. He looks supremely annoyed, but the hand he rests on your hip is loose, possessive.
You kiss his collarbone in hopes of softening him a little.
He shrugs and you look at him with big, blown eyes, "At least we have breakfast."
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.
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SUMMARY ➩ College in NYC seems like it’ll be your biggest life change yet, until you meet the touchy sophomore who thinks you’ve hung the stars.
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ talk abt niche… this is my own interpretation of this terrible movie lol so totally new characters and kind of a new life for the character that is Eddie! it’s meant to read as a typical 2000s romcom set in the big city with montages and a killer soundtrack so i hope you can envision it! NOT PROOFREAD smut below
The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.
You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.
You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.
Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.
Everything was going exactly as it should be.
Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.
He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.
It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.
One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.
She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.
You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.
He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.
And then he reached you.
You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.
You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.
You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.
It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.
The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.
There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.
You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.
He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.
It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.
You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.
That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.
Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.
He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.
The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.
Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.
You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.
Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.
At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.
“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.
You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.
It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.
But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.
Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.
You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.
You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.
“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.
You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.
“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.
You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.
“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.
“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.
He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.
“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”
Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her
“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.
You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.
He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.
“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.
You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.
“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.
“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.
You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.
You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.
“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.
Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.
“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.
“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”
“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.
Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.
He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.
Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.
You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.
“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.
You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.
You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.
It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.
Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.
You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.
The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.
She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.
“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.
“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.
Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.
“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.
Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.
It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.
The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.
Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.
“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.
“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.
His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.
You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.
“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.
“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.
The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.
You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.
Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.
“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”
“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.
Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.
“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.
Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.
“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”
“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.
“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”
You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.
Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.
“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.
“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.
Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.
Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.
You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.
Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.
The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.
Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.
You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.
His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.
She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.
“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.
“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.
It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.
Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.
It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.
“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.
“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.
“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”
The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.
“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.
He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.
“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.
You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.
Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.
That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.
You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.
“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.
He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.
He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.
“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”
It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.
You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.
You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.
You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.
“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”
He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.
“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.
“She wanted to bang you.”
His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.
“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”
“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”
It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.
But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.
He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.
“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”
Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.
“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.
You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.
“What about you?”
Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.
“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.
You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.
You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.
You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.
He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.
“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.
He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.
“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.
You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”
He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.
The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.
Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.
“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.
“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.
He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.
To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.
You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.
So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.
It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.
Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.
You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.
You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.
Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.
You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.
Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.
Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.
“Maybe we could go to the beach.”
The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”
“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.
Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.
“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”
“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.
It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.
You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.
He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.
“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.
“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”
Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.
It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.
He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.
You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.
“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.
“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.
“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”
Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.
If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.
The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.
Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.
It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.
He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.
The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.
It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.
You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.
“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.
“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.
“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”
You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.
“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.
“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.
“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.
“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.
He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.
“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”
He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.
“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.
“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.
“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”
“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”
He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.
“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.
“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”
“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.
“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.
You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.
You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.
His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.
“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”
You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.
Because of you.
Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.
You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.
“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.
He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.
“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”
Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.
He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.
“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.
It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.
You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.
You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.
“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.
You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.
“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.
“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.
The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.
You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.
Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.
He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.
You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.
“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”
The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.
“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”
“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.
“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.
It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.
“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”
You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.
You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.
He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.
“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”
That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.
“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.
“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.
“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.
“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.
He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.
“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.
His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.
“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.
He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.
You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.
The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.
“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.
“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”
His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.
You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.
“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”
Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.
You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.
Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.
You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.
“Harder.” You whined impatiently.
“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.
He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.
It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.
He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.
Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.
You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.
“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”
He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.
That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.
You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.
Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.
You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.
“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.
“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”
He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.
“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.
You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.
Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.
“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.
You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.
You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.
And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.
“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.
“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.
“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”
“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.
You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.
It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.
“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.
You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.
“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”
He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.
“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.
You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.
You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.
It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.
Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.
You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.
He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.
The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.
Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.
It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.
You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.
He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.
It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.
You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.
You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.
It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.
There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.
He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.
Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.
He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.
You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.
His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.
It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.
Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.
She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.
“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”
“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.
She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.
“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.
“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”
You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.
All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.
It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.
“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.
“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.
For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.
You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.
You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.
Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.
He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.
“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”
It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.
His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.
“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.
“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.
You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.
The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.
“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.
He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.
“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.
The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.
“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.
He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.
You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.
His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.
“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.
You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.
Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.
“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.
Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”
“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”
“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.
You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.
“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”
It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.
“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”
He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.
You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.
“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”
“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.
“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.
You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.
He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.
His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.
Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.
“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.
“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.
You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.
“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.
He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.
“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.
You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.
“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.
His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.
You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.
“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.
“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”
He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.
It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.
He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.
Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.
“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.
The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.
“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.
His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.
It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.
You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.
Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.
“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.
“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered
One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.
You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.
“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”
That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.
His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.
“Uh guys.”
You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.
His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.
“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.
“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”
It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.
“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.
“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.
You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.
“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”
Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.
You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.
Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.
“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”
You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.
“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.
Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.
It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.
His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.
The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.
His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.
You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.
You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.
You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.
Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.
Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.
It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.
The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.
It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.
You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.
“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”
“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”
You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.
He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.
It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.
You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.
You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.
There was no shortage of love in you for the city you’d dreamed of or the boy that had grown up with it.
𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 (/ˈsōlˌmāt/) a soulmate is a person with whom you feel an intense, profound, and often instant connection, characterized by deep understanding, shared values, and mutual growth. while frequently romantic, soulmates can also be friends or companions who challenge, support, and help you grow into a better version of yourself.
description: you and your attending butt heads—and it’s no secret around the ED that Dr. Jack Abbot is harder on you than the other residents. He pushes you further, critiques you sharper, expects more—and you’re done with it. Just as you’re about to go to Dr. Robby to request a switch to days and finally put some distance between you and him, your patient—and his patient—tests positive for COVID-19. Suddenly, you’re both exposed, and with hospital protocol leaving no room for argument, you have no choice but to quarantine together.
tags/warnings: 18+, forced proximity, implied age gap, power imbalance (reader is a senior resident but abbot is still technically her boss), quarantining when no one does that anymore, tension tension tensionnn, fine line between hate and horny, headstrong reader, mutual pining
A/N: i DONT WANT TO HEAR IT THAT THIS IS UNREALISTIC. It’s fun and it’s my fanfic I’ll cry if i want to and u know you’d quarantine in abbot’s house too if given the chance
AS OF 4/9/26 I DONT HAVE A TAGLIST. Pls follow @meep-updates and turn your notifications on <333 the tags aren’t fully working so i want to make sure everyone gets notified
exposure || day 1 || day 2 || day 3 || day 4 || day 5 || day 6 || day 7 || day 8 || day 9 (12am) || day 9 || day 10 || day 11 || day 12 || day 13 || day 14 ||
SUMMARY: Jack Abbot is not an overly-neighborly person. He has secret nicknames in his head for most of the people on his floor and actively avoids any and all types of neighbor politics. However, he can’t deny his growing fondness for the single mom and toddler in apartment seventeen. (Nor his burning hatred for your baby daddy).
WARNINGS: this series includes a very chaotic reader with an even more chaotic toddler, mentions of abandonment, parent death, Jack's inability to consider anything good and worthwhile for himself, eventual smut, friends to lovers, mentions of previous abusive relationships, mentions of mental health struggles, miscommunication, age gap (reader is around 27 and Jack is in his 40's), medical inaccuracies and more.
A/N: I am very very excited to share this series and bring it to life. It started as a very random idea that quickly transpired into a huge story in my head within a matter of minutes. It does touch on some potentially triggering topics but warnings will be given in each chapter!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
STATUS: Ongoing
─── ⋆ CHAPTERS ⋆
PART ONE 𖤓♡ — Jack Abbot values his routine and structure. Work, SWAT, gym... and for the past six weeks, spending his Sunday mornings admiring the enigmatic single mom who's apartment balcony sits across from his. [3k]
PART TWO 𖤓♡ — A scuffle in the hall causes Jack to accidentally take Phoebe’s wallet to work instead of his. He gains himself a new nickname amongst the Pitt and finally learns a thing or two about you and your daughter. [7.3k]
PART THREE 𖤓 — A trip to the ED, a retirement meal, and a phone call with Robby. One leaves you up close and personal with your neighbor, one has Phoebe spilling secrets like it's an Olympic sport, and another has Jack realizing he's got a fucking crush on the single mom in apartment seventeen. [7.1k]
PART FOUR 𖤓♡ — Phoebe's birthday party consists of four sets of eyes ogling Jack from the second he enters your apartment, screaming children, your mom noticing something rather interesting, and a night on the balcony that changes the trajectory of everything. [8.7k]
⤷ PART 4.5 𖤓 — You don't hear from Jack for three days after the kiss. But despite being swamped at the hospital, after he reaches out via text, he doesn't stop. [SMAU]
PART FIVE 𖤓★ — June 10th
PART SIX — June 15th
PART SEVEN — June 20th
PART EIGHT — June 25th
More chapters TBD
─── ⋆ EXTRAS ⋆
#APT.17 (a tag for anything related to this series)
SUNDAY FUNK DAY SPOTIFY PLAYLIST
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
summary: your parents marriage didn’t survive the test of time and neither did you first love.
contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n
authors note: i had uploaded on a previous account of mine. its originally from 2022 but i stopped posting due to health reasons so i decided to fully flesh out the story and finish it here! i will update the tags as the story goes on. anyways, thank u for reading and enjoy!
summary: you both work at ptmc on different shifts, used to crossing paths and falling into easy conversations that never really feel like anything—until everyone else starts pointing it out. a push from friends turns into a challenge, a challenge into a date, and something that was supposed to be simple starts dragging on longer than either of you planned.
warnings: inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, jack abbot x female reader, age gap, cursing, reader is mid 20s.
a/n: pls don’t give too much thought to dates or the logistics of it all unless i explicitly point it out + english is not my first language. enjoy :)))
summary: One secret changes everything. As the Cody family’s carefully buried truths come to light, you find yourself caught between running from the people you love and fighting for them. In the end, loving Pope Cody doesn’t just change your life, it changes the entire family. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: sexual content/smut, abusive relationship (not andrew), bestie!deran trope, not timeline specific, fix it fic, some parts are dark, mentions of SA/grooming, parental abuse, smurf and baz, manipulation, j redemption arc, murder, violence, canon show themes, substance use, drinking, gun use, possessive!pope, jealous!pope, soft boy!pope, discussions of mental health, warnings are chapter dependent. total word count: 49.3k amalia’s love note: finally started a masterlist for this series lol, love yall
doe-eyed running to my tranquility (smut, angst)
After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely.
take what you want (smut, fluff, angst)
After a job goes wrong, Pope disappears for four days, hiding his injuries and burying himself in silence. But when you finally confront him, you realize his biggest problem isn’t violence, it’s that he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want or need anything. So you show him exactly how badly you want him to take what’s his.
i love the sick (angst, dark)
What starts as a simple night watching Lena turns into something far more dangerous when Baz leaves you at Smurf’s overnight. As Smurf slowly tightens her grip, quietly isolating you from the outside world, J is the only one who notices the pattern for what it really is and for the first time, he steps between you and his family. The night cracks open the fragile balance you’ve built with the Codys, exposing a darker, more volatile side of Pope Cody that leaves your relationship hanging by a thread and forces long-buried truths dangerously close to the surface.
all my morals shot (smut, dark, angst)
One secret sends you running from the Cody family, but escaping Pope Cody proves impossible. As buried truths come to light and old wounds turn into reckless choices, you’re forced to confront the feelings you’ve been trying to outrun. Meanwhile, Smurf realizes too late that you’ve become a threat, not because you’re using Pope, but because you’re the first person who truly chooses him. And no matter how hard you run, Pope always finds his way back to you.
mirror (fluff, angst)
Vignettes from your years-long friendship with Deran Cody, and the long-overdue conversation that finally puts the pieces back together.
queen of nothing (angst, dark, smut)
As the Cody boys begin seeking comfort and guidance from you instead of Smurf, her resentment grows into something far more dangerous. Meanwhile, Pope’s fear of abandonment threatens the future of your relationship just as things are finally starting to feel real. Oh, and where the hell is Baz? Because whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.
summary: a struggling pasty chef finally catches a break when you're given a chance to work at 'The Pitt', a popular restaurant in Pittsburgh. you find it difficult to find your confidence, it will be harder with Jack Abbot around. you make it harder for him to remain a good mentor.
tags/description: 18+ MDNI, pastry chef!fem!reader, swearing, NSFW comments, an attempt at slow burn, crack fic, maybe possibly OOC for everyone LOL, me trying to be funny, smut maybe mehehehe, additional tags at the beginning of each chapter
taglist OPEN; comment on this post to be added! (if ur in my existing taglist, please comment to be tagged in this series.)
summary: in a tight-knit small town, your bakery sits just streets away from his. the businesses—and your personalities—constantly clash, fueling a rivalry the whole town can’t help but watch unfold. what starts as a competition begins to shift the more your lives overlap, until keeping things strictly business becomes harder to maintain.
warnings: fem!reader x jack abbot, implied sexual content, age gap, cursing, mental health & family conflict related themes.
a/n: i want this to feel like a mix of bluebell, alabama and stars hollow, connecticut. the kind of town where everybody knows everybody & gossip travels faster than the morning paper! keep that atmosphere in mind while reading :]
↳ ꒰ even now, you’re undressed in your dreams with me. ꒱
# 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 — you realize you’ve been into your college bff turned coworker for years now. you think it’s gonna be an issue, so you end up switching to night shift. upon working with your night attending, you also realize you really like him too. you also see his tension with the girl your infatuated with. what you don’t seem to realize is that they both really like you, too.
↳ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 — age gap but reader doesn’t have a specified age other than it being close to samira’s, swearing, shenanigans and pining, reader fell first & mohabbot fell harder, gn!reader, some written parts, no smut but it’s a little suggestive, reader is a 2nd year resident & went to college with mohan, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, forced proximity, jack abbot thinks he can handle that (reader) but he can’t, more to be added later.
# 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — divider credits to @cursed-carmine. i lowkey started this because im very very interested with jack abbot but there is not NEARLY enough samira mohan fics and i also really like their dynamic so she’s also here.
1. coffee smell and lilac skin
2. i’m a stranger in this town
3. everybody here thinks he needs you
4. you’re free with me
5. i know everybody here wants you - written, 1k words
description: Eddie died. You watched him die in the Upside Down, felt him slip through your fingers, and somehow the world kept going without him. Except you don’t. Because you start seeing him everywhere: shadows, dreams, reflections, standing just out of reach, and you’re almost convinced you’ve finally lost it…until he starts looking back.
tags: vampire! eddie, no y/n, grief, dark romance, obsessive love, angst with smut, he's trying not to hurt you, you want him anyway, "i don't care if you hurt me", undead love, he's attatched to you, dead dove, love that feels like hunger, "you are mine/i am yours", caretaking eddie, angsty fluff, he's attached to you, something else is out there
TW: NSFW (18+) MDNI, blood, biting, implied blood drinking/feeding, violence, angst heavy chapter, eddie death, references to suicide/suicide ideation, PiV, unprotected
description: you and your attending butt heads—and it’s no secret around the ED that Dr. Jack Abbot is harder on you than the other residents. He pushes you further, critiques you sharper, expects more—and you’re done with it. Just as you’re about to go to Dr. Robby to request a switch to days and finally put some distance between you and him, your patient—and his patient—tests positive for COVID-19. Suddenly, you’re both exposed, and with hospital protocol leaving no room for argument, you have no choice but to quarantine together.
tags/warnings: 18+, forced proximity, implied age gap, power imbalance (reader is a senior resident but abbot is still technically her boss), quarantining when no one does that anymore, tension tension tensionnn, fine line between hate and horny, headstrong reader, mutual pining
A/N: i DONT WANT TO HEAR IT THAT THIS IS UNREALISTIC. It’s fun and it’s my fanfic I’ll cry if i want to and u know you’d quarantine in abbot’s house too if given the chance
AS OF 4/9/26 I DONT HAVE A TAGLIST. Pls follow @meep-updates and turn your notifications on <333 the tags aren’t fully working so i want to make sure everyone gets notified
exposure || day 1 || day 2 || day 3 || day 4 || day 5 || day 6 || day 7 || day 8 || day 9 (12am) || day 9 || day 10 || day 11 || day 12 || day 13 || day 14 ||
pairing. jack abbot x reader
tags. attending!jack, no y/n, heavy angst with happy ending, childhood friends to strangers to it was always you, slow burn, jack's pov, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, no age gap (both are 40), reader has a sad backstory, parental neglect, combat medic!jack cameo, set in 2016 (nine years before s1)
“Abbot. Got a runaway bride asking for you.”
A runaway bride. Jack assesses that, decides it tracks for a random Tuesday, enough, at least to humor. “Could use the insurance bump. Tell her—”
He turns around and the joke asphyxiates somewhere between his lungs.
There you are—older, yes, he’ll reconcile that later—and of all things, in a wedding dress, of all places, in his emergency department. It takes a moment for what he's seeing to become real. And then another, longer moment, because once isn't nearly enough.
His first thought, absurdly, is that you look exactly like he remembers, which is impossible; his second thought is that you look nothing like he remembers, which is worse; and the third—he’s not sure he’s fucking breathing.
effie’s archive @translatemunsonreads - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
