allllium

[allllium]

in the midst of you dragging your desk chair to the bathroom, jason speaks.

“sweetheart, i don’t understand why you insist on doing this.”

“because,” your hand finds his upper arm, dragging him with you, “i am trying to prove a theory.”

the direction of his steps matches yours instinctively, almost as if you were the steering wheel commanding his body, mind, and soul.

“the theory being…” his eyebrows raise, and he tilts his head, “that i have curly hair?”

“yes. exactly. now sit down.”

he sighs in false pretense and takes a seat. jason todd was putty in your hands, but of course, he would never admit it. so he pretends to be annoyed. reluctant. not a fan of your ideas, no, rarely ever.

but in reality? he’d probably let you dye his hair a ghastly shade of green, just to feel your touch. so he lets you do this, too. especially when you pause in front of the bathtub, your grip shifts to his t-shirt, and your eyes assess his face as if this were your first time undressing him. you’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, and yet, your quiet demand for consent remains a constant with him.

once he nods, the material slips off with ease, your gaze flickers across his toned upper body, patterns of scars and inscriptions of countless horror stories marking his beautiful skin. you lean forward. he almost sighs in relief when your fingers curl around his shoulders, and your lips meet his body in a featherlight kiss.

you pretend not to notice the nearly cherry-colored hue to his cheeks as you halt beside his seated form, adjusting the water temperature.

“okay, pretty boy-“

“do not call me that.”

with your fingers on the back of his head, you gently guide him down, “i’ll call you whatever i want.”

your teasing words, as always, drastically contrast the sweetness of your actions, and he finds himself unable to even feel a sliver of annoyance towards you. instead, he settles into your touch like an enzyme finding its appropriate substrate. lock-and-key.

"you’re annoying."

"your head is in my hands. behave."

he doesn’t reply, can’t afford to, not when he knows you can see the flush on his face intensifying at your commanding tone.

"let me know if the water is too hot. or too cold."

"’s fine."

you hum.

the next few minutes pass by in silence, accompanied by your ever so careful movements. shampoo. once. then twice. your fingers curl through his hair, and he softens completely. the lightest coating of conditioner. brush. curl cream. scrunch. hair gel. scrunch again, and finish with an old cotton t-shirt plopped on top.

you pull him off the chair, look up at him with a grin. "you look so silly."

he slides his warm hands up your arms, resting them just below your shoulders, and it takes everything in him not to mirror your expression. "i don’t think you can seperate art and artist here. so, if i look dumb, that’s your fault."

"maybe..." you press a kiss to his cheek, and his hold on you tightens immediately, "the artist doesn’t wanna be seperated from the art."

he chuckles briefly, pulls you closer to him until your nose meets his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.

"ditto. maybe."

you return his embrace, nuzzling into him.

"...also, the artwork’s kind of unfinished. still need to diffuse."

he groans.

-

twenty minutes later, you’re done, proudly standing behind his form in front of the bathroom mirror. there’s an array of products messily stood atop the washing machine now, his neck hurts like hell, but your giddiness alone makes him forget about it all.

plus, his hair really does look good. curly, like you anticipated.

"am i van gogh, or what? well, minus the ear part."

he turns around, faces you. "you are."

"pretty, right?"

you’re smiling at him, and he swipes his knuckles over your cheek, his hand finding refuge on your face. he nods, his voice lowering. "mhm. pretty."

"you should thank me properly."

"yeah," he blinks at you, slowly, "got any ideas?"

"one million dollars, transferred to my bank account right now."

he laughs in disbelief. "i think i have a better one."

"two million dollars?"

he grins once more, shakes his head. he leaves not an atom of empty space between you as he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s a rough first meeting thanks to the speed of his actions, but he slows down immediately, and so does everything else around you.

jason reciprocates everything you have taught him, today and everyday before - by kissing you softly, sweetly, with a gentleness only ever reserved for you. your knees nearly give in, but he’s here to catch you.

it’s your turn to blush when he pulls back, and he throws the ball even further into your court by running his thumb over your bottom lip. "that good enough for you?"

you blink. "i don’t know. one million dollars is a lot of money."

he hums, his gaze locked on yours. "guess i’ll have to try again, then."

"i guess so."

and he does just that, until your flush turns a shade of maroon not even the great masters themselves could recreate.

-

heyy.... not proofread.. see u in a month........ wrote this while spiralling due to exams... thought id post it to feed the children. sorry if it sucks. also i dont even like curly hair on men idk y i wrote this!

[allllium]

husband!simon setting up the baby's room warnings!: bad words, pregnancy.

It was a cold afternoon.

You were wrapped up in a thick blanket on the couch, half-asleep, barely paying attention to the TV. The final month of pregnancy had turned you into a furnace of exhaustion, cold, and drifting thoughts.

Suddenly, a sharp grunt followed by a dry curse.

"Son of a bitch"

You flinched. The voice came from the nursery. That’s when you remembered: he was home. For the weekend.

More curses, more wood cracking. You got up slowly and walked to the door.

Simon — or Ghost, because it was impossible not to think of him that way when he looked that focused — was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by crib pieces, screws scattered around, hammer in hand.

You leaned against the doorway. He didn’t look at you.

"This manual was written by idiots" he muttered.

"You said we were gonna build it together, remember?" you said quietly, your hand resting on your heavy belly.

"That was the plan. But the manual’s useless. And I don’t have time to waste."

The sharpness in his voice wasn’t for you. It was frustration, mostly aimed at himself.

You sighed and stepped back. You knew better than to push.

When you came back minutes later, the crib was standing. And... tilted.

Ghost stood up slowly, arms crossed, staring down the crib like it was an enemy target. His fingers tapped against his elbow as his mind scanned for flaws.

"I’m not sure she’ll fit in there, Moonie." you tried, half-joking.

He didn’t answer. Just ran a hand down his face. Then looked at you. At your belly. And for a second — just one — something cracked behind his eyes.

"She’ll fit," he said flatly. But there was something in his tone. Pressure.

You took a step toward him. Then another. Until you stood right in front of him.

"Love... it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real."

Simon said nothing. But his hand came to rest on your belly.

You saw his jaw tense, eyes fixed on the life inside you.

"I’ll fix it," he muttered. No drama. No softness.

Just promise.

And even without sweet words or kisses, you felt it.

Felt that, in his own way, Ghost was trying to be a father.

[allllium]

if the pitt doesn’t win so many emmys i can’t legally say what i’d do but trust it would be bad

[allllium]

CUDDLES WITH JASON. HE HAD A NIGHTMARE AND READER CUDDLES HIM BACK TO THE SLEEP. SCRATCHES HIS SCALP AND SHIT. THIS MAN DESERVES SOFTNESS. Much Love💕

Thank you!!! I hope you enjoy this! ❤️

—

Time written - 5:53 p.m

—

You wouldn’t call yourself a heavy or light sleeper, but every time you heard a strange, crooked gasp in the dead of night, you knew Jason was awake.

It’s quick and brash, as if choking on air, followed by a short series of gasps and harsh, rapid panting.

Fresh, clean air fills his lungs, not the stuffy, stale oxygen of a silk lined coffin, putrid with the stench of wet dirt; fresh flowers, and slightest tinge of formaldehyde.

“Jay?” The sweet serenity of your voice alerts him of your existence, of the reality of him not buried six feet underground.

Long before they filled up fresh graves with concrete.

His head shifts, tired teal eyes blown wide open with unidentified levels of panic.

Despite the darkness, it’s not enough for him to cower and hide from the shame of your worried gaze on him.

The blankets pool over his lap once he abruptly sits up, running hand through his sleep tussled locks. His muscles tremble like he’d run a marathon, or crawled out of a grave with his own two hands. If the lights were on, he’d believe he still have patches of dirt and grass clinging underneath his broken fingernails.

Before you, he wouldn’t go back to sleep so easily. He’d go out for any sort of distraction; mainly consisting of on his gear for a rooftop ghost chase. Anything to distract him from the confines of his mental prison when his darkest fears erupted into his dreams.

That was, until soft fingers brush along his skin, your hand comfortably wrapping around his broad forearm. You lean yourself against his shoulder, bare skin plush as you comfort him with whispers of consolation.

“M’sorry. M’so sorry,” He pants out with his head hung low, voice involuntarily trembling as he struggles to comprehend your soft words.

Even in his distress, he apologized for what he believes were his mistakes. Disturbing you of your sleep, causing a scene.

He hated this vulnerability, wanting to chase it out of his mind by hundreds of distractions, but he couldn’t.

Jason didn’t want to leave you, even if you’d allow it. You’d wait for him, he didn’t want that.

Another set of fingers trail behind his neck, slipping up to cradle his head close. He has no action over his body now, trembling nerves complying with your gentle touch.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You whisper against his cheek, keeping your arms secure about him as best as you could. “You’re alright, Jason. Its just us, in our home. Our anniversary was four hours ago, remember?”

His head settles down on your shoulder, brows heavily furrowed in distress despite his faint smile at the comment. He always told you to never hold in your tears, but always felt guilty when it came to releasing his. It ached deep in his throat; molten hot and bright red, nearly as painful as being facially branded all those years ago.

It took months of patience for you to learn his story, his suffering, his trauma. Any of it could’ve been the source of his nightmares, but why seek through the aches of the past? No good could come of it, their was no need.

Gentle hands guide him back to lay down, some of his body settling over yours. His head rests along your chest after you tug the blankets back over your bare bodies, encasing you both in a warm bubble of comfort.

Your heartbeat eased his troubled thoughts into pure silence, soothing his headache in seconds. Supple skin pressed against his faintly stubbled cheek, carrying a hint of sweet fragrance from your lotion.

“You okay?” You question, keeping as calm as possible for his sake. You never minded coming to his aid, never minding being his shoulder to cry on, or his body to embrace when he felt alone.

“Mhm.” Came his weak reply.

Your fingers lightly scratch along his scalp shortly after such a limited response, leaving him in utter heaven from such intimate, soothing motions.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” His sleep induce rasp permeated his tone, too comfortable to even maneuver the muscles in his mouth. Every nerve in his body melted, making him putty in your hands.

“Okay.” You didn’t pry, only resuming the Lord’s divine work of your fingers combing through Jason’s hair.

A small hum rumbles deeply from his throat, his hands shuffling under soft sheets to caress your body. Arms slipping underneath your back, he cradles you like a pillow, keeping himself secured to your smaller frame.

Soft, honeysuckle lips kiss along his forehead, solidifying the facts of his comfort, his safety. He was safe; he was alive, he was here, right where he needed to be.

If the moon shined her rays just a little brighter through the cracks of the curtains, you’d be blessed with the sight of dilated pupils swallowing up those pretty blue irises. Jason adoringly staring into the distance towards the bedroom wall, eyes slowly lulled closed behind thick lashes.

His only regret was falling asleep way too soon, wanting to experience this slice of heaven just a little bit longer.

[allllium]

greta thunberg, liam cunningham, rima hassan, and everyone else on that ship, thank you, and i hope you succeed. i really hope you succeed. you know what you are risking, and i wish for you to come back safely, having done what you set out to do.

[allllium]

sweet nothings

summary: you own a bakery down the street from PTMH, and Dr. Robby is one of your favorite customers. The night of The Pitt Fest shooting, you stress bake and deliver the results to the park near the hospital when you have a gut feeling everyone could use something to lift their spirits wc:  1.8 k+ a/n: this is my first time writing for The Pitt but I really enjoyed it, looking forward to more!! Please feel free to send any requests my way! Yes I stole the title from the Taylor Swift song, some things never change. warnings: two idiots who haven't gotten their shit together and admitted their feelings, general fluff

You’d been elbow deep in flour and cocoa powder the moment that you saw the first message concerning the shooting at Pitt Fest. You whisked and folded, hoping that the familiar movements would quiet the nausea churning in your stomach. You knew that it was going to be a long night for your chosen family, which meant that it was going to be a long night for you. Three batches of brownies, a few dozen cookies and a special batch of gluten free hand pies for Princess later, and you could catch your breath. By the time that you had them all packed up and loaded into your travel tote, the tightness in your stomach had subsided. 

It was a cool night, a gentle breeze blowing the loose strands of hair around your face and tickling your cheek as you walked the familiar path to the park in front of the hospital. You’d forgone packing things into your car, unsure if the traffic would still be busy near the hospital. You hadn’t texted ahead, deviating from your typical routine. You knew that they were likely too busy to check their phones, if service was even working again after the barrage of worried calls and texts had tanked it earlier in the evening. 

The benches were empty, but it hardly phased you, you’d beaten them there plenty of times. And worse case scenario, most of the security knew you well enough to let you sneak into the Pitt through the back and dump your offerings in the break room before trucking home. You unpacked your bag, setting out the tupperware along with some small plates and napkins. You’d left drinks behind, knowing that someone was likely already making a run for a pack of beers. You tucked the strands of hair behind your ear, settling in for a bit. 

It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes or so before Donnie and Princess arrived, rolling the cooler behind them. They waved in greeting, planting themselves on the bench across from you and digging out two beers. You smiled softly, before grabbing a brownie and one of the pies and walking them over. 

“You sure you’re not an angel?” Donnie asked, grinning. 

“Laying it on thick today?” you laughed. 

“It’s the only way I know how,” he hit you with a charming smile that lacked any real commitment. You held back your instinct to ask after his wellbeing, knowing full well that he is not doing well after the day you imagined he had. 

You and Princess gossiped about the latest episode of the reality show you were both shamelessly addicted to, and you did your best not to dodge their compliments on the baked goods, knowing they would report back to Michael. Or rather, Dr. Robby. 

You’d met him only once before getting properly acquainted after an accident at the bakery had required you to hurry to the nearest hospital. But, he’d given you his first name when placing the order for his latte, so Michael he remained. 

You did you best not to ask about the shift knowing that it had to have been a nightmare. Instead, you contented yourself to sitting and listening to them chatter, the time passing surprisingly quickly. 

Just as you were starting to feel silly, playing with the edge of the wax paper lining the tupperware with the brownies and chastising yourself for getting your hopes up, a set of footsteps broke through the mess of worry in your brain. Michael had clearly had a hard shift, his shoulders dropping, head hung low and his eyes were dark. You’d been right to come. Jack seemed to be in somewhat better spirits beside him, but he was battle weary even to your untrained eyes. 

Michael’s eyes bet yours, his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, head tilting in question. “I saw…” you hesitated, unsure of how much to say. “What happened today. Figured you could use a pick me up.” You’d already added a few of the brown butter chocolate chip cookies to a plate, handing them to Michael wordlessly. He took a seat on your side unlittered with tupperware, and you did your best to control your rapidly beating heart. “Jack?” you questioned, motioning to the assorted baked goods on your left. 

“Well if you insist,” he laughed, working his pant leg up to free himself of his prosthetic. “Can’t turn you down.” You smiled, adding a bit of everything to a little plate and walking it over to him. 

You sat back down next to Michael, insisting to yourself that the heat radiating off his arm stretched across the back of the bench was in no way related to the flip in your stomach. The others chatted amongst themselves, making light of the day. You chanced a glance his way, holding in a giggle when you noticed the couple of crumbs clinging to the side of his mouth. Your fingers twitched to brush them away, but he managed to beat you to it. “Tough day?” he asked, surveying the plethora of baked goods taking up the rest of the bench. 

“Just worried.” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Hate feeling like I can’t do anything worthwhile to help.” The ‘not like you can’ was unspoken. 

Michael cast his glance across the clearing, where his coworkers were smiling and making a considerable dent in your sweets. He didn’t argue with you, knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference, especially on a day like today. “You had one of these yet?” he asked, holding up one of the cookies. You shook your head. “You should, they’re working miracles.” 

You blinked at him, your heart picking up speed. You searched his eyes, trying to figure out if he did that on purpose, when a few more people joined your circle. “Samira!” you jumped up, reaching for her. She gripped you tight, sinking against you for the duration of the hug. Samira stopped by the bakery frequently on her way to work, taking advantage of the early hours you kept with the morning shift at the hospital in mind. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have made a couple batches of those muffins you like.”

She laughed, head tilted back and eyes light in a way you wouldn’t have imagined was possible after the shift she just finished. “You didn’t have to bring anything, I’m glad you’re here.” she paused for a moment, her gaze shifting behind you for a moment. You craned your neck to find Michael watching the two of your carefully, something different in his expression. “This is Victoria, today was her first day,” Samira gestured behind her to the girl who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, looking shy. 

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you!” You gave her a warm smile, squeezing her arm gently before turning and placing a few things on a plate for her and another for Matteo. “Here, to soothe your soul.” She took the plate gratefully, Matteo as well. 

“Thank you that’s really-” she was cut off by loud, full laughter from behind. Your head whipped around, finding Michael with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said through his laughter. “I just realized this was your first day.” Everyone quickly burst into various degrees of laughter. Victoria met your eyes, assessing your reaction. You did your best to shrug in a way that said ‘I’m used to this by now’ and you realized that was the truth. You had known Michael for a little over a year, and had slowly integrated into the culture of the ED. You weren’t one of them, but you belonged. These were your people. 

“That’s trial by fire, baby” Jack said, raising his can in Victoria’s direction. 

“I can almost guarantee the next one will be easier.” Michael said, and you were reminded that he was not just a kind man who stopped in on his way to work most days. He was a mentor, a teacher and someone that changed lives. 

“I really fucking hope so.” Victoria looked weary, but not defeated. You felt she would be back. 

Donnie was saying something to her, but you didn’t hear. “It’s late.” Michael said, leaning close enough for his shoulder to bump yours. You nod, leaning in as well. “You ready to go?” you nodded again, fighting back a yawn that was bubbling to the surface. He nodded, shouldering his backpack and standing up. 

“Last call!” You announced, grabbing a couple of containers and offering second helpings around. A smile took over when everyone accepted the extras. You deposited the container of pies in Princess’s lap, laughing when she promised she would get the container back to you. “You don’t have to lie to me of all people, you know.” 

“I don’t even know why I try.” she laughed, squeezing your hand. 

“It’s nice that you do,” you insisted. You packed as many empty containers as you could into your tote, and Michael grabbed the few remaining. You gave everyone a gentle wave before turning on your heel and starting towards the bakery. You could hear Michael saying his goodbyes but you continued on, confident that he would fall into step beside you. 

After a few moment, you felt him reach for the tote bag you had slung over your shoulder. “Keep dreaming, Robinavitch. I don’t let you carry my stuff on a good day.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” 

“You underestimate me,” you say, assessing him now that you’re alone. He is still clearly exhausted, weighed down by the reality of his day. But he looks okay. Definitely better than when he’d trudged into the park across from the hospital. 

“Never.” and you knew he was right. You looped your arm through his, pulling him tight against your side. The two of you made your way back to the bakery in relative silence, taking comfort in the fact that the other is okay. He waited for you to unlock to door before pulling it open for you. You slipped inside, Michael following you to the kitchen. You moved in sync, putting things into the dishwasher, the few bits of leftover brownies into one of the fridges. 

Once things were put away, you leaned against the counter, giving him a once over. “You’re not subtle.” he mutters.

You laugh, folding in half with the force. “I don’t know what you mean.” But you do know what he means. You were worried, you showed up with baked goods to mask the fact you were checking on him. it wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.

“I’m okay. Today was rough, but I’m…” he paused, taking a shaky breath. “I’m better now. Jack helped, you helped.” 

You took a step towards him, hesitating, waiting for him to turn away or cross his arms or any other sign that he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want you. It doesn’t come. Another step, another pause. And then you can’t take it anymore and you are pressed against him, his hands tight around your back. 

Your breaths even out, sync up and the rest of the day feels distant. You’re safe, he’s safe and the rest can wait until tomorrow.

[allllium]

SPINNING OUT [part one]

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~4.7k

Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it just works better in 3 parts! This is part one - the other two parts are outlined! First time really writing a multi-chapter fic, eeeep.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, no smut in this part but eventual smut. Eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49). If I missed anything, let me know!

NOW

It starts again because of an accident. 

You’re driving home from work and you’re the kind of bone-deep tired that settles inside of you like lead. Your chest feels heavy and your shoulders ache. You grip the steering wheel, blinking bleary eyes to try and stay focused on the road. 

You dream of home. Stepping out of your heels. A glass of pinot noir in your favorite long-stemmed glass. You dream of putting the day behind you; of closing the tab on all the clients you saw today. All the words you offered them, and the space you held between your body and theirs; your mind is tired. It is fulfilled, yes - as it always is. You know being a therapist is your calling, and you’ve never been more grateful for work than you are at this particular time in your life. 

But you’re…exhausted. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night. Likely in the before. Before your home was cold and lonely. Before everything felt so fucking hard. Before you slept alone in your bed and only brewed one cup of coffee and only made enough food for you.

You just want to rest. 

More than that? You’d like to hide. Your brain is all static and fuzz. It’s flipping its channels at a rapid pace and you’ve lost the remote. You think about the Xanax you have at home and think maybe tonight is the night you take one. 

You just crave peace. 

Everything changes in the span of a breath.

There is the screeching of metal-on-metal, your driver’s side door crunching in on itself. Your neck feels like it snaps. Your airbag deploys and then all you can feel is pain.

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You feel like you can no longer breathe. You try breathing, you try opening your eyes but everything feels blurred, like you’ve taken your fingers and smeared the paint that makes up your vision. 

You cannot see. You cannot feel anything other than a burning pain that goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. 

You think you might be dead. You think of him, for just a moment. 

You do not know how much time passes.

In the ambulance, through the fog and haze of it all, as you lie on the gurney with your head, neck and limbs secure, you beg them to take you to a different hospital, anywhere but the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center because if you go there you’ll see him and you just fucking can’t. 

They ignore your pleas and they tell you to hang on. They tell you a drunk driver slammed into you and t-boned your car. You can barely process anything they are telling you and you feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness. 

A nap. A nap would be so good right now.

They ask you to keep your eyes open but you screw them up tight. It’s too bright in the ambulance and you don’t recognize these voices. 

You can’t see him. Not like this. Not after everything. 

You’re fading, feeling yourself pulled under the current of a dark blankness and then the gurney is being taken out of the back of the ambulance. You keep thinking not like this, not like this, like it’s a broken record in your head and you’re desperate to get to the next track.

You understand that your gurney is moving quickly and you know, despite really being aware, that they’ve taken you to PTMC. The doors slide open and there’s so much noise but your ears are buzzing and ringing. 

Everything feels far away. 

You catch snippets of dialogue in the trauma bay. “Unidentified 38-year-old female. MVA. Somewhat responsive. Severe blood loss. Possible lung puncture, difficulty breathing.” 

Then Robby’s face is above you and his brown eyes grow wide, rounding at the ages as he sees it’s you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” and then he barks an order at someone else and you manage to grab his sleeve. He turns back to you. 

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raspy as he wheels you quickly into the trauma bay. “Just fucking hang on, okay?”

“Don’t tell him,” you rasp. “Robby, please, don’t—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath but it feels like you’re drowning. Blood splatters out of your lips. “Don’t tell Jack—”

A heartbroken look flickers across Robby’s face but then you gasp and you can’t finish your sentence because everything goes black. 

* * * 

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong. 

* * * 

BEFORE

It’s Robby who sets the two of you up in the first place.

Robby went to high school with your older brother. While back then, you were the baby sister always trying to play with the big boys (literally, you were two and Robby and your brother were 17), the two of you reconnected when you became a licensed therapist and moved into the city. Despite being fifteen years your senior, Robby became a good friend. 

The two of you tried dating – briefly – but after a few dates, you realized you were much better off as friends. It always felt forced, too platonic, and you were honestly relieved when you both confessed that the romance wasn’t there. 

“I just can’t kiss someone who I knew when they were a toddler,” Robby told you bashfully, face beet red, after you’d both pulled away from a rather lackluster kiss. You hadn’t even been offended; you’d just laughed and called him an old pervert.

He’s been a best friend ever since.

You’re grabbing a coffee with Robby before his shift and your first client of the day when you finish complaining about your latest string of bad dates. 

“He venmo requested me when I got home.”

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee. “No.” 

You laugh, nodding and playing with the plastic lid of your cup. “Yes! You know what? It’s on me for agreeing to go out with a guy who still lives in his mom’s basement. I am grown enough to admit that that’s on me.” 

“Jesus,” Robby mutters. “What a dick.” 

“I think I’m done. I’m too old.” You know you’re being dramatic, but it’s so easy to bitch to Robby. “You’d think being a therapist I’d be able to spot emotionally intelligent men, but I can’t. Can’t even find someone who’s in therapy himself.” 

Robby snorts into his coffee and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ old maid.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow. “I know a guy in therapy.”

You purse your lips, studying Robby as you sit at the little cafe table in the coffee shop. “Oh yeah? He an ER doctor too?”

Robby smirks. “Yeah, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I can’t do that again.”

Robby laughs, holds a hand to his heart like you’ve wounded him. “Ouch. Was it that bad?” 

You grin, bumping his coffee cup with your own. “Yes, it was that bad. Even if we–yanno, had actually been into each other in a real way, your schedule is atrocious. ER doctors are walking zombies. I can’t date another one!”

Robby studies you in that quiet way of his that makes you feel like he’s seeing through whatever bullshit you’re spouting. 

“His name’s Jack Abbot. He’s an attending on the night shift. He’s in his 40s, was a medic in the army.” Robby pauses. “He’s a good man.”

You take a moment and absorb the information. “Is he even looking to date?”

Robby grins, draining the last of his coffee. “When he meets you, yeah, I think he will be.”

* * * 

Falling in love with Jack Abbot starts out slow and then happens all at once. 

You meet for the first time at a little bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re nervous. If you were being honest, you didn’t think Robby’s colleague would be interested in a blind date. But you’d gotten a text from an unknown number that read, “Hey, this is Jack Abbot, Robby’s better half. Would it be okay if I called you? Not a great texter.” 

He’d called a minute after you said that was fine and the deep gravel of his voice had warmed you down to your toes. Robby had shown you a picture of him, the two of them at some hospital fundraiser gala a year or two back, and yeah, he was fucking handsome. Thick, gray curls. Broad shoulders. Crooked smile. 

Apparently, he hadn’t been opposed to whatever picture Robby had shown him of you, because you found yourself talking on the phone with Dr. Jack Abbot for over two hours that first phone call. The conversation flowed easily, winding between work and family and it began to sketch the shape of you to each other. 

It’d been natural. Scarily so, if you were honest with yourself. 

You’re still nervous to meet him in person. That phone call was a few nights ago, and your hands tremble a little as you open the door to the bar. You run your hands down the fabric of your little dress – a casual, first date number that makes you feel sexy and like yourself all at once – as you walk into the bar. Your eyes scan for a moment. 

Your heart is thumping. 

This feels weighted in a way that other first dates haven’t. This person is in Robby’s orbit, which automatically makes you trust him. 

Your eyes meet across the room and it feels like a little lock sliding into place. You’re taken aback by the feeling.

He’s standing at the corner of the bar, casually leaning against it, hands in his pockets and Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. The salt-and-pepper curls look even better than in the picture you saw, and your fingers itch to run through them. He’s in nice jeans, a black sweater, expensive as fuck looking Nikes, and he’s…well, he’s staring at you in a way that nearly makes you stumble mid-step. 

“Hi,” you breathe when you’re in front of him. Jack’s smile is a little crooked and it’s so charming you feel flustered.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds just like it did on the phone: warm and raspy. “It’s really nice to meet you—uh, in person.” Oh my god, he’s so cute. He seems nervous and oddly, it sets you at ease.

You smile at him and fiddle with the strap of your purse. “It’s also nice to meet you in person.” Jesus, you sound like a robot. 

But Jack grins again and it makes him look boyish. 

“I’ll be honest,” Jack tells you, and he steps a little closer. His scent wafts over to you - like clean, fresh soap - and it’s very nice. “I uh…I haven’t been set up in awhile. I’m a little rusty.” 

You laugh. “Rusty’s okay with me.” You pause. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. The bar’s that low?”

You purse your lips. “In the ground.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving breath and shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t live in my ma’s basement.” 

You grin and he grins back crookedly and it’s so nice. He asks you what you’re drinking and after you both have your choice in hand - a pinot noir for you, a whisky on the rocks for him - you find a little table. The bar is one of your favorites, a charming little place with low lighting and a relaxed crowd. 

You’re once again surprised by how natural it all feels. You pick up right where you left off on the phone, and you’re grateful that Jack seems to enjoy talking. You’ve been on plenty of dates with men who can’t carry a conversation or seem physically incapable of asking you a single question about yourself, so this? 

This is just…lovely. 

The candlelight dances across Jack’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the gray stubble. You…simply cannot stop looking at him. And he cannot seem to stop looking at you; you may not know him well yet, but an hour in his presence and you realize this man loves eye contact. He’s unafraid to hold it, and it keeps you grounded and in your body in a way that is calming to your anxiety. 

You find out Jack grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, that he’s a born and raised Steelers fan. You learn more about his time as a combat medic (you’d touched on it on the phone). You learn that he prefers the night shift, that it calms and quiets his mind. You learn that he’s been seeing his current therapist for two years after his previous one retired. You learn that he’s the oldest of four kids and has three younger sisters. A bunch of nieces and nephews that he — adorably — shows you on his phone. 

He learns that you’re prone to anxiety attacks. That you’ve wanted to be a therapist since high school. You tell him about your friendship with Robby and he laughs when you tell him about your ill-fated attempt at dating. He learns that you want to travel more, dream of going back to Sorrento, Italy and sipping limoncello while the briny sea breeze of the marina plays across your face. He learns about your family, and how much you love them. 

A lull in the conversation as you sip your wine and he studies you. You blush, looking into your glass.

“What?” you ask out of the side of your mouth. When you look back up at him, you notice he has a dimple in his cheeks when he grins. 

“I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” is what he says. Your heart thrums once, twice, a thudding in your chest.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t blink when he stares at you. “Easy.”

You smile at him and he lets out a breath like that smile is what he’s been waiting for. 

“I uh, I should tell you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been married before. My wife passed ten years ago.” His jaw clenches once, twice. “I never know how to uh, bring it up.” He clears his throat. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Thank you for telling me,” you say softly, genuinely. And you mean it. 

He looks at you then like he’s a little surprised. “You didn’t say, ‘sorry for your loss.’”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. Do you want me to?”

His cheeks dimple when he gives you a small, gentle smile. “Fuck no. I’m just…everyone says ‘sorry for your loss.’” 

“It is an unthinkable thing to lose a partner, a thing that forever changes your entire chemistry as a human being,” you tell him. “And I hate that it happened to you. And I’m very thankful that you told me.” 

Jack taps his thumb against his whisky glass, and seems to study the melting ice within it. “She’s—she was the best person I ever met. She made me better. I think about her all the time.” He adds roughly, “I hope she’s proud’a me.” 

You resist the urge to take this man’s hand in your own. Your fingers itch for it, but you don’t want to assume he’s okay with that, especially during such a vulnerable moment. You sit in his words for a moment, letting them rest between you. 

“I’m so glad you had her. That you still have her, in a lot of ways, I’m sure.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he lets out a breath and when he looks up at you, his eyes glisten a bit. 

“This what it’s like dating a therapist? You always say the right thing?”

You bark out a laugh because you can’t help it. “God, if I always said the right thing, I’d be a shitty therapist. I tend to believe you learn by failing and fucking up.” Your cheeks warm as he continues to look at you. “And this isn’t dating. This is our first date.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? First and last?”

You bite your lip and his eyes track the motion. He swallows. “That what you want? First and last?”

“Hell no,” he says immediately, voice so sure that it warms your entire body. The glisten in his eyes has given way to a brightness and you think, I like this.

I like you.

“Good,” you tell him, draining the last of your wine. “Me either.”

* * * 

You get tacos from the taco truck around the corner, and in between bites of carne asada and tinga de pollo, Jack tells you about work at PTMC.

“I like the teaching aspect of it,” he tells you after taking a sip of his water. You sit at a little folding table in the parking lot where the truck is set up. “I didn’t think I’d like that part, but as cheesy as it sounds, I think it’s part of what I’m meant to do.”

You’re smiling as you say, “I see why you and Robby are friends.” 

Jack barks out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

You swallow the last bite of your taco, lick the salsa from your fingertips. Jack’s eyes linger on the movement and you feel a buzz in your blood. 

“You both can’t help but lead. It’s in your DNA.” You pause. “It’s how I know you’re a good doctor and I just met you.”

“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You keep talkin’ like that and my ego’s gonna get too big to fit through the trauma bay.”

You grin and he grins back and you feel silly and light and…happy. 

“I wanna see you again,” Jack tells you. It’s so straightforward that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“You’re seeing me right now,” you say to deflect from the nerves you’re feeling. 

Jack shrugs. 

“Not enough,” he says and you think you might actually swoon. “I like schedules. You wanna see me again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m off in three days and I wanna make you dinner at my place. Would that be okay?”

You try to contain your excitement, to play it cool. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought you were rusty at the whole dating thing,” you tell him. His eyes flash with something you want to name as mischief. 

Jack rubs his scruffy jaw. He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. “You make me wanna be good at it.”

You think your smile may be so bright that it outshines the streetlight above. 

“Dinner at your place in three days sounds perfect.” 

* * * 

There’s an energy between you that wasn’t there earlier in the night as Jack walks you home. You can feel it. It’s heavy and pulsing and it makes you feel untethered in a way that is intoxicating. 

Your hands brush as you walk down the quiet, dark street. Shoulders swaying into each other. You can feel the heat of Jack’s body, how close he’s walking. You clock that he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, that his eyes scan your surroundings, like he’s making sure he’s aware of everything going on.

The two of you don’t speak much as you walk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…anticipatory. It feels like you’re on the precipice of something and whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine something very important. 

You reach your duplex, a sweet little place with night-blooming jasmine bushes that have been there since you moved in several years ago. You stop at the gate and turn to him. He stops walking, hands in his pockets as his eyes hold yours. 

You both don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at each other and it’s comforting to know that you can exist with this man, just as you are. 

“This is me,” you say after a moment and it makes laughter bubble out of both of you. He grins boyishly, the apples of his cheeks pushing upward. A chorus of cute cute cute chants in your brain.

“Yeah, I figured,” he teases. “Unless you’re in the habit of just stopping in front of random people’s houses.”

“You don’t know me,” you tease back. 

Jack steps closer to you and you look up at him. He’s not really tall but he’s taller than you and his entire presence is so broad and commanding that you feel swept into it. 

“Hopin’ to change that, though.” His voice has a husk to it. “If you’ll let me.”

You take in a breath as he studies you like he’s trying to memorize your face. 

“Yeah, Abbot,” you say, your own voice soft. “I’ll let you.”

He huffs out a breath, hazel eyes clear. “Yeah?” 

His right hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek for a tender moment. You nod as he leans down. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, right before his lips meet yours. 

It’s the best first kiss you’ve ever had. 

Light at first, both of you learning one another’s mouths. Jack’s other hand comes to your face and he’s cradling your head like it’s something precious, like it’s something to be cherished. You step closer to him, your own hands fisting the front of his sweater and pulling him closer. 

When your tongue traces his bottom lip, Jack groans and it lights you up from your scalp to your toes. 

He opens his mouth immediately, his tongue licking into you and you’re on fire. 

You’re in your thirties and you’re making out with this man with a mop of silver curls and it’s so heady that you feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking kisses before the porch light comes on and you’re found out. 

You don’t know how much time passes, just that when you both break apart you’re equally short of breath. You’re seconds from inviting him up to your place which is not your typical first date move but that’s simply because nobody’s been worth it before. He grins down at you, lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and plays with a loose strand of hair framing your face. He rubs it between his fingers, then tucks it behind your ear. 

“Three days. My place. Dinner,” he says, voice husky and wrecked and you smile up at him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. 

“Can’t wait.”

Later that night, when you’re in bed about to drift off, you get a text from Robby, asking how the date had gone. You respond with a simple thumbs up, knowing it’ll piss him off. He returns your text with ????????? and you snort. You put him out of your misery with your response: It was wonderful. He is wonderful. Seeing him in a few days. Robby sends back a thumbs up in retaliation, which in return makes you annoyed and then you engage in a battle of emojis (middle finger, gun, skull, etc.) until your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Jack Abbot: Had an amazing time tonight and can’t wait to see you again. Sweet dreams.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you think maybe—just maybe—this is the start of a real good thing.

There’s no way you can know that in four years you’ll be separated from Jack and fighting for your life in a cold, dark hospital room.

[allllium]

yandere!forestelf except he's obsessed with watching you sleep.

you clumsily crawled your way into his territory, clueless of the nearly 7ft tall monster that gaurded the forest, you don't look harmful in the slightest, he was actually about to let you go untill he saw it.

you, completely still in a cave, lying on your side like a ragdoll. in all his 26,000 years of livimg he wasn't very familiar with humans to be honest. they mostly stayed away from the forest, and he would always protect it. so this was unfamiliar to him, were you dead? he wasn't sure, so he went to check.

that was a bad idea, you woke up screaming as he politely poked your soft spots, you'd always heard of the infamous elf gaurd, in stories and music. never did you ever think you'd meet him.

"do not be afraid." his voice is a mix of so many things it's scary. airy winter snowflakes, rushing ocean waters. you don't reply. you can't understand him anyways.

the elf realizes this, and tries his best, but years of avoidance to your kind has left him stumped.

so he grabs a stick and begins to draw pictures.

"you...me...x?" you say aloud, a puzzled expression on your face. then he draws x's over your eyes and you whip your head up in fear, he was going to kill you.

the elf huffs and scratches out the drawings, now standing in all 7ft glory to, how you would say, play charades.

it take a while but eventually you get the message, "you came to check on me when i was sleeping? because you thought i was dead?"

he nods enthusiastically, and you smile. "oh how thoughtful."

after this you come as visit him often, and everytime you decide it's better you camp the night you can always find a tall elf staring at you from above, you've learned he doesn't need to sleep, which is why he's so fascinated bu you. the body completely shutting down for 8 hours or more? and being completely fine when restarted? hes rather impressed to say the least.

it gets a bit silly at times, the gaurd has made it a sort of ritual for you two. all day long he follows you around the forest silently watching as you gathered things you need or research the plethora of animals in the vicinity.

then when night comes, he scoops you up in his arms. like you're a child and rests your head where he has the bezt veiw to watch you sleep, breathing in soft, sometimes loud breaths to feul your body. you stopped fighting when your realizes the sleep you were getting was better then any cave floor could give you, Demitai is just happy you let him in the first place.

gets cutness aggression when he hold you, has to stop himself from pulling blood from your cheeks and tummy when he bites them.

[allllium]

another part in the works 🤞🤞

The Guy at the Bar

[ Jack Abbot x reader ]

~ Fluff, maybe ooc Abbot? WC: 1899

~ Prequel to Just a Bit of Fun

[ - Banner coming Soon - ]

- You meet a maybe grumpy old man at a bar

Being a doctor is no joke.

After a 12 hour shift all you want to do is chill for a while and maybe have a beer. What a better place to do that then a janky old bar with only one worker and shady people hiding in every corner.

It's definitely not the fanciest place ever, but it's cheap and convenient. Ten times better than going home and cooking for yourself.

You've had a hard day and going home seems too daunting at the moment. Maybe you'll feel better after scrolling on your phone with cheap food and even cheaper drinks.

But no, of course the world just has to throw something else your way today. As if a hard day working at a shitty hospital isn't enough.

"Excuse me." You say to older man sitting on the corner bar stool. The stool you sit in after almost every hard shift at the hospital just a street over.

"What." It's not a question. Just a word thrown out with no real interest in the answer. You pause for a spilt second. Confused at his harsh tone but you're not the only one that has hard days.

"Is there any way you could move to another stool?" You try to ask as polite as possible. You know he has no reason to listen to your request but you're not one that does well with change. Even something as small as a stool. A routine is important. Especially while working in a place as chaotic as an ER everyday.

"Why?" He asks, this time with a little interest. At least you think. You can't tell considering he has a completely straight face and won't take his eyes off the drink in front of him.

"I sit here every time I come here." You try to explain in a way that doesn't make you sound dramatic or childish. By the way his lip curls up on the side, you don't think you succeeded.

"Must come here a lot to have your own stool." He doesn't look your way or pay any attention to you. If he hadn't responded so quick you'd think he was ignoring you entirely.

"I work a hard job. Sometimes I just want to relax with some bad bar fries." You don't have to explain yourself. You could find another stool instead of standing here over explaining yourself to a complete stranger. A stool is not a big deal and this man shows no sign of moving.

"At seven in the morning?" There's no judgement is his tone. He seems more like he's trying to get a simple read on you. Not really necessary in order to switch stools but you won't question him, out loud.

"I work nights. What's your excuse?" He gives you a other lip curl and tilts his head to actually look at you for the first time during this conversation.

"You're not the only one on the night shift." He takes a second to actually look you. Unfortunately after a long shift, you know you probably look like a mess.

"Y'know we don't have to bond for you to move." You match his strange voice. If you had to pin his vibes down, it would be an uneven mixture of mystique and sadness.

"My stool, my rules." He shrugs and finishes his drink.

"Oh that is not your stool and you know it." You're ashamed of the whine that comes through your words, luckily it's masking your struggle to not laugh. You wouldn't want him to downplay how serious this is.

"My ass is on it."

"Well your ass is about to be knocked out of it." He turns back around to face you with an eyebrow raised. You're not actually gonna knock him on his ass. That's a very dramatic reaction to a simple situation and this man is far too scary looking to even consider it.

"Wow. Wasn't expecting to be threatened by a stranger today." He doesn't look worried at all. Makes sense. You are complaining about a stool.

"In this city? You're just asking for issues at that point. You should always be weary of strangers."

His eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. "I'm pretty I could handle it."

"Alright but I don't want to hear any complaining when you end up on the floor." You laugh and he continues staring at you intensely.

He takes another look at you before turning back to his drink. "Fine I'll move. Wouldn't want to end up on such a nasty floor." He eventually resigned. You want to think your toughness scared him off but realistically he got annoyed by your presence.

You're about to celebrate this small win but he gets up and sits back down on the stool directly next to yours.

"Why man? Why?" He smirks to himself as you sigh in confusion and annoyance but still sit on your stool to celebrate your small victory.

"I'm Jack." He introduces. He doesn't do anything fancy like reach out to shake your hand. Once again you'd believe he's ignoring you if it weren't for his short responses.

"How interesting." You remark in fake uncaring. Of course you're secretly excited that this handsome man wanting to introduce himself to you, unprompted at that.

"Do I not get to get know your name?"

"I see no reason why you need it." You shrug as you wait for the bartender. "For all I know you'll try to follow me home and murder me."

"I am definitely not gonna do that."

"Exactly what a murder would say." You double down, not looking his way.

"Okay, that's fair." He raises his hands in play defense. "But in my defense it's also what a non-murderer would say."

"Well I guess I'll never know."

You fall into silence until the bartender comes. You chose not to order an alcohol for the day and instead settle for a simple appetizer. He orders another of whatever he had been drinking when you arrived.

"So what is your hard job?"

"You're real chatty aren't you?"

"You must bring it out of me." You shake your head with a smile. You look over to see a similar smirk on his face.

"I'm a doctor." You decide to answer. What's the harm of indulging a men you'll never see again. Granted he's not a murderer or alcoholic.

"What a coincidence, so am I." He turns his entire body to face more in your direction.

"Coincidence indeed. What kind?" He doesn't give you doctor vibes at all.

He sighs heavily and takes a big drink. "ER."

"No shit." You turn your body towards him as well. Now you're completely facing each other. For the first time can see his whole face. It's probably just the bar lighting but he's extremely good looking.

"You too?"

"Yeah, just across the street."

"That place is the worst."

"Definitely. Where are you at?" As you talk he leans over and steals a piece of your food. You're about to lecture him but he shakes his head at you and offers a bit of his drink. What the fuck is up with this guy?

It makes you laugh to yourself. You never thought you'd meet such a weird guy in such a weird place. Actually that makes a lot of sense. You shouldn't be too surprised.

"Pittsburgh Trauma."

"I've heard no good things about that place." Apparently the staff calls it The Pitt. Nothing good can come from that name.

"It's not so bad."

"So says the man on drink two at seven in the morning."

"What can I say, I'm a lot more positive after two drinks."

"This is you being positive?" He chuckles at your slight surprise.

"You come here after every shift?" He asks suddenly, changing the subject completely.

"Not all of them. Usually when I'm too tired to cook or had a hard shift." You sigh and reach over to take a sip of his drink. If he's gonna be weird, so can you. Here's hoping he doesn't have any sort of strange disease you can catch. "Why are you here?"

"Hard shift. As usual."

"Trauma's tough."

"Y'know we almost always have positions available." He casually mentions. Now that the bar is close to closing they turn up the lights just a little bit. It's unusual how seeimh him in more light, makes him more attractive. You can see a lot better how much older than you he is.

"Sorry are you trying to make me come work for you." You chortle at his not so subtle antics.

"We could always use more people."

"You don't even know my name, let alone how good of a doctor I am." Before he can answer, you decide to order a drink after all. It might help ease the nerves of talking to Jack. You've only been referring to him as that guy in your mind. Even thinking his name changes the vibe of this situation.

Once you're done ordering, Jack leans slightly into your space. "It's okay, I could teach you."

He says it with a straight face. It's very hard to tell if he's flirting or not. Does he mean to sound so flirty with that or is he just very serious about his job? Maybe it's just his voice making it sound like this.

"Unfortunately I require no teaching." You say it quietly because he's still leaned over to you. He has his arm resting on the bar and his hand holding his head.

"So you say." Okay. Flirting or insulting? This guy is hard to read but you're not about to ask him for clarification. Wait maybe that'd be a good thing, he strikes you as the type to like that.

"Do you always offer jobs to people you meet in bars?"

"No this would be a first. You seem interesting."

"Usually if you wanna flatter someone you call them something better than interesting."

"I'm not trying to flatter you."

"Are you not? Maybe it's just the tone of your voice that gives that impression."

"My tone?" He wonders in genuine curiosity.

"Yeah it's confusing. You could be super excited or about to jump off a roof and I can't tell which."

He immediately lets out a loud, bold laugh.

"I think you can read me a lot better than you think." He admits with lingering hints of laughter.

"Spend some time on roofs do you?" You copy his pose by resting your arm on the bar and putting your head in your hand.

Naturally, this pose moves you both closer together than before. You're realizing now how close together the stools are.

"More than the average."

Checking your phone, you notice how close it is to closing.

"Oh what a great note to end off with." You chuckle to yourself as you get up to pay your bill.

Jack doesn't move from his seat and you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You highly doubt a murderer would come as strange as he has.

Before you leave, you chose to give him your receipt with your name on it.

He grabs your wrist to stop you from walking away so quick. "Think about what I said. We'd love an employee I don't have to teach."

"We'll see."

- This was a lot harder to write than I thought

[allllium]

Omg your vampire Jason is amazing!!! Can we please get more???

Vampire Jason is one of my favsss 😋

Unbelievable

Vampire Jason x Reader

- This took so long bc I couldn't decide on a direction to go but here we are.

- Angsty, WC: 2466, Mentions of sickness and eating issues

- You find out your boyfriend is a vampire

There's something weird about your boyfriend.

Obviously you'd expect that from someone who has as much trauma as he does.

He's never told you exactly how he died and came back, but you know it happened.

Whatever happened seems to have changed him in a way you haven't quite put your finger on.

It's not like he's done anything wrong.

He's just off.

You've noticed the way he doesn't eat what you cook. Always having some excuse of already eating or finding a way to hide it in a napkin.

He's not as subtle as he thinks.

And it's not just the food. He often avoids sunlight and is paler than he should be. He doesn't sleep as much as he should for someone out all night.

You swear his teeth are sharper than normal.

So far in your relationship, he hasn't explained anything and you haven't gotten up the nerve to ask.

The few questions you have asked hasn't gone over well. You didn't realize in the moment how he might not respond well to you asking questions about his scars, as simple as they were.

Not only did you not get a real answer, but now there's even more tension than before on asking any questions. Even ones that have the chance to make or break your entire relationship.

It's hard knowing something is different about your boyfriend and it's even harder knowing he doesn't trust you enough to tell you about it.

"Hey Jay?" You whisper as you sit next to him on the couch. He's sitting with a book and you have your legs over his lap while you watch TV.

"Yes angel?" He responds immediately, looking away from his book to pay full attention to you.

"What's your favorite food?" You want to try and understand him better without asking his straight up and causing issues. You don't want it to seem like you're trying to trick him or going behind his back but the amount of questions you have are starting to drive you insane.

You figure since he never eats food, this is a good question to lean into it. You can see him considering his answer. "I don't know, maybe pizza. Simple but good." He explains with no problem.

"Interesting.." You murmur almost silently. He shuts his book fully and sets in aside. You've captured his attention with just one word. Of course you set your eyes back on the TV so he doesn't sense you're up to something.

"What's interesting about it?" He has one eyebrow slightly raised and looks a little concerned about where this topic is heading.

You bite your lip, faking innocence, and hesitant slightly before answering to really play it off. "Well," you sigh audibly and see him lean closer out of the corner of your eye. "I'm just a little worried, y'know I've never really seen you eat anything and eating issues are a big problem."

It takes a lot of effort to not blow your cover and smile like a clown. "What? No honey I don't any eating issues." He puts his hand on your leg in reassurance and looks distraught at your words. You can almost hear the panic in his voice.

"I've been trying to understand for a while but I finally figured it out." Once you started in this lie, it just keeps going. You hope it's enough for him to admit at least a little bit of the truth. Whatever that might be. "I honestly feel bad I didn't start trying to help sooner."

Is it still manipulating if it's for a good cause?

"What? No I swear I'm okay?" He moves closer in his attempt to calm you down. It's sweet how much he cares.

"But I can't think of any other explanation for why you never eat. It's not normal. You can tell me y'know? I only want what's best for you." Yes you're laying it on a little thick but if that's what it takes, oh well.

"And it's not just that!" You continue before he can get any words out, closing his mouth in surprise. "I mean you're so pale and you don't sleep enough and you avoid sun so much there has to be something wrong. I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"Baby, I promise I'm not sick."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"No. I am not!"

"Yes. You. Are."

"Okay that's enough. I'm not sick."

"It's the only explanation." He gets off the couch and walks back and forth behind it.

"No it's not." He turns and says, making sure you're looking at him as he says it.

"Then what is it? From where I'm standing there's nothing normal happening." The more you say, the closer you get to reaching the answer on your own.

He rolls his eyes and starts to leave the living room, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Liar. I've never seen you pee." You say it as a half murmer, not caring whether he hears you or not.

"Yeah that's cause I do it with the door closed." He yanks open the door of the bathroom showing how annoyed he is. You don't exactly care if he's annoyed or not. Fucking liar.

"You know what I mean!" You shout, standing from the couch. And when he slams the door closed with him behind it, you make what could be considered a very toxic decision.

Unfortunately for Jason he left his phone on the kitchen counter. While you'd never want to invade his privacy like this normally, these aren't normal circumstances.

You highly doubt you're going to find anything but the anxiety of the situation has you reaching for his phone and entering his password before you can lecture yourself into stopping.

Taking a deep breath and peaking around the corner to make sure he hasn't slipped out without you noticing. Most of his phone is full of normal guy things, at least you think, and there's nothing popping out at you.

You feel a wave of intense relief flood over you. You don't know what you thought you'd find but your extremely glad it was nothing.

Except it's not.

The moment you put his phone back in the same spot you found it, it dings. Once again, against your better instincts you pick it back up and see a text from Dick.

This is the point you really need to stop yourself.

Obviously you don't do that. The text itself is a weird ass meme but it only takes a few scrolls up before your world crashes down on you.

A heavy weight takes its well known place on your chest. Suddenly so many things click together you don't even know how to react.

- Dickhead

: So did you talk about it yet?

: You're not being a pussy about it are you

: You just gotta sit down and say Babycakes

I'm a vampire

: Maybe do a little growl while you're at it

: really sell it

- Jason's phone

: first of all I will never say the words babycakes

: you're disgusting

: second I can't just blurt it out I have to ease into it

: this is a sensitive topic

- Dickhead

: wrong

: in my experience it's best to go all in as fast as you can

- Jason's phone

: that's terrible

: this is why no one likes you

- Dickhead

: I don't take advice from cowardly vampires thank you very much

Wow you're really hoping they were joking around but the way everything clicks in place has no other explanation.

It explains all of his weird behaviors and looks. You just really really don't want it to be true. You try to focus on your breathing and calming yourself down while you out his phone back on the counter.

The only experience you have with vampires is in the form of Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. So you're not exactly sure what this entails.

He seemed really concerned to bring it up. Maybe he didn't tell you because he thought you'd leave or be scared. Damn. You can't tell if you're scared or not.

You don't think you are but it's also hard to wrap your head around your boyfriend being a vampire that literally drinks people's blood.

"Fuck." You whisper almost silently. And in doing so it makes you wonder how good his hearing really is. Whether or not he can hear you whisper to yourself in the next room is anyones guess at this point.

You're not sure what you're supposed to be feeling about this news. Most people would probably leave without a second thought but you can't even bring yourself to leave the kitchen. Jason means a lot to you and the last thing you want to do is leave him over anything like this.

However, if he lies to you about it one more time you can't guarantee it will end well.

"Stop hiding in the bathroom!" You shout, still standing at the counter with your hand on his phone protectively. You know this man well. If he has access to his phone he'll pretend he got an important message and run out the door before you have time to call it out.

He comes out sheepishly. Like he wasn't expecting you to pull him out of hiding so soon. He almost looks like a scorned child, like he knows you'll continue to tug on his lies.

He looks down at the phone under your hand and back up at you. He looks up and down, and up and down while you slowly feel your patience wearing thin.

You take a deep audible breath and he brings his eyes back to you. You don't know what to say first and the look of uncertainty in his eyes makes you want to blurt all of it out at the same time.

He either knows exactly what this conversation is about to be or has absolutely no clue.

"I can't believe you're comfortable lying with me for so long and about something so big."

His eyes widen with panic. He opens his mouth to say something but slams it shut immediately. You can see his eyes wonder everywhere but your own and he bites the inside of his cheek multiple times.

"Do you know what I'm talking about or do you have multiple secrets that could fit this situation?" You're proud of how stern you sound. Not talking any shit for an answer.

"I know what you're talking about. It's the only thing I've kept from you." He takes a few steps around the counter, slowly making his way towards you.

"Yeah it's only the biggest thing about you why bother disclosing that in a relationship." It makes you chuckle in not only frustration but disbelief in the situation.

"I didn't want to scare you. No one hears the words I'm a vampire and doesn't freak out." A few steps closer. He sounds a lot more calm than he looks.

"So what? You figured you'd tell me after our one year anniversary? Maybe the day of our wedding so I can leave after my freak out? Or possibly you'd wait until Grayson did it himself." You roll your eyes as you say your last sentence. The more you talk, the more pissed off you feel yourself getting.

You're definitely not scared, you realize. But there is no world in which you forgive him easily for this.

"Did you go through my phone?"

"Is that what you want to focus on?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make you feel better about this."

"I'm not scared because you're a vampire, I'm not mad that you're a vampire. I am unbelievably pissed that we are eleven months into this relationship and you have lied to me every single day of it!" Tears slowly well up in your eyes. Your words get more pronounced as they continue.

"I didn't want you to leave." He's only a couple steps away from you but instead of closing the distance, he reaches his hands out towards you. You don't step away.

"And you decided to take that choice away from me completely. I can't believe I have to say this but if you are a supernatural being it is not something you hide as long as possible."

One of his hands lands on your shoulder, the other coming to rest on your waist.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. The last thing I wanted was to lie-"

"You had so many options! Am I seriously supposed to believe you chose the hardest one for you? To me it seems like you chose the easiest one to deal with." You pull away from his touch and turn the other way, preparing to leave the kitchen all together.

"Do you seriously believe I like lying to you?" He finally raises his voice to match yours. Soft enough the neighbors won't complain but enough to clearly notice."This wasn't easy for me! I love you. Do you know how hard it is to face the reality you might leave because of something I can't control! Something I never thought would be my reality!"

"Do you know how terrifying it is to have a boyfriend that never eats anything, never sleeps at night, never does anything that a normal person does. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be in a relationship like that?"

"I don't know what to say to fix this."

"I don't know either! I don't know if you can." He looks utterly defeated as he hears you say that.

"So I was right." He mutters, like it was the hardest thing he's ever said.

"No. I don't care what you are. I care that I've been worried sick this entire time that something was wrong and I might lose you. Only to find out the truth from your brother and knowing you had no plan to tell me. Seriously, Jason, when were you planning on telling me this?"

"I really don't know. Nothing felt right." You can see how upset he is. His reasons make sense and you know it. But you simply can't get over this right now.

"Okay." You whisper and leave the kitchen. He doesn't follow you or attempt to say anything else.

You try to take calming breaths as you get further away from him.

You hope you'll wake in the morning less angry. Maybe in a much better mood to hear him out.

As of right now, you know you can't sleep in the same place as him.

[allllium]

Thinking about Jason Todd finding out you have a crush on him…

It would make Jason’s day. Honestly that man would be giddy about it, though he’d never outwardly show it. He’d sit around and smile to himself, thinking about all the times you’ve been flustered when he’s near, all the times he caught you looking his way. It would make him more confident, which would in turn make him insufferable.

At least in the sense that he would tease the living hell out of you. Obviously he won’t let on that he knows you have a crush on him. He’d play you like a fiddle, trying to get you to confess.

He’d start small, brushing a hand over your lower back when moving past you. An innocent set of touches that could be excused by the cramped space of the kitchen or wherever it happened.

He’d lean down and whisper in your ear in crowded spaces, brush strands of hair back from your face so he can “get a good look at you.”

And with each little thing, he would watch you grow more bashful, more confused and muddled. He would watch you fan yourself from the corner of his eye as he walked away, and after a few weeks of it, it was Jason who was desperate.

He’d wanted you to tell him how you felt, dammit, he was flirting so hard that he hoped you might just kiss him on the spot, but he underestimated your self control.

He doesn’t know exactly when you caught on to what he was doing, but the day you did was his downfall. Because that was the day you started teasing him back. It didn’t happen like he thought it would, you didn’t give in and admit how you felt. Instead you turned the tables, made it war.

Payback was bitch, Jason now realised, after the second time you brushed up against him in a very important meeting. Or when you leaned over him, while he was having breakfast the previous day, supposedly to grab some salt. You’d placed a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching across for the salt shaker, your neck so close to his mouth that he damn near kissed it.

Surprisingly enough, the final straw was late one night when Jason was headed to bed. You’d stopped him in the hallway feinting to bid him goodnight, before you frowned at him, an innocent kind of expression.

“You’ve got something in your hair.” It sounds like you are telling the truth, but deep down Jason knows this is another play. At this point, he’s so down bad, he doesn’t care.

“Oh yeah?” He runs a hand over his head, in an attempt to wipe the nonexistent thing away, and you just smile at him, something that makes his cheeks heat.

“Here, let me get it.” You step forward, and tilt his head toward you. He’s so tall, you have to stand on your toes to look through his hair, for the absolute nothing that’s there. You pretend to pluck something out, and Jason thinks your tricks are over until you run your fingers over his scalp, and despite the tough guy reputation he’s built for himself, he practically purrs.

And just like that, you’ve won. You’ve got him like putty in your hands, and you laugh. Just a quiet chuckle, but it’s there nonetheless. Something that makes Jason just a little bit feral.

“How long are we gonna keep doing this?” His eyes fall down to lock on yours as you pause your actions, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing what?” You’re playing dumb, making him do all the hard work. He respects it though, considering he started all this, he may as well be the one to finish it.

He brings his hands to your hips, his touch warm even through the fabric over your skin. “This.” He puts emphasis on the word and punctuates it by squeezing your hips. To his delight, it’s you that’s purring now, allowing yourself to find pleasure in his touch.

“As long as it takes.” You answer finally, running your hands through his hair again, your nails trailing gently over the nape of his neck when you’re done.

“As long as it takes until what, exactly?” His voice has lowered, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. And you finally give him the answer he wants. The one he’s been craving since he found out how you felt.

“Until you fucking kiss me, Todd.” You would roll your eyes, but you’re so infatuated with him, with the way his streak of white hair falls effortlessly into his eyes, with the way his gaze is locked on you. And then he does it. He kisses you, after months of tests and teasing. After years of your pining for him.

And it sure is sweet.

-

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! Please tell me your thoughts darlings!!!

JASON TODD TAGLIST: @princessbl0ss0m @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @eternltys

[allllium]

Omg your vampire Jason is amazing!!! Can we please get more???

Vampire Jason is one of my favsss 😋

Unbelievable

Vampire Jason x Reader

- This took so long bc I couldn't decide on a direction to go but here we are.

- Angsty, WC: 2466, Mentions of sickness and eating issues

- You find out your boyfriend is a vampire

There's something weird about your boyfriend.

Obviously you'd expect that from someone who has as much trauma as he does.

He's never told you exactly how he died and came back, but you know it happened.

Whatever happened seems to have changed him in a way you haven't quite put your finger on.

It's not like he's done anything wrong.

He's just off.

You've noticed the way he doesn't eat what you cook. Always having some excuse of already eating or finding a way to hide it in a napkin.

He's not as subtle as he thinks.

And it's not just the food. He often avoids sunlight and is paler than he should be. He doesn't sleep as much as he should for someone out all night.

You swear his teeth are sharper than normal.

So far in your relationship, he hasn't explained anything and you haven't gotten up the nerve to ask.

The few questions you have asked hasn't gone over well. You didn't realize in the moment how he might not respond well to you asking questions about his scars, as simple as they were.

Not only did you not get a real answer, but now there's even more tension than before on asking any questions. Even ones that have the chance to make or break your entire relationship.

It's hard knowing something is different about your boyfriend and it's even harder knowing he doesn't trust you enough to tell you about it.

"Hey Jay?" You whisper as you sit next to him on the couch. He's sitting with a book and you have your legs over his lap while you watch TV.

"Yes angel?" He responds immediately, looking away from his book to pay full attention to you.

"What's your favorite food?" You want to try and understand him better without asking his straight up and causing issues. You don't want it to seem like you're trying to trick him or going behind his back but the amount of questions you have are starting to drive you insane.

You figure since he never eats food, this is a good question to lean into it. You can see him considering his answer. "I don't know, maybe pizza. Simple but good." He explains with no problem.

"Interesting.." You murmur almost silently. He shuts his book fully and sets in aside. You've captured his attention with just one word. Of course you set your eyes back on the TV so he doesn't sense you're up to something.

"What's interesting about it?" He has one eyebrow slightly raised and looks a little concerned about where this topic is heading.

You bite your lip, faking innocence, and hesitant slightly before answering to really play it off. "Well," you sigh audibly and see him lean closer out of the corner of your eye. "I'm just a little worried, y'know I've never really seen you eat anything and eating issues are a big problem."

It takes a lot of effort to not blow your cover and smile like a clown. "What? No honey I don't any eating issues." He puts his hand on your leg in reassurance and looks distraught at your words. You can almost hear the panic in his voice.

"I've been trying to understand for a while but I finally figured it out." Once you started in this lie, it just keeps going. You hope it's enough for him to admit at least a little bit of the truth. Whatever that might be. "I honestly feel bad I didn't start trying to help sooner."

Is it still manipulating if it's for a good cause?

"What? No I swear I'm okay?" He moves closer in his attempt to calm you down. It's sweet how much he cares.

"But I can't think of any other explanation for why you never eat. It's not normal. You can tell me y'know? I only want what's best for you." Yes you're laying it on a little thick but if that's what it takes, oh well.

"And it's not just that!" You continue before he can get any words out, closing his mouth in surprise. "I mean you're so pale and you don't sleep enough and you avoid sun so much there has to be something wrong. I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"Baby, I promise I'm not sick."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"No. I am not!"

"Yes. You. Are."

"Okay that's enough. I'm not sick."

"It's the only explanation." He gets off the couch and walks back and forth behind it.

"No it's not." He turns and says, making sure you're looking at him as he says it.

"Then what is it? From where I'm standing there's nothing normal happening." The more you say, the closer you get to reaching the answer on your own.

He rolls his eyes and starts to leave the living room, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Liar. I've never seen you pee." You say it as a half murmer, not caring whether he hears you or not.

"Yeah that's cause I do it with the door closed." He yanks open the door of the bathroom showing how annoyed he is. You don't exactly care if he's annoyed or not. Fucking liar.

"You know what I mean!" You shout, standing from the couch. And when he slams the door closed with him behind it, you make what could be considered a very toxic decision.

Unfortunately for Jason he left his phone on the kitchen counter. While you'd never want to invade his privacy like this normally, these aren't normal circumstances.

You highly doubt you're going to find anything but the anxiety of the situation has you reaching for his phone and entering his password before you can lecture yourself into stopping.

Taking a deep breath and peaking around the corner to make sure he hasn't slipped out without you noticing. Most of his phone is full of normal guy things, at least you think, and there's nothing popping out at you.

You feel a wave of intense relief flood over you. You don't know what you thought you'd find but your extremely glad it was nothing.

Except it's not.

The moment you put his phone back in the same spot you found it, it dings. Once again, against your better instincts you pick it back up and see a text from Dick.

This is the point you really need to stop yourself.

Obviously you don't do that. The text itself is a weird ass meme but it only takes a few scrolls up before your world crashes down on you.

A heavy weight takes its well known place on your chest. Suddenly so many things click together you don't even know how to react.

- Dickhead

: So did you talk about it yet?

: You're not being a pussy about it are you

: You just gotta sit down and say Babycakes

I'm a vampire

: Maybe do a little growl while you're at it

: really sell it

- Jason's phone

: first of all I will never say the words babycakes

: you're disgusting

: second I can't just blurt it out I have to ease into it

: this is a sensitive topic

- Dickhead

: wrong

: in my experience it's best to go all in as fast as you can

- Jason's phone

: that's terrible

: this is why no one likes you

- Dickhead

: I don't take advice from cowardly vampires thank you very much

Wow you're really hoping they were joking around but the way everything clicks in place has no other explanation.

It explains all of his weird behaviors and looks. You just really really don't want it to be true. You try to focus on your breathing and calming yourself down while you out his phone back on the counter.

The only experience you have with vampires is in the form of Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. So you're not exactly sure what this entails.

He seemed really concerned to bring it up. Maybe he didn't tell you because he thought you'd leave or be scared. Damn. You can't tell if you're scared or not.

You don't think you are but it's also hard to wrap your head around your boyfriend being a vampire that literally drinks people's blood.

"Fuck." You whisper almost silently. And in doing so it makes you wonder how good his hearing really is. Whether or not he can hear you whisper to yourself in the next room is anyones guess at this point.

You're not sure what you're supposed to be feeling about this news. Most people would probably leave without a second thought but you can't even bring yourself to leave the kitchen. Jason means a lot to you and the last thing you want to do is leave him over anything like this.

However, if he lies to you about it one more time you can't guarantee it will end well.

"Stop hiding in the bathroom!" You shout, still standing at the counter with your hand on his phone protectively. You know this man well. If he has access to his phone he'll pretend he got an important message and run out the door before you have time to call it out.

He comes out sheepishly. Like he wasn't expecting you to pull him out of hiding so soon. He almost looks like a scorned child, like he knows you'll continue to tug on his lies.

He looks down at the phone under your hand and back up at you. He looks up and down, and up and down while you slowly feel your patience wearing thin.

You take a deep audible breath and he brings his eyes back to you. You don't know what to say first and the look of uncertainty in his eyes makes you want to blurt all of it out at the same time.

He either knows exactly what this conversation is about to be or has absolutely no clue.

"I can't believe you're comfortable lying with me for so long and about something so big."

His eyes widen with panic. He opens his mouth to say something but slams it shut immediately. You can see his eyes wonder everywhere but your own and he bites the inside of his cheek multiple times.

"Do you know what I'm talking about or do you have multiple secrets that could fit this situation?" You're proud of how stern you sound. Not talking any shit for an answer.

"I know what you're talking about. It's the only thing I've kept from you." He takes a few steps around the counter, slowly making his way towards you.

"Yeah it's only the biggest thing about you why bother disclosing that in a relationship." It makes you chuckle in not only frustration but disbelief in the situation.

"I didn't want to scare you. No one hears the words I'm a vampire and doesn't freak out." A few steps closer. He sounds a lot more calm than he looks.

"So what? You figured you'd tell me after our one year anniversary? Maybe the day of our wedding so I can leave after my freak out? Or possibly you'd wait until Grayson did it himself." You roll your eyes as you say your last sentence. The more you talk, the more pissed off you feel yourself getting.

You're definitely not scared, you realize. But there is no world in which you forgive him easily for this.

"Did you go through my phone?"

"Is that what you want to focus on?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make you feel better about this."

"I'm not scared because you're a vampire, I'm not mad that you're a vampire. I am unbelievably pissed that we are eleven months into this relationship and you have lied to me every single day of it!" Tears slowly well up in your eyes. Your words get more pronounced as they continue.

"I didn't want you to leave." He's only a couple steps away from you but instead of closing the distance, he reaches his hands out towards you. You don't step away.

"And you decided to take that choice away from me completely. I can't believe I have to say this but if you are a supernatural being it is not something you hide as long as possible."

One of his hands lands on your shoulder, the other coming to rest on your waist.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. The last thing I wanted was to lie-"

"You had so many options! Am I seriously supposed to believe you chose the hardest one for you? To me it seems like you chose the easiest one to deal with." You pull away from his touch and turn the other way, preparing to leave the kitchen all together.

"Do you seriously believe I like lying to you?" He finally raises his voice to match yours. Soft enough the neighbors won't complain but enough to clearly notice."This wasn't easy for me! I love you. Do you know how hard it is to face the reality you might leave because of something I can't control! Something I never thought would be my reality!"

"Do you know how terrifying it is to have a boyfriend that never eats anything, never sleeps at night, never does anything that a normal person does. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be in a relationship like that?"

"I don't know what to say to fix this."

"I don't know either! I don't know if you can." He looks utterly defeated as he hears you say that.

"So I was right." He mutters, like it was the hardest thing he's ever said.

"No. I don't care what you are. I care that I've been worried sick this entire time that something was wrong and I might lose you. Only to find out the truth from your brother and knowing you had no plan to tell me. Seriously, Jason, when were you planning on telling me this?"

"I really don't know. Nothing felt right." You can see how upset he is. His reasons make sense and you know it. But you simply can't get over this right now.

"Okay." You whisper and leave the kitchen. He doesn't follow you or attempt to say anything else.

You try to take calming breaths as you get further away from him.

You hope you'll wake in the morning less angry. Maybe in a much better mood to hear him out.

As of right now, you know you can't sleep in the same place as him.

[allllium]

you think i don’t notice?

part 2 to don’t tempt me

fuckboy!simon x nerdy!reader

wc: 6.7k

cw: slight mentions of sex, heavy swearing by simon, angst (only a little), angry!simon (not at reader), jealousy

Simon doesn’t leave your room.

Not after he kicks her out. Not after she slams the door like it’s you she’s mad at and not herself for getting caught.

He just… stays.

Sits on the edge of your bed like he has any business being there, like he hasn’t spent the last six months pretending you don’t exist. You, with your messy ponytail and hoodie sleeves stretched over your hands and tissues peeking from under your pillow like some kind of sick gremlin.

You don’t know what to do. What to say.

So you just sip the tea he brought you. Let the silence stretch.

“I thought you hated me,” you say finally, voice still raw.

Simon huffs a quiet sound. “Didn’t say I liked you.”

That makes you smile. Barely. But he sees it.

His gaze flicks to you — sharp, unreadable — and then just stays there. Watching.

You clear your throat and look away, suddenly too aware of how small your bed is. How close his knee is to yours. How he’s still here and hasn’t gone back to texting whatever girl he’d probably had lined up for tomorrow.

Your stomach flips.

You hate him a little. For making you feel like this. For confusing you. For being decent when he’s supposed to be a total ass.

“You can go, you know,” you whisper. “I’m not gonna, like… die or something.”

He doesn’t move. “Didn’t ask.”

“You’re not staying out of guilt, are you? ’Cause of what she said?”

Simon’s jaw ticks. That muscle again.

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Then why are you—?”

“Because you’re sick,” he says. “And you looked like you were about to fucking cry, and I didn’t like that.”

You blink. Hard.

“Oh.”

That’s all you manage.

Simon runs a hand through his hair and exhales like you’ve exhausted him, like you’re the problem, not the girl who stomped in and insulted you in your own goddamn room.

“You ever gonna tell me?” he says suddenly.

You frown. “Tell you what?”

“Who hurt you.”

Your blood freezes.

“What—?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, low. “You flinch every time someone raises their voice. Every time someone touches you. Even when it’s me.”

You look down at your tea.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

He doesn’t believe you. You can feel it.

But he lets it go.

For now.

You should feel relieved. But something in your chest twists, tight and aching.

You’re not sure when it started — the wanting.

Maybe it was when he wiped your nose without laughing. Maybe when he kicked out that girl without hesitating. Maybe it’s been building under your skin this whole time, slow and sharp like a splinter.

Whatever it is, it’s worse now. He’s too close. Too real.

You curl into yourself, trying to disappear.

Simon shifts. Leans back against your headboard like he lives there.

“You always this quiet?”

You shrug.

“Figured you’d be the type to never shut up.”

You glance at him. “Why?”

He smirks. “Glasses. Big words. You know. Nerd shit.”

“You think I’m a nerd?”

He grins wider. “Don’t play coy. You literally labeled your tea mugs.”

You flush. “I was sick. I didn’t want to—”

“You’re adorable when you’re defensive.”

You blink.

Did he just—?

Simon doesn’t look at you. Just casually tosses it out there like it’s not going to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

You sink deeper into your blanket.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

You grab it instinctively, thumb swiping across the screen before your fevered brain catches up.

Simon doesn’t move, but something shifts in the air.

“You texting someone?” he asks.

You glance up.

His voice is too light.

You hesitate. “It’s just— this guy from class. He was asking how I’m feeling.”

Simon’s eyes darken. Just slightly.

“This guy.”

You nod, oblivious. “Yeah. He brought me cough drops once. He’s nice.”

Simon doesn’t respond. Just stares at the wall like it insulted him.

You scroll. Smiling faintly.

Simon’s hand twitches.

“What’s so funny?” he mutters.

“Nothing,” you say, looking up. “He just said I sounded cute when I was all congested.”

You’re teasing. Sort of.

Simon isn’t laughing.

“He say that before or after he asked if you were alone?”

You pause.

“What?”

“Don’t trust guys like that.”

Your brow furrows. “You mean nice guys?”

“I mean guys who see a girl who’s sick and vulnerable and think ‘oh cool, now’s my chance.’”

Your stomach twists. “You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?” Simon snaps. “What, you think he actually gives a fuck how you’re feeling? You think he’s checking in because he cares? No. He wants something.”

You stare at him.

“Why do you care?” you ask quietly.

Simon’s mouth opens, then closes.

His jaw clenches again.

“Because I’m your fucking roommate,” he mutters.

You nod slowly. “Right.”

Silence.

Then—

“You like him?” Simon asks suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“That guy. You like him?”

You hesitate.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Simon doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then he laughs. Bitter. Mean.

“He wouldn’t last a day with you.”

Your throat tightens. “What the hell does that mean?”

He turns to you. Finally looks at you.

“You think he’d take care of you like this?” he says. “You think he’d sit here while you look like hell and wipe your nose and make sure you’re breathing okay?”

You flinch. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“I did it anyway,” he says, low.

You don’t know what to say.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he mutters. “Whatever this is.”

You stare at him.

“Then why are you here?”

He looks at you. Quiet. Serious.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I keep thinking about you. Even when I don’t want to.”

Your breath catches.

Simon leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched.

“I hear you through the walls,” he says. “When you cry. When you laugh. When you talk in your sleep.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You do,” he says. “You said my name once.”

Your heart stops.

“What—?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease.

Just looks at you like he’s watching something fall apart.

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to not want you.”

The air leaves your lungs.

Simon leans in.

Not close enough to touch.

Just close enough to ruin you.

“If that guy texts you again,” he says, “you tell him not to bother.”

You swallow. “Why?”

He looks at your mouth.

Then your eyes.

“Because I’m the one who hears you through the walls.”

And then—

He kisses your forehead.

Just once.

Soft.

Barely there.

But it shatters you.

Simon pulls back.

Stands.

Doesn’t say a word as he moves to the door.

He pauses.

Glances over his shoulder.

“You need anything,” he says, “you call me. Not him.”

You nod, speechless.

And then he’s gone.

Leaving behind a mug of tea, a thousand questions, and a silence that sounds a whole lot like the start of something else.

You were feeling a little better.

Not good, not normal, but better. Enough to shower. Enough to pull on fresh sweats and eat half a bowl of soup without gagging. Your nose was still red, your eyes still glassy, but the fever was gone, and you could finally breathe without feeling like your ribs might crack.

Still, you hadn’t left your room.

Not since that night.

Not since Simon kicked the girl out, sat on your bed like he belonged there, and touched you like you mattered. Like he saw you for the first time.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

He’d been distant ever since — not cold, exactly, just… unreadable. No more girls. No more music shaking the walls. He hadn’t said anything, but you could feel him in the quiet. In the way he paused in the hall. In the untouched takeout that showed up outside your door, no note, no explanation.

He hadn’t checked on you again.

And you hadn’t dared knock on his door.

You were curled up in bed, watching some old documentary through one barely-open eye, when you heard it — the heavy thud of boots in the hallway. His door creaked open. Then closed again.

Then silence.

Then your door.

It didn’t open. Just a knock. Once.

Your heart jumped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still scratchy.

The door cracked. And there he was.

Simon Riley.

Gray hoodie. Sweats slung low on his hips. One hand braced on the frame like he might change his mind.

You blinked. “Hi.”

He stared at you like he wasn’t sure why he came. Like he’d rehearsed something in his head and forgot all of it the second he saw you.

You tugged your blanket tighter. “What’s up?”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned you — flushed cheeks, hair still damp from the shower, sleeves too long over your hands. You knew you looked fragile. You hated that he was the one seeing you like this again.

He finally spoke.

“You look like hell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

He stepped inside anyway.

Shut the door behind him.

Then leaned against it like he had nowhere else to be.

“Didn’t say it was a bad look,” he muttered.

You stared. “Are you flirting with me or trying to pick a fight?”

“Why would I flirt with you?”

“Ouch.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to yours, and something there made your breath hitch.

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice rough, “don’t get any ideas.”

You almost laughed. “Believe me, I wasn’t.”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t spent months pretending you barely existed.

He grabbed the empty mug off your nightstand. Frowned at it.

“No tea?”

“I drank it.”

“No shit.���

He turned like he might take it back to the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He paused.

You shifted awkwardly under the blanket, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Why are you… here?”

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you — really looked — and it made your stomach twist.

“You’re still sick,” he said finally.

“I’m getting better.”

“Didn’t ask.”

You huffed, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to your chest. “You’re being weird.”

He snorted. “You’re the weird one. Sittin’ in here like a damn ghost.”

“I’ve been recovering.”

He looked at you over his shoulder. “From the flu or from getting screamed at by that silicone-sculpted banshee?”

You blinked. “Both?”

He turned back around. Set the mug down. His shoulders were tense.

“You shouldn’t’ve opened the door,” he muttered.

“I didn’t,” you said. “She did.”

He didn’t respond.

Just paced a few steps away, hands on his hips. Like he had too much energy and no clue what to do with it.

“What’s your deal?” you asked, quieter now.

He shot you a look.

You sat up a little. “You’ve been… off.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t brought anyone home in three nights.”

“So?”

“So I’m not complaining, but it’s weird.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. Frustrated.

“Maybe I don’t feel like listenin’ to some brat whine about thread count while I’m tryin’ to—”

He cut himself off.

You blinked. “While you’re trying to what?”

“Never mind.”

You tilted your head. “While you’re trying to pretend you don’t care about me?”

That stopped him cold.

His jaw flexed. His hands clenched. He turned to face you, slow and deliberate.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, low.

You smiled — tired, knowing. “You keep saying that, but you’re in my room.”

Simon stalked closer, eyes dark. “Because you’re sick.”

“You didn’t care before.”

“I didn’t know before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Silence.

Thick enough to drown in.

Simon stood over your bed, jaw tight, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

You stared up at him, heart thudding. “Why do you care now?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then your knees pulled up to your chest. Then back to your eyes.

“You really wanna know?” he asked, voice like gravel.

You nodded.

He stepped closer.

And closer.

Until he was right in front of you, close enough that the heat from his body made your skin prickle.

Then he leaned down, braced his arms on either side of you, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that made him feel anything at all.

“I don’t,” he said.

You blinked. Breath caught.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, voice lower now. “You get sick, you get better — not my fuckin’ problem.”

Your chest ached. “Right.”

“But if I hear you cry because of someone I brought into this house again,” he said, tilting his head, “I will lose it.”

You swallowed. “Simon—”

“I’ll lose it,” he said again. “Because I’m not gonna watch someone tear you down when you’re already hanging on by a thread.”

You stared at him. “That… kinda sounds like caring.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s not.”

You smiled. Just a little. “Okay.”

He leaned in closer.

Close enough that his nose brushed yours. That his breath was warm on your cheek.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he whispered.

“You’re worse.”

He didn’t deny it.

And then — without thinking, without warning — his hand reached out. Fingers under your chin. Lifting your face to his.

Not kissing you. Not yet.

Just holding you there, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize the exact version of you that made him lose control.

“You still feel like shit?” he asked.

“Less like shit,” you whispered.

“Good.”

Then he let go.

Straightened up.

Walked to the door like nothing happened.

Paused there, hand on the knob.

You watched him, heart still racing.

He looked over his shoulder. Met your eyes.

“Don’t go thinking I care.”

Then he left.

And shut the door behind him.

Your room was still too quiet.

You hadn’t said anything since Simon walked out last night.

Not when he brought you soup. Not when he leaned against your doorway and asked, “Need anything?” like it didn’t feel like his voice dragged hot iron down your spine. And definitely not when he stayed longer than necessary, standing there like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start.

You didn’t answer because you didn’t trust your voice. Or your face. Or the way something was cracking open between you two and he didn’t even seem to notice.

But he did.

You just didn’t know it yet.

You were curled under the blanket now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, glasses slipping down your nose as you flipped another page of the book you weren’t reading. It was easier than looking at the door.

Because you knew he’d come in eventually.

He always did now.

The shift had been slow — from silence to tension, from passing jabs to something warmer, if not softer. But the edge never dulled completely. Not with Simon. Especially not when he didn’t want it to.

You heard the door creak open behind you.

“Still alive, then.”

His voice was lazy. But there was a tightness beneath it. Like he’d been rehearsing sounding casual.

You didn’t turn. “Barely.”

Footsteps. Closer.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. “House’s been quiet. Almost peaceful.”

You scoffed into your blanket. “Guess your bimbos took the night off.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“I haven’t brought anyone home all week.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t like him. At all.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

Leaning against the frame. Hoodie half-zipped. Hair messy. Eyes dark.

You said nothing.

He stepped inside.

Something about his energy was different tonight. Less cocky. Less put together. Like whatever was usually holding him upright had been worn thin and now you were seeing what was underneath.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sleeves over your hands again.

Simon’s gaze flicked down. Noticed. Something flickered across his face.

“You mad at me?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked. “Why would I be mad at you?”

He didn’t answer.

You swallowed. “You’ve been… weird.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve been weird.”

More silence.

Then he said your name.

Just that.

Soft. Like a question and a warning all at once.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally, because your chest was too full and your head was too hot and everything about him made you feel like you were drowning in something you weren’t supposed to want. “Why are you being nice to me now?”

“I’m not,” he muttered.

You blinked at him.

Simon looked away.

“You’re just…” He exhaled sharply, jaw ticking. “You’re too fuckin’ quiet all the time. And then when you do talk, it’s like you think I can’t hear you.”

You frowned. “What?”

He stepped closer.

You felt the shift in the air immediately. The pull. The way he always managed to fill a room, even without touching anything.

“You think I don’t notice you?”

His voice was low, dangerous in the way a storm is dangerous — not because it’s loud, but because you can feel it coming.

“Every fucking night I brought someone home, you think I didn’t hear you breathing through the wall? You think I didn’t feel it when you went quiet, like you were trying not to exist?”

He leaned closer. You could feel the heat coming off him now, smell the faint smoke of his cologne.

“I see everything, sweetheart. That’s the problem.”

Your heart stopped.

Literally stopped.

“Simon…”

“You think I was ignoring you?” His eyes pinned you in place. “I was. I fucking had to.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I’d come home, see your light on, know you were in here reading some stupid ass book in that dumb oversized hoodie like you weren’t the most distracting fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You flinched. His voice wasn’t angry. But it was so raw it hurt to hear.

“And then I’d go in my room and I’d hear you—just existing—and I’d get fucking mad.” His tongue ran over his teeth. “At you. At me. At the whole fucking situation.”

You sat there frozen.

Still too sick to fight, too overwhelmed to speak.

Simon stepped forward again. You were face to face now, your knees nearly brushing his thighs where he stood.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never got it.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I didn’t bring those girls home because I wanted to,” he said. “I brought them home because it was easier than thinking about you. About the way you look at me when you think I don’t see.”

You swallowed. Your voice barely worked. “You’re always so mean.”

His mouth twitched. “Because I didn’t want you to look back.”

Silence.

He sat down on the edge of your bed like the first night, his knees brushing yours. But this time, he didn’t look away.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, almost to himself. “At—feelings. At being… kind.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. Ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He looked at you again. And this time, the weight of it was unbearable.

You shifted. “Why are you here, Simon?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“I heard you crying last night.”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “Just… stood outside the door like a fucking idiot.”

You stared at him. Eyes hot.

“I wanted to come in. But I knew if I did, I’d say something dumb. Or too much. Or not enough.” His voice dropped. “And I couldn’t handle you flinching from me again.”

You blinked fast. “You make it really hard not to flinch.”

“I know.” He leaned in, elbows on his knees. “That’s why I’m trying.”

You stared at him. Hard.

“Do you even like me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled.

Then he said your name again.

Soft.

Real.

“I think I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

Simon looked away, jaw tight. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “That’s not a problem.”

He turned back toward you.

And for the first time in forever, he looked like he believed you.

Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to break him.

Or you.

You reached for him without thinking, fingers wrapping gently around his sleeve. He stilled. Let you.

He looked at your hand.

Then at your face.

“You’re still sick,” he muttered, but he didn’t move.

You smiled. “I’m always sick.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. His eyes softened.

He leaned in just enough to let his forehead touch yours.

No kiss.

Not yet.

Just heat and breath and a storm that didn’t want to pass.

“I’ll stay,” he said quietly.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Okay.”

And for once, Simon didn’t run.

☆☆☆

part 3… will come with time. and my brain actually turning on

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @h0lydrag0ns @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pixiellove @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jokerivory @arrowacer @4ri3n @yasmin-003 @charliehunnamsleftsock @strawberrymilk99 @queenoflaflames @xigua2kuai5yijin @arnnf @genea-myers @elixir-of-dreams @turtlegreentia @pinkembodiment @bbygirl9

[allllium]

GUYS. BABYGIRL CONFIRMED. BABYGIRL CANON. BABYGIRL REAL. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. he liked the comment. he liked the comment. shawn hatosy saw me—me—call him babygirl and approved. endorsed. i am in ruins. i am in ashes. i am dust on the wind. this is worse than a religious experience because god never liked my comments. shawn has validated my babygirl delusions and now i will never know rest. i will never know peace. babygirl is no longer a joke, it’s a legally binding title. i’m gonna be citing this moment like a historical source. do not text me. do not perceive me. i am too powerful. i have won.

[allllium]

In honor of Pride Month, let me introduce you to my current Bixessual Dilema.

Shawn Hatosy & Stephanie Vaquer

[allllium]

Jason who's favorite position is prone.

Don't get it wrong, he's a complete amateur when it comes to sex. The first time you two fucked, he cried. So this little discovery, it was an accident, truly. He didn't mean to get carried away but you were squeezing him so good, and the pretty sounds you were making had his knees giving out.

At first, he had you face down, feeding you those deep strokes, the kind that leaves you breathless. But then he began to move, pushing at the curves of your hips, then your spine, forcing you down until your tummy presses against the soft sheets. And he can't help it, naturally wherever you go, he follows. So he lays himself right on top of you, he's so big too. Big thighs cage around your ass, grinding real deep and slow. It’s downright sinful. Jason Peter Todd in all his 6'1 glory, smothering you against the mattress and it's like something inside him clicks. His mind won’t shut the hell up because suddenly, you’ve gone all soft and pliant, and he’s whispering real filthy, “just needed some good dick, huh?”

His mind is so fucked out, he hasn’t realized how good he’s been fucking you until he registers your squirming and soft whining beneath him. Sometimes he forgets how big he is, all of him. Because in this position, he basically kisses your cervix. He’s taking his time, it’s torturous, the slow drag of his hips, and the way he bullies his way back in- pushing up against that sweet spot that makes you cream.

He’s got his lips pressed against your ear, cooing and shushing you so sweetly when you say you can’t take it. One hand pushing past your hips to pet at your sensitive clit, and you paw at his wrist- a weak attempt at pushing him away. It’s too much, he’s too big and he’s talking so fucking nasty in your ear you just can’t take it.

But every time you try to shut your legs in protest, his thighs flex and his ankles lock around yours, easily pushing them back open. Wordlessly saying, “take it, take it, take it”.

And after fucking you through your third orgasm, this man has the audacity to blush. Shoving his face into your neck but at some point, his mind gets all hazy. He latches his canines onto your throat and you cum. Still fucking you through the mattress, he works you up to your fourth. Finally coming down, you sob out a half-hearted “mean”, but he doesn’t budge- just hushes you with a sickly sweet “did so good, baby”.

reblogs are appreciated! ⋆˙⟡

[allllium]

Okay, but I can't stop thinking about a scenario like this:

A girl sees Dick on the street, and without thinking she approaches him in "Omg, you're Dick Grayson???" mode.

Dick is resigned, clearly thinking it's like the times he's recognized as Bruce Wayne's son, or something like that.

And before Dick can answer, the girl shows a photo of the circus poster on her cell phone. "Dick Grayson, like, from the Flying Graysons???"

And the girl starts telling him that he's the reason she started trapeze and gymnastics, that he inspired her so much, and knowing that he kept doing gymnastics despite what happened to his parents is so inspiring, and, and, and- she goes by that way, u know?

And that simply turns out to be the best day of Dick's life.

Simply because Dick is so inspiring, as a hero, and as a civilian, just as himself, and this started when he was a kid in the circus.