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colouredbyd · 22 days ago

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Hold On Tight, It’s a Wild Ride!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader x biker!sirius black

synopsis : saddle up, trouble’s here! after getting caught by sirius, the towns sweet baker slips out of remus’s reach, leaving him lost in a haze of desperate need and restless nights. sirius is dead set on breaking through that sweet, guarded shell—ready to ride hard and take whats been teasing for far too long. three wild hearts tangled in a dirty game, with a brat determined to push them both to the edge and ride this madness straight to hell.

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, dirty talk, sexual tension, alot of teasing, semi-public sex, dirty thoughts, exhibitionism, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, penetrative sex, blow jobs, spitting, fingering, eating out, degradation, praise kink, bratty behavior, brat taming. porn but with plot, everyone in this is horny!!!

w/c: 8.6k (pure filth)

a/n: this is 8k words of horny thoughts then smut <3 (posted at 4 am, therefore not proofread)

part one masterlist

Remus has a serious fucking problem — and that problem is you.

Not that he’s the kind of guy to moan about it out loud. You’re not some nuisance he wants to shoo away. He doesn’t hate you, doesn’t think you’re annoying, and damn sure doesn’t want you anywhere but near.

Hell, it’s the exact opposite — he likes you too much. Way too much. And that’s the goddamn problem.

He tries to look anywhere but at you when you bend down to pick up that jar you dropped. That dress you’re wearing is way too fucking short — and sure, Remus tells himself he ain’t staring (he totally is), but everyone else at this godforsaken town sure as hell notices.

That includes Lily, who’s already stepped behind you, blocking the view of your white panties you’re practically handing out like candy to every poor bastard around this town.

Remus doesn’t know if he should thank Lily for covering you up or tell her to move the fuck aside so he can see better.

Then there’s Sirius. That son of a bitch is leaning casually against the porch rail, smirking like the cocky bastard he is, eyes locked on Remus like he’s watching a damn rodeo. The way Sirius looks at him — it’s not exactly friendly.

That look on his face is a mixture of mischief and something more dangerous, like he knows exactly what kind of mess he’s stirring up.

Remus feels his jaw tighten. Him and Sirius? They go way back. Old friends, yeah — but the kind of friends who messed around casually, no strings, no promises.

That was supposed to be the past, something Remus told himself was done and dusted. That was before Sirius started slipping back into his life like a ghost, dragging all those old, confusing feelings with him.

Remus wants to convince himself it’s over, that he’s moved on. But every time Sirius shows up, with that damn smirk and those sharp eyes, his brain shorts out and his dick wakes the hell up like clockwork.

He shoots Sirius a glare, half pissed off, half... well, he doesn’t know what the hell else it is. Desire? Frustration? Both? But mostly irritation that the bastard has this power over him.

Still, Remus tries to keep his gaze on you — because you’re the real problem here, standing so goddamn close, making it impossible not to want more than just friendship. And if that wasn’t enough, here’s Sirius, watching the whole damn thing unfold like it’s his personal entertainment.

Remus still remembers the exact second Sirius Black walked through the bakery door five days ago. The bell jingled sharp and clear, cutting through the quiet heat between you and him.

You’d been caught in the middle of something—pressed close together, breathless and more than a little tangled—and then suddenly, the moment shattered.

“Am I interrupting?”

You jolt like you've been caught stealing something, which, to be fair, you sort of were—Remus’s breath, his body, his quiet unraveling.

The bell above the bakery door jingles again as it swings shut behind the voice.

“—because I was promised a raspberry tart and a man with manners. So far, I see neither.”

Remus swears softly, forehead thudding against your shoulder with a muffled groan.

“Sirius,” he mutters, like the name physically pains him.

You look up, and there he is—Sirius Black. Leather jacket, loose black hair dangling messily at his nape, a smirk so lived-in it might as well be stitched into his mouth. He doesn’t seem even a little sorry.

“Remus,” he returns, stepping further into the bakery like he owns the air. His eyes flick to you. “And you must be the infamous baker.”

You try to pull away from Remus, but his hand on your waist tightens just enough to say: don’t.

Sirius’s gaze drags slowly down from your flushed cheeks to your parted lips to the hand Remus hasn’t moved. There’s no shame in the way he looks at you—just curiosity, interest, something too alive to name. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, and he smiles like he’s already halfway through the punchline.

“Well, this is cozy,” he says. “Didn’t realize I was walking into a bloody rom-com.”

“Don’t you have a bike to crash?” Remus growls, still leaning into you but straighter now, all tense muscle and wary heat.

Sirius shrugs. “She’s cooling off.” His eyes stay on you as he adds, “Thought I’d do the same.”

Ever since that fucking day Sirius showed up at the farm, you’ve been avoiding Remus like he’s some goddamn plague. Like, you’ve been ducking him harder than a shitstorm you don’t want to get caught in.

You don't visit him, don’t meet his eyes when he’s in the same damn road as you, and for the love of everything holy, you haven’t come near the Lupin farm for a goddamn chocolate restock in what feels like forever.

Hell, when Remus finally dragged his sorry ass over to the bakery, you nearly pretended not to see him—almost walked right past like you hadn’t seen the dude who’s been circling your life like a fucking shark.

And Remus? Jesus Christ, he’s losing his fucking mind. Since you started ghosting him, he’s been pacing that goddamn farm like a caged animal, snapping at thin air and muttering all sorts of pissed-off nonsense under his breath.

He’s so desperate it’s pathetic — like, you can almost hear the poor bastard begging himself to grow a spine and just say something.

Every second you keep avoiding him, the harder he spirals, pacing and cussing like the farm’s about to fall apart around him because you won’t give him a single goddamn minute of your attention.

Sirius’s arrival hadn’t just interrupted whatever was between him and you—it threw everything Remus thought he’d settled into into a chaos he wasn’t ready for.

And deep down, Remus knows it’s going to take more than a few days—and a lot of stubborn fights with himself—to keep that old fire from burning everything down again.

Meanwhile, you’re behind the counter, wiping down the worn wooden surface, exchanging smiles and small talk with a regular customer when suddenly the familiar loud rev of a motorcycle engine cuts through the quiet street outside.

You already know who it is before the bell over the door jingles sharply.

And then he steps in.

It’s an odd sight—Sirius Black in your cozy little bakery. Tall, wild black hair falling in unruly waves, too many piercings glinting under the soft light, a leather jacket worn like a second skin, and the unmistakable scent of smoke and cigarettes clinging to him like a shadow.

The contrast between him and the warm pastel walls, the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon, feels almost surreal—but there he is, smirking like he walked into heaven itself.

He steps in like he owns the place, and for a moment—just a moment—it feels like he does. He belongs everywhere and nowhere at once. And he looks so damn amused to be standing in the middle of a bakery painted blush pink, with frilly curtains and little glass jars of pastel meringues lining the shelves.

His eyes flick over you once, slow and lazy. “Well, this is domestic.”

You don’t even blink. “Can I help you, Black? Or are you just here to loiter and bring down the property value?”

He smirks. That same crooked smirk that probably had girls unbuckling their skirts behind barns in three diffRemust counties. “Actually, I’m here for something sweet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Try the exit.”

“Tempting,” he murmurs, sauntering to the counter. “But I see something better.”

His fingers tap the glass as he surveys the baked goods, but you’re not fooled. His gaze keeps sliding back to you, flicking down your apron to the hint of skin where your neckline dips. You feel it like a stroke. Like he’s undressing you one glance at a time and enjoying every damn inch.

Your thighs press together behind the counter. It’s instinct. Desperate, shameful instinct, truly.

Sirius’s voice cuts in. “Cinnamon roll, big one, drowning in icing.”

Of course he picks that one. The messiest fucking thing in the case.

You box it up wordlessly, fingers shaking just a little as you hand it over. He doesn’t take it away. He peels the paper back right there at the counter and bites into it slow, like sin made flesh.

Icing smears his lip. His tongue swipes it off in a way that makes your breath catch. And then he licks his finger. Slow. Sucking it into his mouth like he’s thinking about sucking something else.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your brain short-circuits.

Because it’s not just the way he eats it—it’s the sounds he makes, low and satisfied, half a growl, half a groan. It’s the smug glint in his eyes when he catches you watching him, cheeks burning, mouth slightly open, thighs clenched tight.

“You always make ‘em this sweet?” he asks, licking a stray bit of glaze from his thumb. “Or is this one just for me?”

You want to say something clever, something biting. Instead, your voice comes out thinner than you like. “You’re disgusting.”

Sirius grins like it’s the best compliment he’s ever gotten. “You’re blushing.”

You are. And worse, your head is filled with the filthiest thoughts. Like how that mouth would feel sliding down your stomach. How his rings might dig into your hips. How it would feel to straddle that stupid, loud bike of his with his hand up your skirt and his tongue in your mouth–

Okay stop. You look away.

Because if you look too long, you’ll do something you’ll regret. Like asking him to stay or like begging him to touch you.

“Bit jumpy today, sweetheart,” he says, licking a streak of icing from his palm. “Don’t worry. I bite soft.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, fists clenched at your sides.

He leans a hip against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world, licking icing from his thumb with deliberate slowness, eyes still fixed on you like he’s imagining how you taste instead.

“I said you’re disgusting,” you snap again, more breathless this time. You hate how he gets under your skin. How you can already feel your pulse between your thighs.

“And you keep saying that,” he says, cocking his head. “Yet here you are. Still standing there. Still looking at me like you want to lick this sugar off my mouth yourself.”

“You’re delusional.”

He chuckles—low, dangerous. “You think Remus doesn’t notice, sweetheart?”

Sirius steps closer.

“You think he doesn’t see the way you flounce around this little bakery in that short-ass dress, bending over the lower shelves every chance you get?” His hand gestures vaguely to the glass display, to you. “Like a desperate little bunny just begging to get caught.”

Your mouth opens, but the words short-circuit under the heat of his stare.

Then you move. A little too fast. Pretending to tidy something, needing to break the tension, needing air—anything honestly.

You crouch down, grabbing a container, the skirt of your dress riding up dangerously high.

You feel it before you hear it.

Sirius moves behind you—slow, steady footfalls across the floorboards. The heat of him right at your back before you can stand fully. His hand reaches out and cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him. The grip is gentle, but there’s nothing soft in the way he looks at you.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, voice dipped in honey and smoke. “I know what you’re doing. All that innocent bakery girl shit. Sweet smile, pretty apron, acting like you don’t know how you’re driving every man in this town to fucking madness.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, then down—drags lightly over your bottom lip.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

He’s close enough that you can taste the cinnamon on his breath. Close enough that if you moved just a little, your mouth would be on his.

You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that your body’s betraying you—heart hammering, thighs pressed tight, panties damp and clinging, soaked through from just the way he’s looking at you.

“Sirius…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out like a plea.

He grins like sin itself, thumb still resting on your lip, a smear of sugar on your skin. “Say it again.”

Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he tilts his head, eyes flicking lazily down your body, the way your dress clings, how your nipples are hard through the thin fabric, how your thighs shift like you’re trying to stop yourself from rubbing them together.

“Gonna drive poor Remmy crazy, walking around like that,” he mutters, almost to himself. “All soft and soaked and ignoring the poor man.”

And something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the way he says “Remmy,” maybe it’s the condescension, maybe it’s just the filthy heat pooling between your legs—but suddenly you’re stepping forward, tilting your chin up, pressing your chest lightly against his.

Your voice is syrupy sweet, but your eyes don’t flinch.

“Well then,” you purr, “why don’t you go tell Remmy what a filthy little mess I am?”

You smile—slow and dangerous. “Tell him how I’ve been thinking about him every night since he kissed me in this bakery. How I keep fucking myself with my fingers imagining his hand on my throat and your mouth between my legs.”

He’s dead silent. Frozen. His hand tightens ever so slightly around your jaw.

You keep going, drunk on the thrill. “Bet you’d both like that, wouldn’t you? Watching me fall apart on my knees, moaning for one of you while the other ruins me.”

His breath catches audibly. And then he laughs—sharp, guttural, mean. It sounds almost like pain.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You really are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His mouth is open, lips parted like he’s ready to either spit the filthiest thing he can think of or bite.

He’s leaning in—you can see it, feel it, the lazy drag of his breath against your mouth, the way his eyes darken as they drop to your lips. His hips shift forward, almost like he’s going to pin you right up against the counter and do something about that little speech you just gave–

–You step back.

“Oops,” you chirp, sweet as poisoned honey, like you didn’t just wreck him. “Looks like you’re not the only one who wants cinnamon today, Black.”

The bell above the door jingles just as Sirius’s mouth clicks shut, his body still strung tight like he’s about to lunge.

A middle-aged woman walks in—regular customer, probably here for her usual almond croissant—and she gives you a polite smile, completely clueless that she just stepped into a goddamn storm of unspoken filthy tension and raw, aching need.

Sirius doesn’t move. In fact, he’s never hated some poor innocent old woman this much for cockblocking him. Because right now she’s the biggest motherfucking wedge between him and what he wants.

If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under by now.

He’s still standing there like he’s been punched in the stomach, watching you swish back behind the counter like nothing happened, like you didn’t just whisper the word ruin into his ear while smiling about Remus.

“Hi, Mrs. Vance,” you say sweetly, already ducking behind the counter, cheeks flushed but not from embarrassment. “Croissant and lemon loaf today?”

“Please, dear.”

You serve her like it’s any other morning, grabbing the still-warm croissant from the rack and slicing her lemon loaf with practiced ease.

Sirius doesn’t move. He stands in the center of your soft, pastel bakery like a devil dragged into a prayer circle—black leather jacket, too many rings, silver chain glinting under the lights. Watching you with hooded eyes, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, catching stray sugar.

You slide the bag across the counter, take the woman’s cash, and chirp, “Have a lovely morning!”

She’s barely out the door before Sirius mutters, “You’re good at that.”

“At what?” you say, stepping away from the register, grabbing a napkin to wipe your hands, heart still hammering behind your ribs.

He follows you with his eyes, slow and slick. “Playing innocent.”

You scoff, but your dress sways dangerously high as you reach for the tub of cinnamon glaze on the prep counter. “It’s because I am.”

Sirius snorts. “Sweetheart, you were grinding on my best friend like a bitch in heat five days ago. You wanna tell me that was innocent?”

You pause, reaching over to the counter and dipping your fingers into the glaze you had set out earlier while prepping. Slowly, deliberately, you turn to him and suck a dollop off your finger, locking eyes as you do.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love watching it,” you purr.

He starts toward you again, like he’s about to crowd you into the counter—but you’re faster this time.

You sidestep just before he touches you, tossing the glaze-stained napkin in the bin and licking the last bit from the side of your mouth, letting it linger.

“I mean, if Remus was actually fucking me that day,” you add, voice light, “you wouldn’t have had to guess.”

Sirius’s nostrils flare.

You blink up at him all innocent, tilting your head like you’ve got no clue what kind of filthy-ass tornado you just whipped up in his gut.

You’re standing there in that damn dress that’s way too short, grinning like a devil, fingers dripping with some suspiciously white, sticky glaze—hell, Sirius doesn’t even wanna know what kind of sweet, slimy shit it is, only that he really is trying not to let his perverted thoughts wonder.

Then your lips part again, this time in mock surprise, fingers pressing against your temple as if some great tragedy has just struck you.

“Shit,” you gasp dramatically, eyes wide. “I just ran out of cinnamon powder—Remus had some stored in the back of the barn.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just said his name with that soft, familiar note that Sirius swears does something rotten to his chest. Like you don’t know how close he is to yanking the apron from your waist and pinning you against the prep counter.

You untie the apron with one hand, dropping it onto the hook with the same lazy grace you seem to do everything with. Like being hot was just something you were born knowing how to weaponize.

Sirius watches, helpless, as your dress hikes even higher during the motion—bare thighs, that sway of your hips, the soft dip of your waist. It's a visual kick to the teeth.

“Well,” you chirp, already walking toward the back exit, your voice syrup-sweet and oblivious. “Catch you later, Black. I’ve gotta go grab some things from Remmy.”

You say it like that, and Sirius’s jaw clenches.

He hates—hates—how the image rushes in uninvited: you in that same dress, climbing the hill toward the Lupin farm, sun on your shoulders, dirt under your heels, lips parted just a little because you’re always flushed from the heat when you get there. And Remus is probably out back, sleeves rolled up, hands dirty, hair wild.

Sirius knows how that ends. He’s seen how that ends. You in Remus’s lap, whining into his neck, grinding like you can’t help yourself, like you were made to fuck on bakery counters and wooden barn tables and motorcycle seats and wherever the hell else your pretty little body wants to be worshipped.

Sirius blinks hard.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t be thinking this.

But he is.

He doesn’t like town girls. Never has. He grew up in places where girls wore lipstick sharp enough to draw blood, where they took shots faster than you could blink, laughed with mouths wide open and eyes dark. He fucked girls in pub bathrooms with his rings still on. He liked it filthy and fast and forgettable.

But you?

You walk barefoot through the market with your basket of flour and blueberries, leave pink gloss stains on straws, tuck daisies behind your ear without even trying.

And somehow, somehow, Sirius feels more perverse imagining what you sound like when you beg than he ever has with girls who would’ve let him tie them up in a booth at The Dog & Bone bar.

He swallows.

You’re halfway out the backdoor when his voice snaps through the haze. “I’ll drive you.”

You stop and turn around, eyebrows raised like he’s grown a second head. “To the farm?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, ignoring the way his throat is dry and his jeans are suddenly too tight. “Why not?”

You glance between him and the bakery, lips quirking. “Not getting on that glorified deathtrap you call a bike, Black.”

He grins slow, stepping closer. “Come on, you don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“I’d never hurt you.”

You pause at the door, one hand on the frame. “You sure?”

He means it. He thinks he means it. But the way you’re looking at him now—mouth glistening with sugar, neck flushed, dress riding high like you want him to see—you’re making it impossible to remember where the line is. If there even is one.

You tilt your head slightly, like you know exactly the kind of chaos you’re causing.

His throat’s dry. Jeans tight. Every logical cell in his body tells him to knock it off—but logic doesn’t stand a chance when you’re looking at him like that.

You sigh, all mock annoyance, but there’s a flicker in your eyes that’s anything but innocent. “Fine,” you say, letting the word drag a little. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

You turn and walk out into the alley, hips swinging like a fucking metronome.

Sirius follows like he’s under a spell.

He knows he shouldn’t be thinking what he’s thinking. Not when Remus’s name is still fresh in the air. Not when you smell like vanilla and innocence and everything he’s ever sworn wasn’t his type.

The engine’s rumble echoes through the alley, low and feral, like something breathing beneath the concrete. You hesitate at the edge of the curb, the hem of your dress flaring in the breeze kicked up by the motor.

Sirius is already astride the bike, long legs planted, black boots grounded like he owns the damn earth. He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, lights it with a flick and a hollow click, and takes a slow drag—like he’s got all the time in the goddamn world. Smoke curls from the corner of his mouth as he looks back at you over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, a grin tugging lazy and cocky at his lips.

And the problem is—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re gonna smoke and drive?”

He blows out a slow stream of smoke, eyes not leaving yours. “Sweetheart, if that makes you nervous... you really shouldn’t see how I handle the curves.”

Your breath catches—and he smirks wider, smug and dangerous, the kind of man who doesn’t just walk into trouble.

“All that attitude in the bakery,” he laughs, tilting his head, lips tugging into a smirk. “And now what? Nervous, sweet girl?”

You try to scoff, but it comes out breathier than intended. “I’m not nervous. I’m—”

He cuts you off with a laugh, slow and indulgent. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers twist at the side of your dress. “I just didn’t think you’d actually drive me.”

His grin deepens. “Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let a pretty little thing like you go wandering off alone, would I?”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because suddenly, Sirius Black is off the bike.

He moves fast, faster than you’re ready for—two strides and he’s in front of you, hands landing firm on your waist.

Big hands, warm even through the leather, gripping like they’ve been there before in some fever dream you’ve barely dared to admit to having. And then—

“Oh—” you gasp as he lifts you like it’s nothing, like you’re made of silk and air.

Your hands flutter uselessly against his shoulders, but he’s already got you seated behind him, legs falling around either side of the seat. The leather’s warm beneath you, but not as warm as the heat starting to pool low in your stomach.

“There you go,” Sirius says, and it’s filthy, the way he says it—quiet and rough, like a man proud of what he’s just done. He steps back slightly and looks you over like you’re his work. “Pretty girl.”

The air gets knocked clean out of your lungs.

Fuck.

That means two things, your brain helpfully supplies in a scream.

One: He’s great at sex talk. Like, dangerously good. Like he’s probably the type to press his mouth to your ear and say filth until you’re begging, soaked through, clawing at him just to make—God, please—let you come.

Two: He clearly wants you.

Because no one touches someone like that unless they’re thinking about what else they could be doing with those hands. No one says “sweet girl” with that kind of revRemusce unless they’re already undressing you with their eyes. And Sirius Black? He doesn’t do sweet.

You're already pressed flush to his back as he settles in front of you again, heat rolling off him like fire. Your chest brushes his jacket, and your cheek hovers just near his shoulder. You can smell the smoke in his hair, the faint bite of leather and clove.

“You good?” he asks, glancing back just slightly, voice low.

You nod, barely.

He revs the bike and that filthy little smile is back. “Thought so.”

But just before he pulls off, he glances down at your hands, still clutching his sides, and says, “You might want to hold on tighter, baby. I don’t take it slow.”

And fuck.

You swear your thighs tense up around the seat like instinct, like survival. You want to say something back. You want to snark or flirt or bite. But you’re too busy being halfway undone by a man who hasn’t even touched you where it matters yet.

So you grip tighter.

And when the bike tears down the street, wind in your hair, engine loud in your ears, Sirius Black between your legs, the only thing you can think is: I’m going to hell for this.

The ride out of town is a blur of roaring wind and roaring thoughts. Your arms wrapped around Sirius’s waist, your cheek brushing his back, and the sheer warmth of him bleeding through the layers of leather and tension. The world is a smear of golden fields and trees flying past — but your brain? Loud.

Because fuck, the way his thighs flex when he leans into turns. The way he half-tilts his head sometimes, murmuring something under his breath like “you enjoying the ride, sweetheart?” without even needing to say it aloud.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And you know exactly what you’re letting yourself fall into.

By the time you see the faded Lupin farm sign and the soft stretch of earth around the property, your legs are sore from gripping him and your head’s a mess.

Sirius slows as he pulls into the drive, engine purring now, low and idle, as if the damn thing knows how to tease just like its rider.

Gravel crunches beneath the tires. The house looms ahead—modest, sun-dappled, framed by apple trees—and out front, beside the barn, stands Remus Lupin.

And God help you, again.

He’s in a henley, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, chest straining just slightly at the seams. There’s a faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone from the heat, his golden-brown curls tousled, jaw clenched as he leans on the counter by the shed—talking to someone.

You squint a little, your stomach curling.

She's pretty. Like, effortlessly pretty. All soft eyes and airy sundress, laughing at something he’s just said while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Remus is nodding, polite and charming, his hands moving as he explains something about produce or jam or fuck if you care.

Because you’re suddenly, violently aware of the fact that Sirius is still between your legs and your thighs are still aching with want — and Remus Lupin, tall and golden and gentle-looking, is smiling at another woman.

And worst of all? You want him to look at you like that. Even worse than that? You want him to look at you the way Sirius has been all damn day—like he could eat you alive and never get full.

Sirius kills the engine and glances back at you. His voice is low, amused. “What’s with the stare, sweetheart? That your Remmy?”

You bristle, sliding off the bike. Your dress hikes high again as you land, and Sirius’s hand definitely lingers on your hip a second too long as he helps you down. “You’re so annoying.”

He doesn’t answer. Just lights another cigarette and leans back against the bike like he’s watching a play.

You smooth your hair, trying to ignore how Sirius is blatantly eyeing the hem of your dress, and stride forward.

You march up the Lupin farmhouse steps like you’ve done it a hundred times before, even though your heart’s thudding out a reckless, bratty rhythm that has nothing to do with familiarity and everything to do with proving a point.

Your dress clings to you in the heat, riding higher with every step, and you don’t bother fixing it. Let them fucking look.

Remus is still out there, leaning against the porch railing like sin draped in denim, the late sun pouring over him in gold, and that girl’s beside him—fingertips twirling in her hair, laugh soft and sugar-spun, like she’s never once had to try, and maybe she hasn’t. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even seem to notice, but he does.

The moment your boots crunch against the gravel, his gaze snaps to you and stays there. It drags, slow and hot, over your frame like he’s searching for something he lost and only just remembered where to find it, like you walked out of one of the dreams he pretends he doesn’t have, the ones that leave him hard and desperate and too wound up to sleep.

You toss him a vague, disinterested wave, keep your chin up, and sashay right past the two of them like you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes gripping Sirius Black’s waist and thinking about what else those hands could do.

The breeze lifts your skirt at just the right angle when you pass, and you hope he sees the sway of your ass.

Inside the farmhouse, you make a beeline for the pantry, yanking open cabinets like you own the place, lips pursed, movements loud and pointed.

You’re not even really looking for anything in particular–fuck the cinnamon powder. You’re just mad, jealous, and turned on. All of it simmering under your skin like a burn you keep poking.

You hear them come in behind you—boots on floorboards, the shift of male bodies in too-small doorways.

“You always walk into other people’s houses like this?” Remus asks, voice warm but confused, like he’s trying to balance you against the version of you in his head—the soft girl who fed the geese.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk. “If you can show up at my bakery any time you want, I can show up here.”

His brow twitches at that. Sirius lets out a low whistle from behind him.

And then, suddenly, it’s all a little too quiet.

Remus is staring at you like you’ve grown horns. His eyes flick down—slow, slow, slow—from your smirking mouth to your chest, where the sweat is gathering beneath the thin fabric of your dress, then lower, watching your thighs press together, the little rhythm you can’t stop, the ache in you practically glowing in the late afternoon light.

And you know he sees it. You want him to see it. Want him to finally understand what kind of game you’re playing.

Christ, you think, heart hammering. He’s actually looking.

You should be embarrassed. You should say something innocent and cute and bakery-girl sweet.

But you don’t.

You lean forward just slightly, pressing your hands to the old wooden countertop, swaying your hips back as you pretend to look at something on the lower shelf.

“Out of cinnamon again,” you mumble, purely for show, because you’re fully aware of the way both of them go still behind you—aware of the absolute filth that’s probably collecting in Sirius’s head and the deep, tightly-reined tension in Remus’s.

You straighten, turn with a little too much purpose, and glance between the two of them like butter wouldn’t melt on your tongue.

“You boys just gonna stand there staring or are you gonna help me find the cinnamon?”

Then you look at Remus.Your lashes flutter, your lips pout just slightly, like you’re daring him to do something about it.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn’t.

So you roll your eyes and push up from the chair with a dramatic sigh, hips swinging as you strut past them toward the pantry. “Fine, I’ll just help myself. God forbid one of you offers.”

Christ, Remus thinks, rubbing his face with a mix of exhaustion and frustration as you storm off to the pantry.

He can’t help but notice the way your short dress rides up, teasingly revealing that perfect, round ass—firm and daring him like a damn invitation.

That dress belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Remus can properly thank it and worship it.

Inside the pantry, you make a show of standing on your toes, your dress riding indecently high as you pretend to reach for the top shelf. You hum to yourself—off-key, childish, annoying on purpose. You want him to hear you, you want him to snap.

Still nothing.

So you reach up higher, let your back arch, your legs press together in that spoiled, lazy way that says someone should be helping me right now.

You pout, much louder this time.

“Remmy,” you call out, all false innocence and dripping entitlement, “your shelves are stupid. Why are they so high? Honestly, it’s like this place wasn’t designed for anyone with a sense of proportion.”

There’s a pause. A shift in the air. You know what’s coming.

You just don’t know if it’ll be him or Sirius who breaks first.

Then: “Top shelf. Cinnamon’s in a jar with a blue lid,” Remus says, voice clipped.

You scoff. “I see it. I just can’t reach it.”

You spin around and lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The pose pushes your tits up, makes your dress slip a little lower on your shoulder. Deliberate. “You gonna be a gentleman and help me, or are you just gonna keep staring like a perv?”

That does it.

Remus steps into the room, slow and controlled, but there’s heat underneath—barely leashed. Sirius stays leaning in the doorway, grinning like he’s watching a play written just for him.

“You always this difficult?” Remus asks, voice low.

You tilt your head. “Only when I don’t get what I want.”

The way you say it—sweet, teasing, a little cruel—hangs in the air like smoke. And you know he hears it for what it is: a challenge.

You wander a few steps toward the shelf by the window, pretending to scan for what you came for—what was it? Cinnamon? Apricots? Something dumb. Something you don’t need, not really.

You hum under your breath and let your fingers trail carelessly along the edge of the table. “Honestly,” you add with a dramatic sigh, “I thought someone like you would be more helpful.”

You hear Sirius let out a low chuckle behind you, probably still leaning in the doorway like a smug bastard. But you don’t turn to look.

You’re watching Remus out of the corner of your eye, watching the way his jaw ticks, how his fingers curl at his sides like he’s trying—really trying—not to react.

He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Keeps his composure. Wears that patience like armor.

But today? Oh, today, you want to peel that armor off and see what’s underneath. You want to see if he can snap.

Because he deserves it, you tell yourself. You’ve been nothing but sweet—so sweet—until five days ago. And then you ignored him. Cold-shouldered him like a fucking pro.

And yeah, maybe it was petty, maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was your own twisted little game of making him sweat. But he had it coming.

And now you’re here. In his house. In that tiny little sundress. Acting like you own the place.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

Remus hasn’t moved. But you feel the shift in him. It’s in the weight of his silence, the tight line of his mouth, the way his gaze drops to your legs—your thighs, your fingers, the hem of your dress. Like he’s cataloging all the sins he’s about to commit if he stops holding back.

And god, it’s thrilling.

You let out the tiniest huff, pout just enough to be bratty. “Ugh. This is taking forever.”

You stomp—stomp—over to the pantry like some spoiled little thing, throwing the door open with more force than necessary, and bend over, hips swaying as you scan the shelves.

You know what this looks like. You want to know what this looks like. You want to see how long Remus Lupin can last before he snaps the leash.

Because what you don’t say—but feel like wildfire in your blood—is that you missed him. Stupidly. Intensely. And you’ve been wanting to get under his skin the way he’s been under yours since the first time he walked into your bakery and complimented your cinnamon scones with that slow, unreadable look in his eyes.

You turn back around, half-expecting to still find him at the door—but no. He’s stepped closer.

Close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him like sunlight after stormclouds. His mouth is tight and his eyes sharp.

This is it, you realize. This is the breaking point.

And Remus?

God, he’s unraveling.

Because five days without hearing your voice had nearly driven him mad. You hadn’t stopped by with leftovers or pies, and the farm had felt colder without your footsteps, without your voice talking to the geese like they were friends. Without the smell of sugar and sass trailing behind you.

And now you’re here. Acting like nothing happened. Acting like you didn’t wreck him by simply being gone.

And worst of all?

You showed up on Sirius’s bike.

Wrapped around his best friend.

Wearing that fucking dress.

Remus is a patient man. But he’s not a saint. And every second you pout, and whine, and rub your thighs together like you're not even trying to hide the tension coiling inside you, it digs deeper under his skin. You’re all attitude and heat and need—and he’s drowning in the storm of you.

This girl, this version of you? She’s not the one who left him cherry pies and kissed his cheek after sending her apples from the orchard. She’s not the one who fed his chickens and giggled at his horses.

No. She’s bratty. Entitled, temptation in its purest form.

And Remus Lupin would sell the whole damn farm—barn, land, livestock, house—for just one more taste of your pussy.

But you don’t know that. You don’t know what you’ve done to him.

Not until you look up, meet his eyes—and see that all his patience has turned into something dark, and hungry, and shaking with restraint.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, teeth catching the skin just enough to make his eyes flicker down.

And then you roll your eyes, toss your hair like you’re bored. “God, if I wanted a man who just stared at me, I could’ve stayed in Sirius’s lap.”

There it is.

That sharp, awful silence, like all the oxygen just left the room. You can feel it when it hits. Like lightning in the chest.

You didn’t even mean it, not really. Just a jab, a bratty little dig. But you knew it would hurt. Knew it would burn. That was the point.

And Remus—

Remus doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t bark.

He just moves.

Your back hits the wall in the next breath. His hand is at your waist, the other at your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, keeping you still. Not letting you pretend anymore.

And his voice is low. Ruined. “Say that again.”

You blink up at him, heart pounding, mouth gone dry. But there’s still a smirk curled at the corner of your lips.

“I said…” you hum, saccharine and infuriating, “…Sirius is a much better ride than you’ve been lately.”

That’s it.

That’s the fucking match.

Remus exhales something like a growl, and the hand at your waist slides down—gripping, digging into your thigh, dragging your leg up around his hip like he needs you anchored, needs you open. His mouth is at your ear now, hot breath grazing your skin, and his voice is no longer calm.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, all grit and gravel. “You think acting like a spoiled little slut is gonna get you what you want?”

You gasp, breath stuttering, your fingers clenching at the front of his shirt like you might float away otherwise.

“Five days,” he mutters, mouth brushing your jaw. “Five fucking days of silence. Of you pretending I don’t exist. Of watching you climb on Sirius’s bike like a little tease, walking around in that dress like you’re daring me to break.”

He shifts closer—grinding into you, firm, deliberate—just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make your head tip back against the wall.

“You want attention that bad, sweetheart?” he whispers, mock-gentle. “You want to act like a brat, make me jealous, throw your pretty little tantrum until someone fucks it out of you?”

You bite your lip, breathless.

“Then you should’ve just said so.”

Remus Lupin has finally snapped.

You scoff, pushing back against the counter with a defiant grin. “Yeah, you are. Got me pinned here and you’re still talking. Honestly, Remus, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can’t handle me after all,” you tease, wriggling as you try to stand, but his hand presses firmly into your back, holding you in place.

The heat pooling between your legs is undeniable—you feel the dampness soaking through your panties. You clench your thighs, desperate for some relief, but the way he’s got you, there’s no chance of that.

Then it hits you—this is exactly how Remus must hold people when he’s trying to keep them in line on the farm. The strong, silent type who doesn’t need to shout.

Holy hell, that’s unbelievably hot to think about. So steady, so grounded, so damn reliable. The man who fixes fences by day and somehow always knows when you need comfort at night. Remus, who probably hides his desire behind that calm facade, who might even blush if he thought about ogling you outright—but that quiet restraint only makes you want him more.

And then he’s tugging your dress up, your panties sliding down your legs until they’re bunched at your knees, exposing your bare skin.

“You really are something else, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the smooth curve of your ass.

Then, without warning, his hand slaps down hard enough to make you flinch—if you wRemus’t already trapped beneath him. It’s sudden, sharp, and damn intoxicating.

You’ve fantasized about Remus spanking you before, hell, you’ve been practically begging for it with all the stubborn, bratty shit you’ve been throwing his way these past few days.

“You act like you’ve got it all figured out—switching between this innocent girl act and that spoiled little brat whenever you think it’ll get me to look your way. I’m not dumb, you know. I see right through it. Just let you think you’re running the show, ‘cause honestly? It’s adorable how much you want to be in control,” Remus’s voice drops low, rough and teasing, as his hand comes down again and again, each smack burning with the promise of more.

You whimper—half indignation, half need—and Remus lets out a low laugh.

“Oh, now she gets quiet, c’mon sugar, don’t act shy now- let him hear you.”

There’s a creak behind you, floorboards shifting with the unmistakable weight of someone else stepping in.

You glance up through your lashes and catch Sirius, still lounging in the doorway, but now his grin has faltered—just slightly. His eyes drag over the scene with lazy hunger, like a man who’s seen this storm brewing and is finally watching it break.

Remus leans down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Since you’ve been acting like such a spoiled little thing… maybe it’s time dear old Sirius gets a turn. What do you think, sweetheart?”

Your breath catches.

Sirius hums thoughtfully, pushing off the doorframe as if he’s just decided this is worth getting involved in. “You know, I was gonna be a gentleman about all this.” He saunters forward, boots thudding against the old farmhouse wood. “But you make it real hard when you’re like this.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parted, spine still arched from Remus’s hand. Sirius’s gaze flicks down, then back up with a smirk. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing when you’re being taught a lesson.”

You shiver.

Sirius’s hand closes around yours. “Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get you somewhere softer.”

They lead you through the quiet farmhouse, your feet brushing the old wooden floorboards, the air thick with heat and something unspoken. Remus’s room is tucked in the back—cooler, quieter.

The door creaks open, and you swear your pulse is loud enough to hear.

Sirius nudges you toward the bed with a wicked smile. “Let’s see if that bratty little attitude holds up when you're actually being taken care of.”

And gods, you're not sure whether you're burning from the anticipation or from the fact that—for once—you’ve got both their full attention.

Sirius drops you hard onto the bed before standing upright again, he and Remus standing side by side, smirking like they own you. The raw, dominant energy radiating off them makes your skin prickle with want and delicious fear.

“Isn’t she fucking gorgeous, Sirius? I can’t wait to break her in,” Remus murmurs, his voice low and rough. Your breath hitches, eyes wide and burning with heat as you try to steady yourself, pressing your thighs together, cheeks flushing red-hot.

You want to crawl away, but you know better. You’re their plaything tonight. Their little spoiled brat who’s been testing boundaries and pushing limits.

“Don’t get shy now, baby. You’ve been teasing us all day long, making us wait,” Remus leans over you, lips close enough to brush your ear. His voice is a wicked promise.

“You’re gonna take every inch of what we give you, and by the end, you’ll be begging for more.”

Sirius growls low, his hands sliding under the hem of your dress, pulling it up over your hips.

You sit up just enough for him to strip the damn thing right off you, leaving you naked in nothing but white lace.

You feel so exposed, so damn delicious, and they’re drinking it all in—the way your skin gleams, your chest rises and falls, the way your pussy clenches uncontrollably just from their hungry gazes.

They toss their clothes off without a care—boxers only now—revealing bodies carved like sculptures, muscle and strength you ache to touch and worship.

Sirius climbs back onto the bed, back resting against the headboard, and without hesitation, he grabs under your arms, hauling you up until your back presses hard against his chest. His arms are strong and possessive, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re straddling his lap, trembling with anticipation.

His calloused hands grip your thighs, prying them apart, and suddenly Remus is there too, lowering himself between your legs. His pretty brown eyes lock onto yours, dripping with want. Your breath catches. You’re drowning in the heat between them, your pussy slick and throbbing just at the thought of what’s coming next.

You want to scream, to beg, to lose yourself in the way they claim you like their most prized possession. Your body aches for them—every touch, every look setting your nerves on fire. This is exactly where you belong. Between them, broken and begging.

Remus kisses along your thighs, the warmth of his exhales teasing you, purposely skipping over your dripping cunt. You groan, bucking you hips toward his face, only to be held back by Sirius's firm grip on your hips.

“Ah-ah, sugar,” Sirius murmurs against your ear, voice low and teasing. “That ain’t how good girls behave, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches, both from his grip and the heat pooling low in your belly. You whine softly, already desperate, and Sirius chuckles, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach.

“Tell him what you want,” he murmurs. “Use that mouth you’ve been running all day, come on, baby”

“Please, Remus,” you whisper, your voice a breathy mess. “Please touch me. I need—”

“More than that,” Sirius coaxes, brushing his lips over your shoulder. “You were such a brat earlier. You think we’re just gonna give in without hearing you beg a little?”

Your cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from how much you want to be seen, undone, wanted.

Remus looks up at you with those amber eyes, gaze dark and hungry, but still so tender.

"Tell me what you need, love," Remus murmurs, dragging his nose lightly along your thigh, just shy of your aching heat. "Use that pretty voice."

“P-please,” you gasp. “I need your mouth—I’ve been so good, Remmy, I swear—”

“You think that was good behavior?” Sirius laughs softly against your neck, teeth grazing the skin there.

“You’ve been brattier than ever. Back-talking, strutting around town in that little dress. You’ve been begging for this.”

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment and arousal, your thighs trembling in Remus’s grip. His thumbs stroke you open gently, deliberately slow.

“She’s soaked,” he says, almost to himself, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. “All worked up from nothing but a little teasing, such a slut.”

Sirius presses a kiss to your temple. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Our pretty little plaything. You want to be ruined, don’t you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers fisting in the sheets, aching for more—anything. Remus leans in, finally, finally letting his breath ghost over the place you crave him most.

“You’ll take everything we give you,” he says, voice low and revRemust. “And thank us when you’re done.”

Remus's tongue delicately dancing up and down you slit before taking your swollen, needy clit into his soft lips, sucking hungrily.

You tangle your fingers in his tresses, pulling gently. Remus groans into your cunt, the vibrations bringing you even closer to the edge.

"You sound so fu-fucking good 'fa me, sweetheart," Remu stutters out, trying to speak and eat at the same time.

"You k-know it's rude to talk with your mouth full, right ahh.. right, Remmy?", you try to retort. Sirius's chest vibrates against your back with a chuckle.

His mouth hangs open, the gushing wetness of your pussy and the sounds you're making in response to his best friend devouring you fills the room. It's almost unbearable for Sirius to resist pushing Remus away and taking you all for himself.

"She's a sweet one, isn't she, moony?" Sirius raises an eyebrow at his friend, who peers up from between your legs and nods in response.

"Mhmm, she tastes so fucking good," Remus murmurs against you in response, his tongue still thrashing against you.

Remus teases one finger against your hole before plunging it deep inside you. Pumping in and out rhythmically, he finds your g-spot with ease.

He massages into you with the rough pads of his long, slender fingers. His lips latch around your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking greedily. You feel the coils tightening in your stomach, arching your back away from Sirius.

"I...ahh f-fuck..I'm s-so close, Remus," you cry out, trying to close your legs around his face. Sirius pries your legs apart and holds them open.

"Let go, baby. C'mon, be a good little slut...cum for him. Show him how good he's making you feel," Sirius whispers in your ear.

Remus pumps his fingers deeper into you, sucking even harder on your clit. The tightness in your tummy finally snaps, eyes rolling back in your head, a small yelp leaving your lips.

You feel yourself spray your release all over Remus's face. His eyes widen in surprise before he laps up everything you give him, relishing in the way your sweet juices coat his tongue.

You're shaking as he cleans you up with his tongue, riding the fine line between pleasure and overstimulation.

"Mmmm, you saw that Sirius?" asks Remus, "We found ourselves a squirter". Remus's tongue continues to lap you up. Sirius's eyes darken at that.

He pulls his digit out of your dripping pussy, presenting it to Sirius so he can taste you, too.

Sirius can't take it anymore. He's been rock hard against your back this whole time, fighting every carnal urge that's raking through his body.

When he finally gets a taste of you, the restraint he had been so desperately clinging to snaps.

He sucks you off Remus's fingers hungrily, eyes rolling back in his head at your sweetness.

Remus scoots back as Sirius pushes you onto your stomach, your chest against the mattress and hips in the air, his head dipping to meet your cunt.

He drinks up what Remus so generously left behind for him before straightening up again, sliding his boxers off. He positions himself behind you, teasing your clit with the head of his thick cock.

You groan at the sensation, the aftermath of your first orgasm still making your clit sensitive. You push yourself back against Sirius, only to be stopped by his hands taking a hold of your hips.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart", he says, still teasing your clit with the head of his cock.

"I want you inside me...need to feel you stretch me out...please, Sirius," you beg, trying to push back against him again. Sirius chuckles at this.

"Dirty slut is learning fast isn't she? Being such a good fuck toy for us."

With that, he lines himself up with your dripping hole, and plunges deep into you, giving you no time to adjust to how thick he is as he drives himself deep into you. Your slickness from your orgasm is the only thing saving you from his thickness.

Remus leans down to kiss you, pulling his boxers off and discarding them. His long cock bounces out and sits rock hard in front of your face. You lick your lips at the sight of his pretty pink head dripping pre-cum, eyes half open, head bouncing from getting fucked into from behind.

"So fucking wet for me, sweetheart. You're taking me so well. Such a good little slut," Sirius gritted his teeth.

"C-can I please...oh-h fu-fuck...can I please suck you off, Remmy? W-want you to come down my throat," you stumble over your words, trying hard to keep your head upright as Sirius continues to drill into you, ramming directly into your sweet spot, his cock stretching you out so painfully, so perfectly.

Remus moans at your question. Because fuck were you such a sight for his poor sore eyes.

"Thought you'd never ask..go ahead, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth." His hand cups the underside of your jaw, keeping your head up for you.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue for Remus, inviting him in. His hands tangle in your hair, wasting no time before plunging deep into your throat.

You gag around his length, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion.

Sirius is fucking into you so deeply, his powerful thrust pushing you deeper onto Remus's length.

Gagging and sputtering, you inhale deeply through your nose, adjusting to the pace before opening your throat for Remus.

"Jesus Christ, what a pretty pussy, she's fucking milking me," Sirius spits out, his unrelenting hips still plowing into you.

You can only moan in response, the vibrations running from the back of your throat into Remus's member, causing him to buck his hip, shoving his cock all the way down your throat.

"Such a pretty mouth..wrapped so tight around me..it's-it's so warm..o-oh fuck," Remus rambles, one hand on the back of your head, the other under your chin, holding your mouth open for him.

Your stomach begins to tighten up again, and you desperately clench around Sirius. One of his hands leaves your hips and reaches around to start rubbing vicious circles into your clit.

The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you cry out around Remus's cock, tears trickling down your face as your second orgasm rakes through you.

The sight of you succumbing to Sirius's relentless strokes while choking and moaning around his cock was enough to push Remus towards his own release, and he bottoms out in the back of your throat before shooting his come into your mouth.

His hips sputter and he hunches over, holding your face against his pelvis. Your eyes are rolled back in your head, your own squirting orgasm making it difficult for you to keep upright.

Remus pulls out of your mouth with a pop, your aching jaw still agape from Sirius continuing to slam into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your chest falls to the bed, unable to keep yourself up anymore, before you're lifted back up by Remus.

"Stay with me, pretty girl,," Remus coos.

"You're doing so good...let him keep fucking into you. You're taking his cock so well".

Sirius's head falls back, still pounding his hips roughly against your ass.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby," Sirius pants. You turn your head to protest, but before you can utter a word, Remus's hand covers your mouth.

"Shut up and take my cum, slut. Be a good fuck toy and let me fill you." Sirius says through gritted teeth.

You moan against Remus's hand in response as you feel Sirius release inside of you, his hot, creamy ropes coating your insides.

He thrusts a few more times, letting your tight cunt milk every last drop out of him. When he pulls out, you feel your foundation waiver and you collapse onto the bed, your head falling into Remus's lap.

"You did so, so good for us, princess, lemme have a turn now, yeah?" Remus says, you head resting against his thigh, trying to regain your composure. You can only hum quietly in response, eyes fluttering.

Remus manhandles you and flips you around so that your face is in the mattress and your ass is perked up. He roughly spreads your cheeks apart and slips into your cunt with ease. You moaned out at the feeling of being overstimulated and fucked twice in a row.

“Fucking love this pussy,” He whined in your ear, the desperation nearly sending you over the edge, “Can’t fucking wait to feel you cum ‘round my cock. Do it better than anyone else.”

Remus’s nimble fingers slipped between your legs as kept up his brutal pace, his middle finger rubbing quick circles onto your sensitive, throbbing clit as he angled his hips to hit your G-spot so deliciously you were seeing stars.

The way his cock repeatedly slammed against that sweet spot deep inside you that had you creaming and crying out his name like you wanted someone to hear, and had you fucked utterly dumb.

“‘M close, Remmy — ‘m there!”

“Yeah, give it to me, baby. Let Remmy feel you cum on his cock — yeaaaah, such a good girl.” He coaxed, fingers speeding up ever so slightly and increasing pressure as your eyes rolled back, the coil in your stomach on the brink of snapping as Remus smirked against your neck, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses to your warm skin.

“That’s my girl.”

The phrase that once sent shivers down your spine in shame, was now pushing you over the edge to squirt on his cock.

You cried out in ecstasy as Remus bucked his hips harder into you, his cock driving deeper as you came harder than before, your juices coating this thighs.

“S-shit, baby, you squirtin’ again? Fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” He huffed, grinding his teeth together as you milked his cock, feeling his own orgasm approaching as you writhed on top of him.

“Rem!” You whined, feeling suddenly overstimulated as he continued to ram his hot length into your fluttering walls, your eyes squeezing shut as you gripped his tense forearm.

“Sshh, baby, I’m there, God, ‘M fuckin’ cummin’,” He warned, his face tensing as his mouth fell agape as you clamped down on him once more, “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it, yeah, take it, take it, take it—!”

Remus was extremely vocal as he let out a low groan, almost growling as he pumped his sticky load deep inside your willing cunt — pushing his cum so deep it squelched out the side of his cock and onto his already soaked thighs.

You whined deeply from your chest as you felt Remus fuck his cum deeper into you, wanting to make sure you took every drop.

“Shiiiit, sweetheart.” Remus laughed as he lifted you off his softening cock with a hiss, “‘Made a fuckin’ mess.”

You looked over to the side to see Sirius heavily panting as he jerked off to the sight of Remus fucking hard into you.

Gosh, it was so obscene, the way he was sweating and practically whimpering as he stared at Remus. These two really needed to fuck each other.

The two men look at each other before looking back down at your fucked out body. Remus rubs your upper back gently as Sirius massages your shaking thighs.

You all sat like that for a moment, relishing in the pleasure still coursing through your veins, the hot smell of sex sitting heavy in the room.

Suddenly, Sirius's deep, sultry voice cuts through the silence. "Don't quit on us now, sugar. We're just getting started," he taunts.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Remus is moving again. He presses a kiss to your temple—soft, deceptive—then pulls back with a look that’s pure wicked.

“You think that was punishment, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “That was nothing but a warm-up.”

Your pulse jumps. That was a warm-up?

Remus crosses the room, opens an old cabinet, and pulls out a length of coarse rope—thick, strong, stained from years of real use. He tests the weight of it in his hands, like a farmer selecting the perfect tool.

Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Told you she was overdue for a real lesson,” he drawls, already shifting behind you. His arms slide around your waist, holding you steady as your body threatens to tremble apart.

“Hold her,” Remus orders, and Sirius grins against your neck.

“With pleasure.”

You don't even resist when Sirius gathers your wrists behind your back, firm but careful, while Remus climbs onto the bed with predator grace.

“We’re gonna tie you open and fuck you in both holes, how about that, baby?” Remus says, voice husky and low as he begins looping the rope around your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your cunt on full display for both men, practically gushing out with their cum.

“Gonna keep you right here, pretty and helpless. Just how you act when you’re trying to get your way.”

Sirius smirks. “No running, no hiding, no bratty little tantrums.”

Remus knots the last tie, then leans down, forehead nearly brushing yours. His voice is a dark, filthy promise against your lips:

“You wanted our attention, baby? You’ve got it. And now—you’re not going anywhere.”

Remus’s smirk deepens, fingers trailing slowly up the inside of your thigh like a warning and a threat all at once.

Sirius leans back, grinning like the devil, his hands still firm on your waist as he murmurs low:

“Buckle the fuck up, sugar—’cause you’re in for one hell of a ride.”

taglist: @lou-diaries @yuptha-tsme @lovelyygirl8

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sacrificiallane · 4 months ago

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KNIGHT .ᐟ PERCY ﹙ night falls & my watch begins ﹚

about ! knight!Percy takes care of princess!reader

warning ! smut but short, and soft !

Percy Jackson must've entered heaven early. And oh was he smug about it ! His armor ― the one that served to show he was a knight of the king ― personal knight to the princess , in fact ― laid carelessly at the foot of your grand canopy bed. With it , also the soft silken blanket , and some of your decorative patterned cushions. Never did he think would he find himself in a bed such as this , especially not between the sweet , sweet thighs of a princess . . .

His princess.

And didn't you ask ― beg ! ― him to come into your room so late at night. In hushed whispers , you had called to him like a siren , through thick ebony doors . . . the doors to your private chambers. And of course he had caved. And of course he was aware of the danger of it , too. The thrilling risk of being found out. If the king ― your father ― were to find him here , buried deep inside your fluttering walls , he would order for Perseus Jackson to lose his head. Quite literally.

But hadn't Percy ― under the watchful gaze of your father , and underneath the ancient willow tree ― pledged to always protect you ! Hadn't he promised to take care of you , and to consistently hold your needs above his own ? And in a sense . . . Wasn't that what he was doing ? By rolling his hips into yours , and by bringing you the pleasure you had so desperately asked him for.

"Percy we ― we shouldn't ―" but despite your words of defiance , your legs were holding him closer , tighter , . . . deeper. How could he ever just think about stopping , when you were gripping him with such desperateness !

"Tell me again ― ," he swallowed , his sea green eyes searching yours for an answer , because if you really wanted to stop , he would. Of course , he would. "If you really want me to stop. Tell me again."

And you were so beautiful , writhing underneath him , with your fingers twisted into the silk sheets and your legs all but trembling against his exposed waist.

You could feel the warmth of his palms as they soothingly rubbed up and down your open thighs , a sweet relief to the deep conflict that was slowly simmering within yourself. Never did you think to invite your personal knight ― Percy , who was so devoted to you , he would even die himself if it meant saving your life ― into your bed.

It was so foolish , and oh so selfish , and yet you couldn't physically bring yourself to tell him to stop.

"I can't . . . " your whisper carried a sick sort of assurance.

You wanted this. You want this. You want him.

"Please say it . . ." only for you did he find himself begging , pleading. He needed to hear it before he would ― before he could ― continue. His movement had ceased the moment your words had carried just the smallest of hesitation. But now . . . ?

When his nose nuzzled against your own , you couldn't breathe. How could you ever in your right mind say no to this. To him.

"I want you."

The young knight could feel his heart thump louder , could feel himself literally and figuratively crumble under your words , your caresses , you.

"Please Percy. I want you."

And what kind of Knight would he be , if he were to deny your wishes . . .

You were a princess , yes , but also . . . so much more than he could ever put into words. You were so special to him. And yes , Percy was forbidden of falling in love with . . . anyone, for that matter. He wasn't to take a wife , to father children , or to hold land. And yet , strangely , he was okay with that.

Percy would choose to love you quietly , secretly even , if it meant for him to stay close to you , and to ensure no harm to ever come your way.

Because only god knew, he would face any punishment heads up . . . if it meant to spend even just another second buried between your thighs , watching his princess fall apart for only him ♡

― 'proofread' april 2024

#˙ ✩ lanes writing ⋆｡˚꩜#knight!percy jackson x reader #knight!percy jackson smut #knight!percy jackson x reader smut #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x reader smut #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x you smut #percy jackson x y/n smut #percy jackson x y/n #dividers by fairytopea

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hamzahsbaby · 3 months ago

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dealer!hamzah had a rule; all clientele was off limits. it was strictly business. but you’d always been his favorite, and when you asked him if he’d ever be down to come over he couldn’t pass up the opportunity ♡ ݁ ˖

warnings: dealer!hamzah, making out but not much description, kind of cocky hamzah, kind of proofread.

and i guess this rule didn’t apply for you, because there he was sat in your bed, laying on your pink cotton comforter. his clothes reeked of weed, but also a little bit of cologne, it was a natural musky one. the kind that made you want to pounce on him and tear his dark wash jeans off him and suck his dick. if you asked him, he’d be perfectly fine with that, but you couldn’t give it up that easily. he was a drug dealer, and you were sure he’d been through this countless times; meeting up with some girl in hopes of getting some sort of sexual favor. but you weren’t going to give him what he came for, not yet at least.

“you like pink huh?” hamzah’s eyes gazed all around your room, noticing a pattern; you liked pink and you liked trinkets. “yeah you couldn’t tell?” you giggled, toying with the teddy bear you had on your lap out of nerves. “but green’s probably my favorite.”

“yeah? like my hoodie?” he looked down at the hoodie he was wearing, it was that fuck ass camo green bape hoodie, the only thing you’d really ever seen him in, but god did he look so good in it. “yeah, like that.” you smiled.

“soooo, you saying you like seeing me in it, or you tryna take it from me?” hamzah teased you. he was so smooth with it that you couldn’t keep up. “both.” you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position, your nerves were finally leaving. you’d only ever had one other guy in your room, and it was your last relationship, which was long term. so all flirting skills were far gone, but not that they’d really help, hamza was too skilled.

“cmere,” hamzah patted a spot right next to him on your bed. you felt kind of stupid, how was he calling all the shots in your own house on your own bed? but part of you liked being told what to do, you liked just following along.

and despite you both making a mental promise to yourself to not get too physical, before you knew it you were on hamzah’s lap while making out with him. kissing him was better than you could have ever imagined, he was so good at it, too good. he even let you wear his hoodie, you drowned in it compared to him.

hamzah was surprised at your eagerness to kiss him, it was your idea originally, how could he say no? in his mind you were innocent, at least in a ‘don’t touch me unless you mean it’ kind of way. although, he did mean it, he hoped that after this you wouldn’t think of him as a guy who is only there to be physical. he really did like you, he’s just always been bad with words.

and later that night when you’re getting ready for bed thinking about how much you missed having your lips on his, he messaged you.

[ hammie :3 ] U can keep the hoodie

[ hammie :3 ] Looks better on u

#ೀ works ⋆#꒰ ⊹ dealer!hamzah ♡#hamzah ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა #hamzahthefantastic #hamzahthefantastic x you #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic imagine #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzahthefantastic x y/n #hamzahthefantastic blurb #hamzah x you #hamzah x y/n

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vibingandsimping · 2 years ago

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Randomly assorted headcanons (sfw+nsfw) for randomly assorted characters… pt. 2

I have yet to make a pinned post with some sort of navigation/rules guide but I will state in all my posts. Asks and Submissions are always open and if you have trouble with it comment!

Not proofread cause that’s for the weak 🥰

Characters involved: Gale, Halsin, Karlach

Tags/Forewarnings: AFAB + AMAB genitalia mentions, use of magic to enhance sex, size differences, breeding, general worshipping, oral (receiving + giving), temperature play, fingering, penetration.

Gale

Y’all love pathetic men… I support. Anyways… Tell me i’m wrong but he’d love to spoil you. We already know he practically worships the ground you walk on. You entered his life full of strife and paved a way for him to have a more hopeful future. His eyes are practically hearts when he gazes upon you. As such, he’d love to buy you and craft you things when he can. He’d buy you a gorgeous dress/vest/suit and enchant it to your liking. It feels, quite literally, like magic when you wear it. He presses kisses to your ear as he sings about how downright breathtaking you are. You hate the fact that the words make a giggle bubble in your chest.

He holds you at any opportunity he gets. In truth, he cannot fathom that you two are lovers. He’s been with a goddess before but even she did not compare to you. His pinky grazes yours as you two stand near eachother. When someone’s back turns, he presses kisses onto your cheek until you forcibly push him away. Which he always uses his puppy eyes as a retaliation to show his hate. Curse those big brown eyes. If you’d let him, he’d be more intimate without being inherently sexual. His hands glide along your skin as he helps you bathe in a nearby river or lake. Occasionally he whispers about how perfect you are to him, inside and out.

Personally, this man is the male version of a wine aunt. Once he feels that he can unwind in the camp without facing repercussions, he likes to get delightfully tipsy. Enough that his skin warms and his tongue loosens. He laughs along with the companions and makes chatter in the quiet camp. If you happen to grace him with your presence, he sings out your name and beckons you forth. To his surprise, you settle next to him on the bedroll and he wraps an arm around your waist. Squeezing you tight as he presses his nose against the pulse in your neck. He murmurs almost incoherently but you can tell from the tone of his voice it was sweet nothings.

When the camp is silent and everyone is asleep, he enjoys the thrill of seeking you out. He finds you in your bedroll and gently shakes you awake, claiming he desires you and cannot sleep. If you are so kind to spare your sleep and indulge him, he promises he’ll make it worth your time. You two trail off to somewhere more secluded before he grasps you by the waist and presses his lips onto yours. His lips aren’t too rough against yours but pleasantly warm. His fingers dance along your skin, trailing the expanse of your stomach. Suddenly, he’s whispering against your lips. You can’t tell if he’s worked you up properly or if he’s genuinely speaking nonsense. Then, a sudden and intense shiver runs through your body. He smirks at you slightly and you cannot help the excitement in your veins.

You’d nearly forgotten about the strange shiver that encompassed your body until you were on your knees in front of him. His expression held a soft intimacy yet a deep desire. He was anything but pure… just so willing for your attention and love. His cock would throb before you in a silent plead for touch. You wrap your hand around the base before wrapping your lips around the tip. He gasps softly at the sensation whilst your eyes widened. As you touched him, there was a tingle in your own loins. It was shockingly intense and you mentally cursed this man for the effect he had on you. Steeling yourself, you began to work on his shaft. Suckling, licking, stroking… all while breathy gasps and whimpers escaped his chest. The tingle in your body didn’t dissipate- no, it only grew stronger. That’s when you gazed up at him in realization. His gaze was knowing and a little dark. The bastard charmed you… so that all the pleasure he experienced you’d experience and vice-versa. So that you two were properly intermingled for all the pleasure indulged that night.

He takes a certain pleasure in finding the spots on your body that make you shake and moan. Especially those that aren’t explicitly between your thighs. If he finds a spot on your neck, or thighs, or chest that makes you whimper and grasp his hair? He’s showering it with all his attention and love until it’s practically numb. His beard tickles your skin and causes you to occasionally squirm from the sensation. He wants you as turned on and into him as he is you. You can feel his erection against your thigh as he covers your neck in hickeys. His hips occasionally grinding for some sort of friction as he focused on you. If your hand trails down to his bulge, he grabs it swiftly and holds it beside your head. His lips are swollen and wet from his kisses and his pupils are blown wide. “Not yet, please, I’m not done. Not ready for this to be over yet…” He whines and gazes at you with a certain twinkle. Who are you to tell him no? Or, maybe that’s what you want to see?

Halsin

He adores the size difference you two have. He towers over nearly everybody he knows and gotten used to being large. Honestly, it was kind of a nuisance at times. He envied others who could bed anyone without the worry of repercussions. Yet, that is a topic for discussion later down this list. Point said, he loves the feeling you provide in his chest. A protective instinct overwhelms him. No matter how soft, rugged, muscular or chubby you are. He wants to hold you and ensure you’ll be safe. The look in his eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to even reach him bending over for a kiss shows the thrill he finds in it. It’s even better when you two are cuddling and you can rest your body so comfortably ontop of his. He’ll encapsulate his arms around your form and keep you close, enjoying the thrum of your heart as you sleep.

He’d teach you how to carve wood, if you’d like. It was one of his hobbies and for you to show interest in it only reminds him of how fine a specimen you are. He’s careful as he teaches you, watchful eyes constantly glancing and staring over your shoulder as your thumbs turn the wood and the knife makes shavings. His hands wrap around yours and guide you when you struggle or use improper technique. His chest slotted against your back as he hums softly, paying no mind to how flustered you’d get. When you finish your first lesson, you both show off the sculptures you made. He’s thoroughly impressed and praises whatever you decided to carve. Later, you find it on a table in his tent. The sight makes your chest tighten and heart soar. He loves you so utterly deeply.

He craves you so desperately it is almost amusing. Your touch, your voice, your presence. He doesn’t outwardly express it but there’s a certain air around him when you approach. His gaze softens as his chest puffs and he watches you expectantly. Despite all the lovers he’s taken in his years, you’d swear he looks like he’s fallen in love for the first time. He’s nearly whipped by you. No-one has seemed so enraptured by you before. Each word you speak he’s hung unto, he watches all your movements so closely. Halsin makes sure to wrap you tightly in his hugs. Both to show you that he loves all of you and to remind you of the fact he wishes to protect you. He knows his boundaries and doesn’t follow you like a lost puppy… but when you seek him of your own accord he’s utterly thrilled.

This man is a breeder. Don’t argue with me on it. He seeks all the thrills and pleasures of nature. Regardless of if you can or cannot get pregnant, he stuffs you so full that in your haze you are sure you’ll carry his kid. He tries so hard to be gentle with you and to some degree he is. His hands trail your skin softly like you were fine china. Though, he allows himself the pleasure of gripping your curves, dips and muscles. While he holds you so gently, you cannot say the same for where he’s pushing his length into. It’s vigorous- almost mind-numbing. He groans into your ear shamelessly and with the knowledge you find it attractive. If you’d let him, he’d give into his desires and fill you til he was sure he had nothing else left to give. He’d pick you up after and bathe you. Washing you of the forest dirt and sweat accumulated on your skin. All while whispering about how he adores you and you’ve done so well for him.

We all know he’s a munch/dick eater. It’s literally confirmed in his sex scene that he immediately goes down on you… and for that I will write for.

AFAB. He’ll hook a thigh over his shoulder and press his nose against the bump of your cunt. His tongue lavishes your clit in licks and suckles as his gaze remains heady on yours. If you can even look at him, that is. One hand trails on the leg you’re standing on before teasing your parted lips. He gathers your wetness and pushes a singular finger inside. He watches as your body tenses and relaxes from his ministrations. His tongue does not stop it’s assault. Then it’s two fingers, hooking and searching for the spot that he knows will make you abandon previous care. Once he finds it, you’re crying out to the woods. His large fingers practically abuse your walls as he sucks your clit like a madman. You began to whimper and shake in his hold. His strength became apparent when he pushes your hips against the tree to keep you still. To show that you cannot escape his pleasure and act of love. Pride swells in his chest and he keeps going until you’re shuddering in his hold. The coil in your belly snapping as hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips rocking against his face.

AMAB. There’s a smirk that engraves his face when he sees exactly how hard you’d gotten for him. His hands wrap around your thighs as he trails kisses along the skin of your stomach. Then, as soon as you open your mouth to protest, a kiss is placed on the tip. You tense and he begins to show your length some attention. One hand abandons your thigh to favor your sack, gently fondling as his kitten licks and kisses turn into something more intense. Lips wrapping around the head before taking you in one gulp. Your head throws back and your thighs quiver. Either he had tons of experience or you were simply smaller in comparison and he could do it with ease. Either way, the warmth of his throat is nearly overwhelming to your senses. He looks up between your legs when he could, bobbing his head as you began to melt into the pleasure. His nails gently scratched the skin of your thigh while his other continued it’s undivided attention to the sensitive skin of your balls. He continues like this, humming and suctioning around your cock until you either spill down his throat or pull him off of you. Either way, he has a cocky smile on his face as he wipes spit and precum from his lips.

Karlach

She is a very passionate woman. She burns bright, literally and metaphorically, and is a flame that will forever burn by your side. She is especially passionate about her companions and most importantly you. She supports you in nearly every decision you make and if she doesn’t agree, she tries to understand anyways. She’s loud and speaks so highly of you to those she meets. Almost like a mother showing off her kids accomplishments in life. She’d likely be such a good mother if she ever had that opportunity. Until you fix her mechanical heart she supports you with just words and actions. As much as she craves to pull you into her grasp or press her lips on yours, she’s a ticking bomb and is capable of hurting those. When you do fix it? She can barely keep her hands and lips off you. Ten years of forced abstinence nearly drove her MAD. While she doesn’t outright burn you, she’s so, so warm.

She loves jamming out. Dancing, playing an instrument, singing… it gives her an excuse to release her pent up energy. Bard or not, she gives you those puppy eyes and nearly begs you to join her. She’ll dance with you and wrap her arms around your waist or hold your hand as you two dip and twirl. Her laugh is an angelic sound and any reservations you held melted away in her intense heat and passion. She had a way of lighting the room up and bringing out the best in those around her. You admired her for it. She eventually slows the rhythm between you two and smiles against your skin (hunched over or not). She whispers against you, light and full of emotion. “You have no idea how thankful I am to have met you. I feel complete.” The breath you take is shaky as her words fill you with such fullness. This tiefling had wormed her way into your heart like the tadpole your mind. Except, this was a worm you wished to keep. You both would do anything for each other and you both knew it.

She absolutely seethes when anyone does you dirty. The girl is quite literally growling when someone hurts you emotionally or physically. Even a wrong look can have her hackles raising and her all pissed. You sometimes have to sit her down and remind her that you’re fine. She assures you’re safe and you appreciate it. After losing so much in her life, the control of her own body and mind, she cannot imagine losing you. Small threats alarm her and she feels guilty that she cannot contain her emotions. This time you assured her that you weren’t going anywhere because she was passionate and hot-headed. You two had your own issues… and she wants nothing more than to work through them together and be the biggest supporters for each other. She pulls you into a bear hug afterwards, nuzzling against your jaw as her horn tangles in your hair. She plants kisses along the skin til you’re laughing and the air is less tense between you two.

As much as she so UTTERLY wishes to touch you, she’s so touch deprived. You know that she needs the attention after she’s had her heart repaired. You lay her down on the ground and trail kisses from her lips down to her throat and to her chest. She watches you with an excitement. It appears as if she was ready to jump out of her skin from the pure joy of being able to enjoy the sensations of flesh once more. You pay extra attention to her breasts and nipples before continuing further down to her navel. At this point, she’s squirming and whimpering desperately. “Come on, babe. Don’t tease me. I need you- so badly..” Her tone was pathetic if anything. There was no true fight or bite in her words. She liked giving her submission to you for once, letting her mind shut down. You wished nothing more than to give her what she deserved after all this time.

Once you finally reach further south, your hands slot around her hips and hold them down as you plant a few kisses against the inner of her thigh. All the teasing between you two was so worth it when you hear the wanton moan escape her lips as your tongue finally met her most sensitive parts. The heat of her cunt was intense- just like the rest of her. It was nearly overwhelming… almost burning your tongue. Yet, you ached for that warmth. To finally enjoy her moans and provide her with such pleasure. She has claws in your hair, tugging and tickling your scalp. One hand on her chest as you begin a rhythm with your tongue against her clit. Once she was beginning to properly fall apart against your mouth, you released a hand from her hip and trailed betwixt her lower lips. Your fingers sought her warmth and was pleasantly surprised with how she burned even hotter inside. Truly a creature of the hottest hells. Yet, it didn’t quite burn you… certainly was a different sensation compared to the crisp air around you. You know that she’ll return this pleasure tenfold to you. It’s her nature… and you couldn’t wait til you two were properly intertwined later in the night.

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tsxkkis · 1 year ago

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# tsukishima kei - drunk in love!

a/n = is this a comeback of mine of sorts? yes (although i don't want it to be, since it's not my best work). i haven't written anything in so long, and i really love the idea of a stoic, serious character acting clingy and completely different when drunk (reminds me of shin from a sign of affection, who's my fav boy ever), that's why tsukki might be kind of out of character here. also, i didn't proofread this because it ended up being longer than i expected.

summary = an intoxicated tsukishima is a clingy tsukishima. and also, he might say a bit too much for his own liking.

warnings = out of character tsukki (bcs he's drunk), mentions of alcohol

drunk tsukishima was surely a sight to see.

to see a man, usually so serious and stoic, in a state like that was almost uncanny. his cheeks flushed pink, a stupid smile plastered to his face as he giggled quietly over what yamaguchi just said.

after your entire friend group went their own ways either starting university or pursuing a career in volleyball, it became a common practice for the few of you to just meet up and discuss the latest life achievements with a drink in hand. everyone eagerly awaited that particular moment of the week, some (meaning yachi, of course) would even set weekly countdowns to try and surpass their excitement.

tsukishima kei, out of the entire group, was usually the more reasonable one, opting only for a drink or two. But after a particularly hard exam at uni, which he passed with flying colors, his friends decided in unison that this evening would be different.

the room was filled with laughter, tsukishima's tall body laying on the couch, his head pressed against yamaguchi's chest. alcohol made him somewhat clingy; extremely clingy, if you were to compare him to his usual demeanor. a low hum left his lips, his hand coming up to take his glasses off.

'i'm gonna regret this tomorrow.' he mumbled, being met with a wave of laughter in response. your eyes focused on his face for a minute, scanning it thoroughly. continued mumbling something, the tips of his ears bright red, face probably burning after all the alcohol he digested. but your mind was focused on something completely different.

he looks really handsome without glasses.

'y/n. i think he might have to stay here for the night.' yamaguchi's voice echoing through the room brought you back to life, your eyes quickly darting away from the blonde's face to focus on her friend. the freckled boy had an awkward look on his face, a usual for him, as he stood up, heading for his coat with yachi following right after.

they mentioned previously that both of them will have to leave earlier this time, but you only remembered that now; a warm understanding smile gracing your face as you said your goodbyes, the three of you giggling at tsukishima mumbling how he's going to 'beat you all up tomorrow for making him so drunk.'

as the door closed behind them, a sigh left your lips. the apologetic look on yamaguchi's face wasn't there for no reason; he, as well as the rest of your friends, were all well aware of the massive crush you had on him. ever since freshman year, it's been something you promised yourself you will hide from him forever.

tsukishima stretched his arms, a yawn leaving his lips as the late night hours finally caught up to him. you didn't notice when your neutral look turned to a bright smile. there was something incredibly comforting in this specific sight, tsukishima's soft features looking completely different from his usual appearance.

you crouched down next to the couch, trying to decide whether you should leave him to sleep here or try to get him to your bed and take the couch yourself. you almost didn't notice tsukishima's eyes glued to your face, a curious look to them as he scanned your features, something incredibly similar to what you've done just a while ago. he looked deep in thought, the pinkish color fading from his cheeks with time.

'has anyone told you you have a really interesting face?' he stated, his lips curved up in a proud smile as if he'd given you the greatest compliment of all time. 'you know, it's like a kaleidoscope. no matter how long you stare at it, you still can't take your eyes off of it.'

you laughed, the tips of your ears burning red, regardless of how stupid his 'compliment' was. sober tsukishima would never say something like this, but then again, that was the whole point. the sole reason why the blonde didn't drink much was that it brought out a different side of him.

an embarrassing one at that.

'alright, kei. let's get you to bed.'

you used all the strength you had to get him off the couch, a satisfied smile on your face when he got up on his own, almost tumbling over in the process. a giggle escaped your lips at the sight; knowing just how much you were going to laugh at him for it tomorrow, and every day after that.

you motioned for him to sit down on the bed, swiftly moving towards the wardrobe to him some fresh bedding.

'ohhhh,' a prolonged hum left tsukishima's lips as you started changing the sheets, his curious eyes following your frame around the room. he had his glasses back on, so now he could actually see what was happening. 'are we sleeping together?'

you almost choked on your own saliva.

your eyes met his for a brief second, just as you were finishing with the bed. you gently pushed him to lay down, taking his glasses off in the process so he won't break them when sleeping.

'i'll be sleeping on the couch tonight, so no.'

you looked over to the boy only to see... a frown?

it was almost as if you were looking at a completely different person. you were once more amazed with just how much a few drinks can change someone's behavior entirely.

tsukishima reached for your hand, pulling you down to lay with him. his touch send a wave of shivers down your body, as his tall frame scooted closer to you.

'stay here.' he murmured quietly. in that very moment, you forgot he wasn't sober; you wanted this situation to actually become reality. so, with a tad bit of hesitation, you obliged.

soon sleepiness got the best of you, your eyes slowly fluttering shut as you fell asleep, the blonde laying right beside you, his arm wrapped around your body as he murmured something under his breath. you didn't catch half of what he said, but there were three distinct words that you managed to understand.

'i love you.'

as tsukishima woke up the next day, a headache accompanying him from the moment he opened his eyes, the side of the bed was already empty. he slowly got up, arms reaching for his glasses laying on the small coffee table by the bed.

he slowly but surely tumbled into the kitchen, surprised when he saw a cup of tea standing in front of him already. his eyes shot up to be met with your figure, standing by the kitchen counter and making breakfast.

you smiled at the boy, looking at him for a spare second before focusing back on chopping the vegetables.

'this should help you with your headache.' you said, putting the last of chopped tomatoes into the bowl before giving the salad a nice mix, as silence took over the room.

'i said something stupid yesterday, didn't i?' his words echoed through the kitchen, disrupting the silence between you.

'now that you mention it' you said, putting down a bowl of food and a fork in front of him, sitting down on the chair right beside him. 'you did compare my face to a kaleidoscope, pouted like a kid when i told you i'm sleeping on the couch and were mumbling some incoherent words right before you fell asleep.'

tsukishima slightly covered his face, trying to hide his visible embarrassment at the mention of his drunken actions.

'well, at least i didnt confess to you when drunk.'

you looked at him for a long minute, your eyes indicating that something of this sort did happen yesterday. tsukishima's face was now flushed pink, more embarrassed than ever.

'oh.'

the room went completely silent, the two of you focusing on your food as you tried to think of any way to shift the conversation, get rid of the massive amounts of awkwardness.

tsukishima stood up, quickly getting your attention as your eyes shot up to meet his, a look on his face which you couldn't quite decipher.

'sorry for yesterday.' he sighed, hand moving up to adjust his glasses. he had a somewhat troubled look on his face, one that was apparent no matter how much he tried to hide it behind his cold demeanor.

he opened his lips for a few seconds, hesitant about his next words.

'i had somewhat of a different idea for my confession, but i guess that's it.'

you froze on the spot, mouth slightly agape, eyes searching for any indicators of tsukishima's words being a joke. despite trying really hard, she found nothing; only a nervous silence on the blonde's end, waiting for you to say something, anything.

'you... like me?'

he could only nod in response, distressed when seeing the huge grin growing on your face. he had no idea what to expect when you took a few steps towards him, but it definitely wasn't a kiss on the cheek, leaving his cheeks a deep shade of red.

'it's good to know that my feelings are mutual.'

taglist: @ox1-lovesick @moonswolfie @wyrcan

#tsxkkis #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #karasuno x reader #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

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cl0udy3 · 3 months ago

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𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

ellie williams x dina's sister!reader (pt2) basically just angst ; MAYBE some fluff literally dina is a homewrecker except there was no home to wreck; reader and ellie drift apart; reader uses jesse as rebound of sorts, he knows and is also doing the same; idk what else wc: 10016 a/n: i saw someone asked for a happy ending but i refuse.......... something about this feels mid but whatever i think its done! also not thoroughly proofread i just skimmed it!! ✩ pt1 | pt3

The last of the party fades with the golden-pink haze of evening.

Empty plates and glasses are stacked near the sink. Candles burn low, flickering soft light across faces you love. Tommy’s already wandered home with Maria, and Jesse promised to help clean but vanished an hour ago after someone convinced him to “check the stereo” and never returned. You don’t mind. The house is still full of life—laughter echoing down the hallway, your sister snacking on leftovers with a plate in one hand and a beer in the other.

You catch Ellie’s eye from across the room, and for a moment, it’s like it always is. Just the two of you in a crowded space.

She lifts her chin, subtle, like she’s saying c’mon, and you follow without a word.

Outside, the air’s crisp. Cool enough to make you rub your hands together as you step onto the porch, settling into the familiar creak of the wooden bench. Ellie’s already leaning against the railing, cigarette half-smoked between her fingers, gaze tilted up toward the stars.

You let out a breath, slow and tired in the best kind of way.

“Think that counts as a successful birthday?”

You grin without looking at Ellie. “No one cried. Nothing caught on fire. Pretty solid, honestly.”

She laughs lightly, nudging your boot with hers. “High bar, huh?”

“It’s Jackson. You never know.”

The silence that follows is easy. Comfortable. Familiar.

You watch the sky with her. The stars, scattered like dust. Somewhere down the street, a guitar strums a lazy melody. Laughter trails off into the dark. You lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes for a second.

“This was nice,” you say softly.

Ellie nods. “Yeah. You deserved it.”

You open your eyes again, glance at her. She’s watching you now. The kind of look that feels like it could unravel you if you let it.

You don’t say the thing you want to. The thank you for taking care of me. The I want this to be just us, forever.

You’re about to look away when the door creaks open behind you.

Dina steps out, a little out of breath, a new jacket slung around her shoulders.

“Damn,” she says, flopping into the empty seat beside you. “It’s cold.”

You straighten slightly. “Thought you went to grab dessert.”

“Got distracted. Joel was telling me about the time you tried to ride his horse drunk.”

Ellie snorts. “That story again?”

“It’s a good one,” Dina says, grinning between you both.

She’s warm. And charming. And she hasn’t been around in so long, it feels wrong to feel anything other than grateful she’s back.

You smile, even if it feels a little thin.

Conversation drifts between the three of you. You and Ellie trade looks, but now Dina’s part of it too—her laughter like bells, easy and light. At one point, Ellie says something that makes her laugh so hard she leans against her arm, brushing her shoulder.

Ellie doesn’t move.

You notice.

You tell yourself not to.

Later, when the stars are a little brighter and your limbs feel heavy with the slow ache of healing, you glance at Ellie again.

She’s still smiling. But it’s not at you.

***

The greenhouse was one of your favorite places in Jackson—quiet, warm, full of life. You and Ellie had come for supplies, hands full of bags and tools. Dina had tagged along too, claiming she needed to stretch her legs. You were getting used to her being around again, especially after she’d been gone so long.

The place smelled like earth and growth, the kind of scent that settled your nerves. Light streamed through the glass panes above like a soft promise, giving everything a warm, greenish glow. It was nice, really. A quiet morning. The three of you working together.

You smiled when you caught sight of Dina pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with plants, her usual easy grin tugging one from you too.

“Didn’t think you’d be the greenhouse type,” you said, trying to keep things light.

“Eh, I’m not,” Dina replied with a shrug. “But I need something to do while you two talk about god-knows-what.”

Ellie snorted beside you, shoving a crate into place. “You’re just mad because we keep talking about shit you don’t get.”

Dina raised an eyebrow. “Uh, excuse me? I get more than you think. You can talk about whatever you want, as long as I get to avoid it.” She winked dramatically, and you laughed at the back and forth.

You and Ellie had spent so many moments like this—quiet, unspoken connection tucked into the gaps of easy conversation. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the steady presence of your sister until now. It wasn’t like you were jealous, exactly. It just felt like things were shifting. That the rhythm of your friendship with Ellie—something that once felt private, sacred—was now shared.

But it didn’t feel bad.

No, it felt... natural. Like a reunion of sorts. A reconnection.

You felt at peace as you worked alongside them, carrying tools, gathering plants. The tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding these past few weeks slowly unwound. Dina kept the energy light, joking often, her voice a small breeze in a heavy world.

“Hey, you two need help with those?” she asked, coming over just as you were shifting a stack of crates.

You nodded, but before you could speak, Ellie grinned. “Yeah—just don’t break anything.”

Her voice had that same playful edge you’d heard a hundred times before.

It was easy. Familiar.

You were used to this—the three of you working together, laughing, passing the time. The change hadn’t settled in yet. Not in a way that felt threatening.

Still, you caught yourself watching Ellie.

The way she handed Dina a tool without needing to be asked. How she stood a little closer when they worked side by side. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything worth reading into.

You shook it off.

It wasn’t the first time Ellie and Dina had spent time together. And there was no reason it should feel strange now.

Later that evening, after the greenhouse, everyone ended up at your place for a movie night. You’d invited Dina—it had been a while since you two had just hung out, and now that she was finally home, you wanted to include her. It made sense.

You and Ellie had done nights like this before. Curled up on the couch, watching old tapes, laughing at the worst ones. Close, but not too close. Comfortable. Safe.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the new dynamic. Maybe it was the way Dina laughed a little louder, the way Ellie looked at her when she did. Maybe it was just you.

You stepped outside to grab snacks from the porch freezer, Dina beside you, laughing at something you barely heard. Her voice was warm. Familiar. Yours.

And then the door swung open before either of you could knock.

Ellie stood in the doorway, grinning. “I could hear y’all from a mile away.”

Her eyes sparkled in a way that made something in your chest twist.

Dina laughed too, brushing your shoulder. Ellie rolled her eyes playfully and leaned against the frame, like this was all normal.

You watched them—how Ellie’s posture softened around her. How Dina’s eyes lingered just a little longer than they used to.

The realization nearly came, but you pushed it down.

Inside, Ellie dropped onto the couch and patted the cushion next to her—the one you’d normally take. But Dina slid into the spot before you could move.

You paused. Just for a second.

Then you crossed the room and sat in the chair instead. Told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were imagining things.

It was just a movie night.

Just a movie night.

They laughed a lot. Ellie leaned a little too close. Their shoulders touched and neither of them moved.

But that didn’t mean anything.

You told yourself you were tired. Still healing. Emotions running high.

You watched the movie in pieces. Your eyes flicking more toward them than the screen. Told yourself you were just zoning out.

Dina left halfway through the second movie, stretching and saying something about crashing early.

Ellie offered to walk her out, but Dina waved her off. “It’s five houses. I’ll live.”

You stood beside Ellie at the door while Dina zipped up her jacket. She gave you both a hug, then disappeared into the dark.

The door closed. Quiet settled over the house again—the kind of quiet you used to love.

Ellie flopped back onto the couch and patted the now-empty cushion beside her.

“You staying?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. If that’s cool.”

“‘Course it is,” she said, like nothing had changed.

You curled up beside her, blanket shared between you. Familiar. Safe.

But even then, the distance lingered.

She clicked through a few channels, settled on something neither of you cared about. Somewhere along the way, she dozed off—arm slung over her eyes, breathing soft.

You lay there, still.

Awake.

The flicker of the screen danced across her face. You watched the way her lashes rested against her cheek. The way her mouth relaxed in sleep.

And you wondered—quietly, selfishly—if she was dreaming about you.

Or if she was dreaming about Dina.

You told yourself it was probably nothing.

You saw Ellie the next morning, boots kicked up on the back porch of the Tipsy Bison, an arm crossed behind her head, a cigarette tucked between her fingers like always.

She looked up when you walked by, squinting against the light, and gave you that lazy grin. The one that always curled at the corner slower than the rest of her mouth, like she was still deciding whether or not to smile at all.

“Hey,” she called.

You crossed the gravel path toward her, your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

She shrugged, flicking ash over the side of the porch. “Didn’t sleep much.”

You didn’t ask. She’d tell you if it mattered.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Duh,” she said, nudging a crate with her boot so you could settle beside her. The cold seeped through the wood, made your thighs stiff, but you didn’t move. It was one of those mornings where everything was a little too quiet—fog clinging to the fence posts, the town still half-asleep.

Ellie offered you the cigarette, and you took it without thinking, even though you hated the taste. She knew. She didn’t say anything about it.

“Think they’ll make us do another run today?” you asked.

“Hope not.” She pulled her hoodie tighter around her neck. “I wanna just sit around and draw stupid shit all day.”

You smiled. “That’s the dream.”

The silence stretched comfortably for a few minutes—two people used to sharing space without needing to fill it.

Then Dina’s voice cut through the calm. “They said you might be back here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see her coming up the steps, hair braided loose, cheeks pink from the cold. Ellie straightened a little, flicking the cigarette off the edge of the porch.

“You missed out yesterday,” she said. “Joel tried to fix the generator and nearly lit himself up.”

Dina grinned as she dropped onto the other side of Ellie. “You always get the good stories.”

Ellie laughed, a short, surprised thing. “That’s ‘cause I’m the one who causes them.”

You smiled too, but it felt… smaller this time. You shifted in your seat, listening to their voices mix together like something new. And you told yourself it was good—really, it was good. Dina was back. Things were settling again.

You just weren’t sure where you fit now.

A few days later, you and Ellie were assigned a short patrol through the north woods.

It was cold, brittle morning light filtering through bare branches, frost crunching underfoot. You both moved with quiet familiarity, weapons slung over your backs, conversation light but steady.

You liked these mornings best—where nothing had to be explained.

When you reached a clearing, Ellie paused. The frost-glazed field stretched out before you, dotted with the stubborn remains of wildflowers clinging to life.

She crouched, brushing her fingers over one. “Look at this one. Still trying.”

You tilted your head. “Resilient little bastard.”

Ellie laughed softly and plucked it with care. “Reminds me of you.”

You blinked. “Because it’s almost dead?”

She tossed a glance at you. “Because it’s annoying.”

“Ah. Very flattering.”

She handed you the flower anyway. The stem was thin, fragile between your fingers. Still warm from her hand.

You tucked it into your coat pocket without thinking.

“Don’t lose it,” she murmured.

Later, while repacking supplies near the gate, you caught a glimpse of Ellie pulling another flower from her bag. Not the same as yours, but close. She wrapped the stem gently in a scrap of cloth.

She didn’t say anything about it, and neither did you.

Maybe it was just for her sketchbook. Maybe it was for someone else.

You didn’t ask. It was probably nothing.

You found Dina one afternoon in the stables, her sleeves rolled up, straw in her hair, brushing down a restless mare.

You leaned on the half-door of the stall. “Didn’t think I’d find you in here.”

Dina looked up, flashing a tired grin. “Swapped shifts. I missed the horses.”

You wrinkled your nose. “They smell.”

“Yeah, but they don’t talk back.”

You stepped inside anyway, hands in your pockets, the warm, earthy smell filling your lungs. The horse snorted and shuffled a few steps.

Dina patted its side. “You ever think about taking one out for a few days? Just riding and not coming back for a while?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “Wouldn’t get far, though. Someone’d probably come dragging me back.”

Dina chuckled. “Ellie would. She’s got good aim.”

You paused. “Guess she would.”

You helped her sweep the stable floor, falling into that easy rhythm of sistership. It felt nice. Familiar.

Then Dina asked, almost too casually, “You and Ellie do movie nights, right?”

You glanced up. “Yeah. Sometimes. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering. I’ve got a few reels Jesse gave me. Thought I might drop 'em off sometime.”

You nodded, brushing away the way your chest felt suddenly tight. “She’d probably like that.”

Dina smiled and didn’t say anything else.

A couple nights later, you were helping Ellie sketch.

She was cross-legged on the floor, journal in her lap, surrounded by balled-up papers. You were stretched across her bed with a book, pointing out shapes she could practice.

“Try this one,” you said. “The petals are weird.”

She peered over, eyebrow raised. “You and your weird-ass flowers.”

“They have personality.”

“They look like moldy cupcakes.”

You laughed. It was easy, familiar.

Music played softly in the background. Something instrumental and slow. Ellie’s pencil moved across the page, light and steady.

Then the door creaked open, and Dina poked her head in.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry—didn’t know you were in the middle of something.”

Ellie looked up. “It’s fine. Come in.”

Dina hesitated, then stepped back. “Just had something to drop off. I’ll catch you later.”

“You sure?” Ellie stood halfway up, eyes following her to the hall.

“Yeah,” Dina said, already halfway down the stairs.

The door clicked shut.

You glanced at Ellie. She was still standing there, staring at the empty doorway.

Then she sat back down, too fast, and picked up her pencil again.

Neither of you said anything.

But the music felt louder now.

***

The first time you really noticed it, it was in the way Ellie lit her cigarette.

You were walking back from a late patrol, boots caked in half-dried mud, dusk stretching long shadows across the road. You were tired in that bone-deep kind of way, the kind that made conversation harder, footsteps heavier. But you’d stayed close anyway, bumping shoulders now and then, trading short glances. Just enough to remind each other you were there.

When you reached the porch, Ellie leaned against the railing like she always did, pulled out her lighter and tapped the edge of the cigarette pack with one practiced flick.

Only this time—before she lit it—she glanced at it, held it between her fingers with this thoughtful kind of pause, and smiled.

Smiled.

Not at you. Not at anything.

Just at a thought she didn’t share.

You sat beside her, like always, pretending not to notice.

But your stomach sank anyway.

You didn’t say anything, just stared out at the darkening town while the smoke curled up into the soft orange light. You tried to tell yourself she was probably remembering a joke. Or a story. Something old. Something irrelevant.

But she didn’t offer to share it. And you didn’t ask.

Another time, it was her laugh.

You were helping string up lanterns outside the main hall for some upcoming dinner. A thank-you party, or a welcome party. You couldn’t remember. Just that your hands were cold, your arms were sore, and Ellie was standing across from you on the opposite ladder, making dumb comments to keep you both from getting bored.

You were smiling, genuinely, and she was mid-sentence when Dina wandered up from the far side of the lawn.

“Hey,” Dina called. “What the hell are you two doing? That’s crooked.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the supervision.”

Dina grinned and stepped up beside Ellie’s ladder, tipping her chin up to get a better view of your shoddy knot-tying.

And Ellie laughed.

Not the small kind. Not the quiet huff she gave you when you made a stupid pun or muttered something under your breath.

This was different. Louder. Unfiltered. Her head tilted back a little, the kind of laugh that slipped out like it surprised her too.

You froze halfway through tying your rope.

It was stupid. It was just a laugh.

But still, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching the way Ellie was looking at Dina when she did it. Like something in her had relaxed.

Later, when you were coiling up the leftover string lights and Dina had gone off to grab food for the crew, Ellie bumped your shoulder and muttered, “We should make you the official lantern person.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’ve got the most unstable knots I’ve ever seen. It's impressive.”

You forced a chuckle. “It’s a skill.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach the place it used to. And you didn’t know if that was you imagining things.

But you couldn’t stop imagining anyway.

A week later, you were sent on patrol with Jesse and not Ellie.

It wasn’t a big deal. You’d all been rotated out a hundred times before. But this time… this time when you saw Ellie waiting at the gate, she was already leaning against the horse Dina had taken out earlier.

They were talking. Close. Quiet. Not quite laughing, but Ellie was smiling in that low, private kind of way. The kind you hadn’t seen since the first few weeks after Dina came back.

When she saw you approaching, her smile didn’t drop. It didn’t change at all.

“Guess I’m stuck with Jesse today,” you said lightly.

Ellie didn’t meet your eyes right away. “Jesse’s not that bad.”

“Wow. Praise from the queen herself.”

That got a snort. But it wasn’t the kind that warmed your chest like it used to.

Dina gave you a smile. A friendly one. You returned it without hesitation, because it wasn’t her fault, after all. She was just your sister.

You just didn’t like the way you were starting to feel like a third person in your own space.

When Jesse came up behind you and nodded toward the gate, you followed him without looking back.

But you heard Ellie laugh at something Dina said behind you.

And this time, you didn’t pretend not to notice.

That night, you tried to convince yourself you were just being sensitive.

You and Ellie ended up back at her place, both tired and sore and too wound up to sleep. You stayed up playing cards by candlelight, the electricity flickering on and off like it always did during heavy winds.

For a little while, it felt like old times. Just the two of you. Your hands brushing when you reached for the same card, her teasing you about your terrible strategy, you flicking a crumpled wrapper at her when she called your bluff.

It was fine. Good, even.

But then she paused mid-shuffle and said, “Dina said she used to cheat at this game. Said she figured out how to count cards when she was like ten.”

You looked up.

Ellie wasn’t smiling. Not really. Just thinking. Maybe remembering something she hadn’t told you. Maybe picturing something you weren’t part of.

You reached for your drink. “She tell you that today?”

Ellie nodded. “At the gate.”

You looked down at your cards again.

Played your next move in silence.

***

It’s been a few days since you started pulling away. You can’t really pinpoint when the shift happened—it was gradual at first, almost imperceptible. But now, it feels like something is missing whenever Ellie and Dina are around. You still spend time together, the three of you, but it’s different. There’s a distance that’s settled between you and Ellie that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but notice the way they speak to each other now, how much more they lean toward each other, laugh louder with each other, and talk about things you’re not a part of.

Tonight, the feeling is even more suffocating. You’re in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner, when you hear their voices drift from the living room.

“I was thinking we could head out to that lookout tomorrow, you know, the one up north,” Ellie’s voice sounds almost too casual, but there’s an undertone of something else. Something closer. More familiar.

Dina’s voice follows. “Yeah, sounds good. We could grab breakfast at the diner, too.”

You freeze, the dish you’re washing forgotten in your hands. Your breath catches in your throat.

You know they’re friends. You know it shouldn’t matter. But this feels… different. No mention of you. No glance toward the kitchen where you’re standing. No acknowledgment that maybe you’d want to go too.

And just like that, the reality starts to settle in like a stone in your chest.

They don’t need to say your name to make it obvious you aren’t invited.

Ellie and Dina are making plans without you.

They don’t even know you’re listening—but the silence that fills the kitchen after their words hangs like a heavy weight in the air. You try to shake it off. Tell yourself it’s nothing. Just two friends hanging out.

But it doesn’t sit right. And it stings more than you expected it to.

You leave the kitchen and step out onto the porch, trying to clear your head. Trying to breathe around the tightness in your chest. You want to say something. To ask why. To make it not feel like this.

But you don’t. You don’t want to seem like you’re overreacting.

So you stay quiet.

And let the ache sit.

The next day, Ellie and Dina are waiting on the porch, ready to head out. You’d talked to them for a bit. But something feels off. Something in the way they glance at each other before looking at you.

Ellie’s the one who speaks first, voice a little too casual, a little too bright.

“Hey, you wanna come with us? We’re gonna head out in a bit. Thought you might want to join.”

You look at her.

Her eyes seem softer than usual. Unsure. Like she’s trying not to show she’s already decided how this day will go.

“Yeah,” you say, even though your chest tightens. “I’ll go. Give me a sec.”

You step inside. Grab your bag from upstairs.

And stare at the bed for too long.

The blankets are still tangled from the night before. The sunlight cuts across the floor in a way that makes everything look too quiet. Too still.

It would be easy to stay here.

Too easy.

You move to the window. Glance out. Ellie and Dina are talking, backs turned to you, closer than you expected. Smiling at something you’ll never know.

They don’t notice you watching them.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Wait. Think.

Minutes pass.

You glance at the clock.

You already said you’d come. But your legs don’t move.

They’ll be fine without you.

They already are.

You hear them downstairs—Ellie’s voice, soft and joking, and Dina’s laugh echoing close behind it. The sound used to make you feel warm. Now it makes your stomach uneasy.

You were supposed to go with them.

You’d said you would.

Instead, you stay holed up in your room when you said you were going to get ready.

You don’t slam the door. Don’t stomp your way out. Just disappear quietly, bag still packed, shoes still by the door.

By the time Ellie knocks on the door to you room, your blankets are already wrapped around you, your body curled in tight, your face pressed toward the wall.

“Hey,” she says through the door. “We’re leaving in ten. You ready?”

You wait a beat, then croak back a response—carefully strained, just hoarse enough.

“Not feeling great.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for you to picture her standing there, frowning.

“You sick?”

You hesitate. “My side’s acting up. Feels like the stitches might’ve pulled.”

Another pause.

You know she doesn’t believe you.

But all she says is, “Okay. Get some rest, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hear her footsteps move down the hall. Then another voice, lower—Jesse’s.

You can’t make out the words, but you hear Ellie respond, quiet.

Then the door closes behind them.

You close your eyes and try not to feel like a coward.

Jesse knocks later that morning. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… there.

You don’t answer right away, but eventually you sigh and walk downstairs only to crack the door open.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the frame, hands in his jacket pockets. “Ellie asked me to check on you. Said you weren’t feelin’ great.”

You nod once. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He studies you for a second, not pushing. Then tilts his head toward the hallway.

“Wanna go for a walk? Just around the block. Get some fresh air and all that.”

You hesitate. You’re still in your sleep clothes. Your hair’s a mess. But the idea of staying in this room another second makes your chest ache.

So you nod.

You don’t say much at first as you walk—just the crunch of gravel underfoot and the soft rustle of wind through bare trees. Jackson is quieter in the mornings. The streets still waking up, the air still cold.

Eventually, Jesse breaks the silence.

“So,” he says. “Ellie and Dina, huh?”

You snort, bitter. “Subtle.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got eyes.”

You glance over at him. “You okay?”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Define okay.”

You walk a little further, the quiet stretching between you.

“I don’t even think they realize what they’re doing,” you say finally.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s the worst part, isn’t it?”

You stop near the old porch by the trading post. The one where you used to sit with Ellie. You lower yourself onto the steps, careful with your side, and Jesse sits beside you.

“I keep telling myself I’m reading into it,” you murmur. “That it’s nothing. That they’re just friends. But it feels like… like she’s slipping away from me. And I can’t stop it.”

Jesse’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Dina and I ended for a reason. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Watching her look at someone else like that.”

You nod, eyes on the frost-glazed railing in front of you. “She used to look at me like that.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just sits with you, shoulder brushing yours.

After a while, you look over at him. “Do you ever wish you could just… forget how it felt? Before?”

Jesse exhales. “Yeah. Every day.”

You both sit there in silence. It’s not comforting. Not exactly. But it’s understanding—a quiet, heavy ache that neither of you has to explain.

He doesn’t reach for your hand. You don’t lean into him.

But something shifts between you anyway.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something.

After Jesse leaves your at home that day, you don’t leave the house for two more.

You tell Maria you’re still not feeling well. That the wound in your side aches more than usual. She doesn’t push. You’re grateful for that.

But really, the wound had healed enough for you to live normally a week ago, so it wasn’t pain. It’s the ache somewhere further in. Somewhere you can’t bandage.

You think about Ellie and Dina, the way their voices had sounded in the living room. The softness. The comfort. The ease.

You think about how Ellie used to sound like that with you.

You try not to let it feel like betrayal. They never promised you anything. But it’s hard not to resent how easy it was for Ellie to drift from your orbit into someone else's.

Harder still not to resent yourself for letting her go without saying anything.

Every time you imagine her looking at Dina the way she used to look at you, something inside your chest pulls tight. You want to scream, or cry, or disappear—but you just lie there instead. Motionless under too many blankets.

By the third day, you finally leave.

But you're not ready to see Ellie. You can’t. Not yet.

So you go looking for Jesse.

He’s sitting outside the stables, sharpening his knife with that quiet focus he always has. He glances up when he hears your boots.

“Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

You give him a half-smile. “You got room for a recluse?”

He pats the spot beside him, and you sit.

For a while, you say nothing. The knife scrapes softly over the whetstone, rhythmic and familiar. The sounds of Jackson move around you—voices, wind, the creak of a barn door. But here, next to him, it feels like a small, safe corner of the world.

Eventually, you speak.

“She’s with her now.”

Jesse doesn't ask who. He just nods once, still sharpening. “Yeah.”

“I feel like I’m watching someone get picked second in a race I didn’t know I entered.”

Jesse exhales slowly through his nose. “You think that’s bad, try being the guy who did come first, and still lost her.”

You glance at him.

He finally sets the knife down, rubbing his thumb across the blade like he’s not even sure what he’s feeling.

“She loved me once,” he says. “I really think she did. But I guess it just ran out. Maybe it wasn’t enough. Or maybe I wasn’t.”

You stare at your hands. “Do you think we’re just... placeholders?”

“For what?”

“For people who are braver than we are.”

Jesse doesn’t answer.

Instead, he offers you his flask.

You take a sip, wincing. It burns. You pass it back.

It becomes a thing.

It wasn’t meant to be anything.

Just another night where you ended up at Jesse’s because the silence in your own house was too loud. You’d both had long days, and somehow—somehow—it just felt easier to be around someone who didn’t ask too many questions.

The two of you sat on the porch, sharing the last of a bottle of something you didn’t recognize, watching the stars blink above Jackson’s skyline.

“She laughs different now,” Jesse murmured. “Dina. When she’s with Ellie.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes on the stars. “I think I used to make her laugh like that.”

You didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, “Ellie doesn’t look at me the way she looks at her.”

Jesse passed you an old bottle of whiskey. You took a long sip, coughing after the heat of the alcohol slips down your throat.

“You know what sucks?” he said after a moment. “They don’t even realize what they’re doing.”

You smiled, but it was bitter. “That’s what makes it worse.”

At some point, you ended up leaning against him. At some point, your head dropped to his shoulder. You didn’t remember when. Only that his breath was steady, his arm warm where it rested behind your back.

He didn’t try to kiss you.

You kind of wished he had.

It had become a sort of routine to hang out with Jesse now. Almost like what you and Ellie had. Almost. You woke up on his couch, wrapped in a blanket you didn’t remember pulling over yourself. Jesse was already up, sitting on the floor with a bowl of cereal and watching an old movie on mute.

“You snore,” he said, glancing over.

You made a face. “You lie.”

He grinned. “A little.”

You sat beside him on the floor, shoulder to shoulder again, sharing the silence.

It wasn’t romantic. Not really.

But there was something there. A tether. A shared ache. Something that made you feel less alone, even if it wasn’t love.

Jesse offered you the spoon.

You took it.

Over the next week, you started spending more time at Jesse’s place. Not because you were trying to build something, but because you didn’t know where else to go.

It had been one of those days.

You’d spotted Ellie and Dina by the gates earlier—laughing about something, heads tilted close. The kind of closeness that didn’t need explanation anymore. The kind that used to be yours, at least in part, before everything changed.

They didn’t see you watching. Or maybe they did and just didn’t call out.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You ended up at Jesse’s without even thinking about it.

He opened the door and didn’t ask any questions. Just stepped aside, like he always did, like you belonged there.

You sat on his couch with a drink you didn’t finish, legs curled up beneath you, jacket still on. Jesse sat beside you, close but not too close, elbows resting on his knees, eyes on the floor.

It was quiet for a while.

Then Jesse spoke. “You ever feel like you’re grieving something that never even happened?”

You blinked, startled by the words, but they landed too neatly in your chest for you to dismiss them.

“Yeah,” you said. “All the time.”

He didn’t look at you, but his voice was softer now. “I used to think Dina was my person, you know? Like even if we didn’t make it, she’d still… be mine in some way.”

You nodded. “And now she’s not.”

He looked at you finally. “And now Ellie’s not yours.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You stared at each other for a beat too long. The kind of pause that’s filled with all the things neither of you wants to admit out loud. All the things you’ve both been carrying quietly, side by side.

You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was both of you at the same time. Maybe it had been building since that first night when you stayed over and the two of you sat shoulder-to-shoulder under a shared silence and a frayed blanket of hurt.

His mouth met yours with a kind of careful hesitation, like he wasn’t sure this was a good idea but couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

The kiss was slow. Warm. It didn’t spark fireworks behind your eyes or set your skin on fire. But it settled something in you. Quieted the noise. Filled the space, just for a moment.

You sighed into it, and Jesse’s hand cupped the side of your jaw like he meant it. Like maybe he needed it just as much.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his.

Neither of you said anything.

Because you both knew it wasn’t about falling in love.

It was about needing someone to see you. To understand what it meant to be left behind.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

That night, you didn’t sleep well.

Jesse’s couch wasn’t exactly made for two, but somehow you both stayed there—limbs tangled beneath a fuzzy blanket, his hand resting lightly on your hip, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that but didn’t want to move.

You were the first to wake.

The light slipping through the slats of the blinds painted pale stripes across the hardwood. His breathing was slow and steady beside you, lips slightly parted, hair tousled from sleep.

It should’ve felt strange.

But it didn’t.

Not really.

Instead, it felt like something inevitable. Like reaching for a jacket you knew would still smell like home, even if it didn’t quite fit right anymore.

You stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about the night before—the kiss, the silence afterward, the way neither of you had tried to explain it. You didn’t want to.

It wasn’t about love. Not yet. Not ever.

But it was something.

It was someone choosing you, even in the smallest way. And right now, that was more than you’d had in a long time.

After the kiss, you didn’t talk about it. Didn’t need to because things just… changed.

You stayed over more. Jesse started bringing you extra rations without asking. You found a scarf of his in your coat pocket one morning and didn’t bother to return it.

He walked you home a few nights later, said goodnight a little too softly, eyes lingering. You kissed him again. No buildup. No hesitation. Just comfort wrapped in someone else’s mouth.

There weren’t labels. No official “thing.” But he’d touch the back of your hand when you stood too close. He started saving you a seat at the Tipsy Bison. He started showing up at your patrol gate early—quiet, patient, waiting.

It didn’t take long before people noticed.

You heard them first in passing. Quiet remarks over drinks. A few raised brows at the trading post. Nothing cruel, just… curious.

“She’s with Jesse now?”

“They seem close, huh?”

“Didn’t he used to date her sister?”

Jackson was small. Words traveled faster than horses. But you didn’t confirm or deny anything. Neither did Jesse. You didn’t have to.

You didn’t owe anyone that.

Still, when Ellie found you behind the stables that afternoon—alone, finally, after three days of the two of you skirting around each other—you knew it was coming.

The stable yard was quiet that evening—overcast and still, the kind of sky that made everything feel heavier than it was. You were brushing down one of the horses, not because you had to, but because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands anymore.

You heard Ellie before you saw her. That familiar shuffle of boots on gravel. The slight hitch in her breath, like she wasn’t sure she should be here at all.

You didn’t look up.

“Is it true?” she said, voice steady but low. “You and Jesse?”

You slowed your brush, thumb pressing into the horse’s neck before you finally turned.

She was standing a few feet away, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes on the ground. Like even asking the question had taken something out of her.

You shrugged. “I guess.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed. “You guess?”

“It’s not a secret,” you said. “People are talking.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not what I meant.”

You leaned back against the stall, arms crossed. “Then what did you mean?”

Ellie looked at you then—really looked. Her gaze sharp but unsure, like she was trying to read something in your face that you weren’t letting her see.

“I just... didn’t expect it to be him.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Shrugged. “You two didn’t seem like…”

“Like what?” you pressed.

Ellie exhaled, frustrated. “Like each other’s type.”

That made something twist in your chest.

You gave a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe we’re just the right kind of wrong.”

She looked down again. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and fraying.

You swallowed. “He gets it, you know?”

Ellie looked up, eyebrows pulling together.

“He listens,” you said. “Doesn’t try to fix anything. Doesn’t make it complicated.”

Ellie was quiet for a beat. Then: “It’s just... weird, I guess.”

“Weird?” you repeated.

“You and him. Together. After everything.”

You nodded slowly, gaze slipping away. “A lot of things feel weird lately.”

Ellie shifted on her feet. “So... are you happy?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched the horse flick its ears, unbothered.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m trying to be.”

Ellie didn’t say anything after that.

She just stood there for another moment, like she was waiting for something else—something you weren’t going to give her. Then she gave a quick nod, almost to herself, and turned to leave.

You watched her go, throat tight. The weight of everything unspoken hanging thick in the air behind her.

Not angry. Not sad.

Just... unfinished.

And maybe that was the worst part.

A week later you had patrol with Ellie again.

It was one of those warm spring mornings where the frost had finally given up and the air smelled like wet grass and fresh pine. You and Ellie were back on patrol together for the first time in weeks. Not part of a larger group. Not squeezed into a three-person team with Dina. Just the two of you again. Like before.

You tried not to read into it.

Tried not to let it mean more than it did.

Your horses clopped along the worn trail that wound past the edge of Jackson’s outer perimeter. Birdsong hummed through the trees. No infected, no alerts, no talking for the first hour.

Just quiet.

Then Ellie spoke, her voice low. “Kinda forgot what this feels like.”

You glanced over. “What?”

“This. Just us.”

You shrugged, but there was a smile trying to sneak its way across your face. “Yeah. Me too.”

She glanced at you sideways. “You’ve been... quiet lately.”

“Noticed that, huh?”

Ellie smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I notice a lot.”

You didn’t say anything. Just kept your eyes on the trail.

She clicked her tongue, nudging her horse ahead slightly. “You mad at me?”

That stopped you. You pulled your horse up next to hers again.

“No,” you said. Too fast. Then, quieter: “I don’t think so.”

She nodded, slow. “Okay.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t as heavy this time.

Later, you both stopped by a shallow creek to refill your canteens. She sat on a flat rock, rolling a blade of grass between her fingers. You crouched nearby, watching the current twist through smooth stones.

“I miss this,” she said eventually, voice barely above the wind.

You didn’t ask what she meant. Because you knew.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

And for a little while, it felt like nothing had changed.

You talked. You laughed. She nudged your boot with hers while you passed the last protein bar back and forth like old times.

It didn’t fix anything.

But it dulled the ache. Just for a little while.

when you both returned, Maria informed you of your chores for the next day: Sorting the old clothes in the community center. Jesse also had to help.

The morning light poured into the community center through slanted windows, catching the dust in slow, gold streaks. You and Jesse sat on the floor surrounded by half-sorted piles of clothes, tasked with organizing donations for the upcoming festival. There were jackets, skirts, a few things too moth-eaten to be worth keeping, and someone’s tragic attempt at sewing lace into a pair of jeans.

Ellie showed up late, as usual—damp curls still clinging to her temples from a rushed shower, sleeves pushed up, boots scuffed and muddy.

“No way you’re actually helping,” you said when she wandered in.

She raised her eyebrows. “I come bearing sarcasm and zero work ethic. You should be honored.”

You smirked, tossing her a wrinkled flannel that hit her in the face. She caught it and plopped down beside Jesse, already picking through the nearest pile.

After a minute or two, she spoke up. “So... I heard Maria's pulling the whole dance thing together again.”

You looked up from where you were folding a denim jacket. “Thought that was off this year.”

Ellie shrugged. “Guess they changed their minds. ‘Celebrate survival,’ or whatever.”

Jesse made a face, holding up a dress with sequins dangling off it. “Guess I better bust out my party vest.”

Ellie smirked, but then her eyes flicked to you. “You going?”

You hesitated, folding slower. “Maybe.”

She nodded. “You should.”

Her voice was even. Too even. You couldn’t tell if it meant anything or if you just wanted it to.

Jesse gave you a little nudge with his elbow, a quiet nudge like he was watching the way you watched her.

Ellie’s gaze didn’t linger. She went back to the clothes pile, like she hadn’t just left something behind in the air between you.

A few more dys passed like a blur. That’s how most days passed now that Ellie was hanging out with you less and less.

You left your house in the morning to take a walk, maybe catch up with Jesse since he was sort of your boyfriend. A day like any normalish one.

The sun was high and hot when you got sidetracked. Ended up making your way to the training field, notebook tucked under your arm. You told yourself you were there to write, maybe clear your head. But the real reason was already swinging a wooden staff at your sister.

Dina and Ellie were sparring near the fence line, kicking up dust as they circled each other. Ellie laughed when Dina faked left and struck right, catching her lightly on the ribs.

You sat on the grass, pretending to focus on your notebook. The pages stayed mostly blank.

Jesse found you a few minutes later, dropped down beside you with a sigh and a grunt. “They’ve been at it all morning. Bet you five ration slips Dina ends up with a bruise.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m not betting against Dina. That’s a death wish.”

Dina won the next round with a low sweep that knocked Ellie on her ass. They both laughed—loud and breathless—and Ellie offered her hand from the ground, which Dina took without hesitation.

You tried not to watch too hard.

When they finally came over, sweat-slick and grinning, Dina pulled the tie from her ponytail and fluffed her hair out.

“You coming to the dance?” she asked.

You blinked. “Uh... yeah. I think so.”

Ellie stood beside her, arms crossed, cheeks still flushed. “You should. It’ll be fun.”

Her voice was light. Easy. Like the two of you hadn’t been slowly drifting for weeks.

“Yeah,” you gave her the same answer as last time. “I’ll think about it.”

They nodded. Dina grabbed her water bottle from the bench and tossed it to Ellie.

You watched them laugh about something you couldn’t hear.

And when Jesse leaned over and said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you didn’t answer.

Because part of you did.

And part of you really, really didn’t.

After an hour of just staring at a blank page in your journal and talking to Jesse, you decided to go. Jesse followed, you kept talking to each other,

You ended up back at his place again.

Jesse’s house always smelled like pinewood and laundry detergent—simple, easy, safe. The couch creaked when you sat down, blanket still tangled from the last time you were here. A half-eaten protein bar sat on the side table, next to a wrinkled copy of some book he’d been pretending to read for weeks.

You curled into the corner with your knees tucked under you, letting the silence between you fill the room like steam. Jesse moved around the kitchen, boiling water for tea like he always did when you dropped by. He didn’t ask why you were quiet tonight. He never did.

“You decided what you’re wearing yet?” he asked casually, from behind the counter.

You frowned. “For what?”

He stuck his head out, eyebrows raised like you were the one forgetting something. “The dance?”

“Oh. Right.”

You hadn’t forgotten. Not really.

Just didn’t want to think about it.

“Not sure,” you said, fingers picking at a loose thread on your sweater. “Maybe that blue dress. The one with the ripped hem.”

Jesse leaned against the doorway leading to the living room, mug in hand. “That thing? It’s practically a war relic.”

You smiled faintly. “It’s got character.”

“Yeah, and probably tetanus.”

You laughed—soft and genuine, even if it faded too quickly.

He walked over, set your tea down on the small coffee table by your arm rest, and dropped on the seat beside you. His knee brushed yours. You flinched but didn’t move.

“You gonna go with anyone?” he asked after a moment of silence.

You looked at him, confused. “Why? You jealous?”

He smirked. “Only if you leave me to suffer alone.”

You hesitated. “You asking?”

He shrugged, looking at the wall instead of you. “I mean… people already know we’re something, right? Might as well lean into it.

You were quiet for a moment, your heart ticking slowly through the pause.

“Is that what this is?” you asked, softly. “Us leaning into it?”

He turned his head head then, eyes meeting yours. There was something honest there. SOmething raw. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You looked down at your mug. The tea was too hot to drink. “Yeah. Okay.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, “We don’t have to keep this a thing. Doesn’t have to be real real.”

“But it kind of does,” you murmured. “Right?”

He didn’t answer. Just bumped your shoulder with his, eyes warm.

“It’s something,” he said. “That’s gotta count for something.”

You nodded slowly, but there was a hollow space in your chest where the warmth should’ve landed. Because you knew what this was. What you were doing. And it wasn’t fair—not to him, not to yourself.

But he let you bet quiet.

He let you sit there without need to explain the ache inside you. And in the absence of everything you couldn’t have, that meant something too.\

Not love. But something.

After Jesse asked you to the dance, you started working on your dress.

The fabric had come from the donation pile in the community center—old rags that weren’t too stained or torn, the ones that somehow made it through without blood soaking through the seams. You picked through it slow, hands shaking a little as you tried to find enough of the same shade. A soft, dark green, just enough leftover from an old certain and a couple of dresses no one claimed.

The design comes together in pieces, trial and error. A few of the older women around town helped with the top—they show you how to make the bodice snug but not stiff, how to stitch the neckline just right so it frances your collarbones without slipping. One of them lets you borrow a needle sharp enough to thread through the thickest layers. Another hands you a tiny packet of mother-of-pearl buttons with a wink.

It’s not fancy. Not perfect.

But when you slip it on for the first time—a square neckline, long puffed sleeves that flow to the wrists, a fitted wait that flare gently in to a full skirt that nearly touches the ground—it feels like something you made for a version of yourself you used to dream about.

The kind of dress you might’ve worn in another life. A life you probably shared with someone who loved you.

You looked in the cracked mirror of your room, barefoot on the wooden floor, and almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Not quite beautiful.

But soft. Gentle.

You ran your hands down the sides of fabric, smoothing it out like it matters. Like you’re preparing for something.

You wore it for a while. Just… stood there. Twirled a little. Imagined things you knew would never be true.

Then, quietly, you took it off. Folded it carefully, like it was something sacred. Traded it for regular clothes—jeans, a hoodie. Something that made you feel less exposed. Less vulnerable.

You found Jesse outside the kids’ school building, leaning back on the bench like he had nowhere to be.

When he saw you coming, you didn’t say anything. Just held the dress up by the sleeves, letting it drape in the air like a flag. His eyes went a little wide.

“Whoa,” he said, standing up straighter. “That’s what you’ve been working on these past few weeks?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He whistled, low under his breath, stepping forward to get a closer look. “You made this? Like, from scratch?”

“Well… sorta. Pieced it together. Got help with the top,” you shrugged, not really knowing how to take the praise. “The fabric’s from the donation pile.”

“It looks pretty nice,” Jesse said, genuine. “You’re gonna kill it at the dance.”

You smiled a little. Just a small one. “Thanks.”

A small moment of silence. Then—

“Have you shown Ellie and Dina yet?”

You shook your head. “Was just about to.”

He nodded, pointing vaguely toward the park. “Think they’re at the playground.”

You walked the path you’d taken a hundred times, the dress bundled close in your arms like gold.

The sun dipped low, casting gold across the swings and the slides. You spotted them before they spotted you—Ellie sat on the edge of a stair, Dina stood beside her, bracing herself on a rail as they laughed at something.

You slowed your steps, about to call out for them.

Then you heard it.

“So…” Ellie murmured, voice light, a little unsure. “You wanna… go to the dance with me?”

Dina laughed—soft and teasing. “Ellie Williams, are you asking me out?”

Ellie snorted, and a cheesy smile formed on her lips. “Maybe.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Like she’d been waiting to say it.

Dina hummed, drawing it out. “Huh. Took you long enough.”

And then a pause—high laughter. Easy. Warm.

“Yeah,” Dina said. “I’ll go with you.”

Some more joking. Something about matching flannels or who was going to lead when they danced.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You turned around, fingers tightening around the sleeves of your dress. You didn’t even try to show them. Just kept walking. Head down. The warmth of the sun suddenly too much.

You made it home without crying.

Almost.

It was only when you hung the dress back up, alone in your room, that the weight of it all hit you. You sat on the floor and pressed the fabric of the sleeves to your face, trying to breathe through it like that’d stop the tears. It didn’t.

You cried a little. Just a quiet, exhausted kind of cry. The kind where your chest hurt but you didn’t make a sound.

Jesse showed up not long after, knocking once before stepping inside like he knew you wouldn’t answer. He saw your face, saw the puffiness around your eyes, and didn’t say anything dumb or cheerful. He just sat next to you on the floor.

You didn’t even have to explain. You knew he knew.

He nudged your shoulder with his. “They’re dumb.”

You sniffled. “You didn’t even hear what happened.”

“I don’t need to.”

You laughed a little, wet and weak. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

He didn’t fix it. He couldn’t. But he stayed. That was enough, for a little while.

The next morning, you tried. You really did. Dragged yourself out of bed, pulled your hair into something halfway decent. Headed into town and browsed the market with your hands buried in your pockets.

There wasn’t anything you really needed. But maybe—just maybe—something small could help. A ribbon, a little bit of makeup, some old perfume someone had dug out from storage.

You wandered the stalls, eyes glazed over, half-listening to vendors talk about their wares. It was crowded, but you felt a million miles away. You walked home with a few things in a paper bag and nothing in your chest but that same dull ache.

The day of the dance, you didn’t move.

You lay in bed, curled on your side, staring at the dress where it hung on your closet door. Light filtered through the windows, shifting with the hours, but you didn’t shift with it.

The knock on your door came just before sunset.

“Still breathing in there?”

You groaned into your pillow. “Go away.”

“Nope.”

You heard the creak of the door, the familiar weight of his boots against the floor.

“I brought snacks.”

You didn’t look. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s okay. I brought snacks for me.”

You rolled over just enough to peek at him. He stood there with two granola bars and a paper cup that definitely came from the Tipsy Bison. His hair was still wet like he’d showered in a rush, his shirt a little wrinkled. He looked clean, though. Soft around the edges.

“Bribery?” you asked, voice hoarse.

“Desperation,” he said with a shrug. “You’re not skipping. You spent weeks on that dress.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “I don’t wanna go.”

“I know.”

He didn’t argue with you. Didn’t try to hype you up or tell you you’d feel better once you got there. He just sat at the edge of your bed, sipping from the paper cup.

After a while, he spoke again. “Let me help?”

You didn’t answer, but you sat up.

Getting ready was slow. Quiet. Your limbs felt like they didn’t belong to you. Jesse moved through your room carefully, like he didn’t want to break anything.

He pulled your chair out from your desk, sat you down, and stood behind you.

“You look like hell,” he said gently.

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks.”

“Hell with good bone structure, though.”

You cracked a tiny smile, even as he picked up your hairbrush and carefully worked through the knots. He wasn’t great at it. He winced every time you did.

“Should’ve just cut it all off,” you muttered.

“Blasphemy.”

When he finished brushing, he handed you a little tin of lip color you’d picked up at the market. You dabbed some on, just enough to tint. Nothing too much.

Jesse glanced over your shoulder at the mirror. “You sure you’re not trying to look cute for me?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright. Just checking,” he said, hands raised in surrender.

You slipped behind the door of your closet and pulled on the dress. It felt heavier tonight. Not in a bad way. Just… different. You did the zipper yourself halfway before stepping out.

“Turn around,” you said.

He did, automatically.

You reached for the small mirror by your dresser, trying not to think about anything too hard while you pinned up part of your hair. Jesse’s reflection stood in the background, pretending to study a lamp like it had great architectural significance.

When you finally said, “Okay,” he turned back around.

He looked at you for a second too long.

“You look nice,” he said, voice softer than before.

“Shut up.”

He offered you his arm, same as always. Not for romance. Just to keep you steady.

You took it.

By the time you reached the festival, the sky was already dark, dotted with stars. Lights were strung across the square, music drifting through the air. Laughter. Movement. People dancing in the grass and weaving through the food stalls, hands full of cider and roasted foods.

It was… fine. For now.

Jesse tugged you gently forward.

“C’mon. Let’s just see where the night takes us.”

tag list: @vahnilla @liasxeatt @elliesactualgirlfriend @willurms @robinphobia @smaugayra @wrappedinvines @starfire1008 @eriiwaiii2 @piercedome @modernvenuss

for those of y'all who asked for a happy ending oopsies (theres still going to be a part 3) but i hope yall enjoyed :D

#tlou ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x fem reader #tlou 2 #tlou

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beggamoth · 2 months ago

Text

To Wed A Dragon

summary | Viserys I Targaryen, being geopolitical genius he is, arranges a marriage between his dangerously serpentine second son Aemond and a wildling of pure First Men blood: the elusive Omega daughter Daemon left rotting in Runestone. It’s all bread and circuses and targcest.

pairing | alpha!!aemond targaryen x omega!!reader with implied social anxiety

parts | 1 2 3

tags | TW!!! OMEGAVERSE!!! not proofread. slowburn (sort of). very chopped english. consists of aemond’s journals. yes, this man journals and draws in margins while giggling and kicking his feet. I accidentally OOCed him so hard I made him a teenage girl. we all kinda forget that he’s technically in his late teens and his frontal lobe is still developing that’s where all dumb decisions are coming from

wordcount | 2,5k

any kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

7th Moon of 127 AC.

I have been promised a wife.

No, not offered - that would imply a choice of any kind, a market stall romance, where I pick a ripe fruit and bite until I get to the sweet pulp, or simply refuse. I was assigned to her as one might be assigned a steward, a bannerman, a new dagger for ceremonial guttings.

And not just anyone, but the current Lady Royce.

The only daughter of Daemon Targaryen and the late Rhea Royce. The Vale's very own afterthought. They put it as unsullied, unspoiled. Apparently, undefeated in the art of vanishing into walls. She has spent her entire life in the Vale, which is to say she has lived as a shadow among shadows. I was told she is ‘clever’ and very ‘fond of reading’ which is what they always say about women who have read too many books to be safely married off.

Other than that, there are no reliable sources of information about my future wife. She has made no public appearances outside Vale. There are no scandalous rumors, no bards’ songs written about her, and not even a small locket portrait.

Nothing. This should be concerning, but instead I find it invigorating. Mystery is the one luxury my station rarely affords. Everything else—titles, dragons, destinies—I inherited or conquered. But this?

This is a locked door. A dark corridor. A question without an answer.

I would’ve been offended but this. But truly—what is nobility if not the art of being unapproachable?

Aegon called it a “divine punishment.” Almost wept while five fingers deep in his goblet. Said I was being shipped off to “fuck a deer in the mountains” as though he hadn't bedded worse in Flea Bottom and paid for that.

As if he understands.

A wife unseen is a strategy untold. She might be a beast or beauty. Insipid or shrewd. Unbearable or invisible. She might very well despise me—and so what of it?

Let her tremble behind stone. I will come. I will look upon her. And I will know how to shape her.

10th Moon of 127 AC.

I have met her.

Lady [name] Royce—named like some tragic mythic heroine who throws herself into rivers over men who aren’t worth the drowning—exists.

She has limbs. A face. Breath. She arrived to the Keep three days later than she was supposed to, swaddled in the gray wool like mourning incarnate with unremarkable bronze brooch with the ornaments of her house, with exactly four retainers, two books, and one expression—inconvenienced disdain.

I reached for her hand to plant a chaste kiss at the back of her palm under the watchful eye of the court, but she recoiled. Openly. As if I had poison on my lips.

And curtsied. Too low. Then, as if it would suffice for the proper greeting, she curtsied again, until her skirts dragged on the ground.

And immediately walked away, no, fled – as if she’s caught a stomach bug. No ‘hello’, no ‘My prince’, she’s just run away with a face of someone preparing to be run over by a cart but hoping it’s a fast one, while her handmaids followed her.

During her first day in the Keep I safely assumed she was:

Unfriendly: She barely looked at me, and when she did, her expression resembled that of someone inspecting spoiled meat. A rather tragic display of poor manners and poorer breeding.

Haughty: She kept her chin raised and her answers curt. When I asked whether she fancied poetry, she responded with: “Not when it rhymes.” Barbarism.

Possibly slow-witted: Her replies to the simple questions always come late, like a letter lost in the post. When I asked if she’d had a good journey, she said: “There was a dead stag on the road. The crows had eaten its eyes.” What in the Seven hells was I supposed to do with that?

Actually—and this I came to realize by the second day—She isn't stupid or arrogant. She's anxious. =Pathologically so. The kind of anxiety that makes you forget how to sit like a human.

She is always clutching her sleeves. Always two seconds late in responding, like it takes her tremendous effort to collect thoughts nervously scattering across her skull. She flinches when addressed directly. She chews the inside of her cheek so often I suspect she may one day bite it off entirely

She annoys the fuck out of me.

And yet—

There is something bewitching in how terribly bad she is at all of this. Like a creature raised underground, suddenly dragged into torchlight, blinking like it’s about to be punished for existing

And I am to marry this... conundrum.

Not even a wild thing. Wild things fight. She doesn’t even seem to think she’s supposed to be real, let alone have some claws.

There’s something irritatingly compelling about it.

I’ve seen men get severely maimed with more grace than she handled a compliment.

She is not what I wanted. She is not what I imagined.

But what I gain is all that matters: Runestone. A keep of my own. Vassals. Land. All mine to command.

A proving ground. A canvas.

If my lady prefers living as a shadow among shadows instead of handling the most basic of human interactions, which is less than a bare minimum for the lady of her station, then I’ll gladly take the burden of ruling in her stead.

This marriage is not a joining of hearts, but of worth. I will become Lord Consort of the Vale’s oldest house and let Daemon spit venom over it.

Let the Lord of Fealbottom rot in Rhaenyra’s little soap kingdom while I, the second son, the maimed, the marked, the maligned—rule.

[margin sketch]

A hastily drawn caricature of Lady [Name] Royce:

Big owl eyes. Tiny, shivering mouth. Hands raised in eternal half-apology. Speech bubble reads: “Um-m”

Labeled: “Lady [Name] of House Sorry.”

10th Moon, Continued — Post-Dinner Entry, written by candlelight and righteous indignation

Tonight was our first shared meal. A private dinner. Intimate, ceremonial, profoundly awkward. Mother insisted we “get to know each other in peace,” which in practice meant a room stuffed with tapestries depicting obscene amount of naked people and exactly two servants who might as well have been executioners for all the tension in the air.

The table stretched between us like a battlefield. She took the other end, as though the space between us could be colonized by silence.

And yet—I could feel her watching me.

Not like a maiden watches her betrothed with shy interest, nor like a courtier observes a prize to be won.

No. It was far stranger.

She glared.

Unblinking. Grim. Purposeful.

Not coquettish or bashful. Not hateful. Just... a stare with weight. Like she was trying to solve me with her eyes and growing very disappointed at the result.

She did not touch the roast. Only picked at a barley cake with tragic resignation.

When asked about the Vale’s northern passes, she said, “They’re cold,” and refused to elaborate.

When asked if she had ridden a dragon before, she said, “No. I don’t like heights or animals who can potentially swallow people.”

When I told a rather clever anecdote about the dying words of a Qohor philosopher, she snorted.

(Not laughed. Snorted. Like a stable boy who’d just heard a fart joke.)

At one point, I attempted civility. I leaned slightly forward and said, in my most gracious tone:

“You keep glaring at me. Do I offend your sensibilities?”

She blinked slowly, as if just now realizing she had a face and it was doing something.

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking.”

What a maddening sentence. She was thinking. I could see the cogs turning, rusted and bristling. But what she meant was: I didn’t realize I was looking at you like you’re a centipede with two legs and blindfold.

An academic approach to the topic of glaring.

In lesser men, like Aegon, the intensity of her stare might’ve provoked fear or flight. But I am a dragon in a man’s skin. I do not run from a pair of eyes that might blink too rarely.

Still, it is worth noting that she never looked at the servants. Never glanced around the room. She stared at her plate. Her sleeves. Me. As if attention, once given, must be locked in place like a punishment.

I suspect—this is a theory—she is not afraid of people. She is afraid of being seen.

The idea that someone might observe her, interpret her, assign her value. That is the horror.

And that is fascinating.

[margin sketch]

Lady [name], hunched over a plate. Above her: thought bubble that reads “Can’t believe I’m being perceived again.”

Caption: “The Hostage Dines.”

11th Moon of 127 AC, in the still hours when even the gods avert their eyes. With a lot of ink stains and deliberate (?) misspells.

Let us address something.

I had hoped. I had, despite all reason, assumed that Daemon’s bloodline—despite its tendency to act like spilled wine on a very stained tablecloth—would leave some visible trace in her.

I imagined silver hair. Violet eyes. High cheekbones and that half-feral Targaryen toothy smirk that says: yes, my family tree looks like a wheel and I’m proud of that.

Instead—

Well, she is not ugly. Lady [name] Royce is—by the standards of men who notice such things—comely. That is the word I choose because it is aggressively neutral. A word with all the erotic tension of day-old porridge. She is not beautiful, not as Aegon defines it (bosomy and all giggles and blushes), nor is she striking like Rhaenyra was at her height, all molten gaze and battlefield charisma.

No.

Instead—

Earthy. Common.

That breed of plain-featured beauty. Broad of brow and warm of eye. That particular kind of non-Valyrian softness that makes people think they’re being comforted when they’re being lied to.

It’s not her fault, of course. She did not choose to be born looking like this. But this is offensive.

I should be marrying a Targaryen goddess. A silver-haired priestess of flame. Not some rustic scribbler’s daughter who looks like she gets nosebleeds when overwhelmed.

I can already see the court’s laughter, though it simmers behind tight lips.

“The one with the eye and the temper? He wed the girl with the library tan and the commoner eyes.”

Do they think I’ll breed heirs with that blood? Do they think my sons will come out brown-haired and morally grounded?

I REFUSE.

If she does not carry my look, then at least she must carry my will. I will Targaryen her by force of proximity. Let her birth children whose dragonblood will run hot, not earthbound Roycelings who get nosebleeds when the bathwater is above lukewarm.

This is not what I wanted.

I had envisioned myself with a Valyrian bride to mirror me—a pale mirror, a prophecy’s consort. Someone who looked like she could breathe fire if you slighted her. Not a girl who apologizes to bread when she doesn’t finish it.

And yet—

I keep looking at her.

Why?

What game is this, where the prize repels you but still draws your gaze?

Is it that she defies me? Or worse: refuses to be impressed?

No matter.

I am Targaryen. She will conform. Or she will vanish into my shadow, and history will remember only me.

[margin sketch]

A tiny baby with his eye-patch and a mop of fluffy brown hair. The baby is saying: “Why don’t I have a dragon, Papa?”

Caption: “A legacy.”

12th Moon of 127 AC, the day of our official engagement — marked by ritual, pageantry, and something that I did not, could not, prepare for.

Today, the engagement rite was held.

In the Old Way, by scent, not just ceremony—Targaryen blood honors both gods and our ancient ways. This was not the wedding, no. But the marking—the exchange of scent to seal intention. It is binding in the eyes of dragonkind. A public declaration of private futures.

There was no music or septons. Viserys was wheeled in for the optics. I, Aemond, took my place beside the girl I will wed.

She wore black and brown. Of course she did. The Royce colors. Iron and bronze. And she looked… still. That’s the word. Still like a storm caught in wax. Hair plaited back, hands tucked into her sleeves.

The ritual was simple.

She leaned toward me first.

AND THEN—

The scent hit.

Maple. And something… else.

Something I cannot name.

Warm. Wet. Red, but not angry red.

Something like—

Like the throb before a wound breaks. Like blood still inside the body, waiting.

No. That’s wrong. Not blood. Not war.

Like want, made into vapor. The slow bloom of hunger where it ought not be. Sweet without being cloying. Ancient. Animal.

It hit the back of my throat and I staggered slightly—not visibly (never that)—but enough that I could feel my knees note the offense.

And my eye—

The pupil blew wide. I felt that.

Like a child’s.

Like a beast’s.

I did not speak for five full seconds.

My mouth may have opened. I refuse to confirm.

She looked at me—looked, not glanced, not fled—and there was a question in her face. Not smugness. Not curiosity. Some kind of half-formed panic. Like she had given too much away on accident.

But still,

It is tradition, after the Omega offers their scent, for the Alpha to reciprocate.

I leaned in, closer than I’d allowed myself to be near her since the very beginning. I saw the gentle slope of her nose. The twitch of her left eye, like a rabbit scenting predator.

I don’t know how I smelled to her.

I do not care.

I Do. Not.

But she swallowed, slow and hard, and her hands gripped the hem of her sleeves until the fabric strained.

Good.

Let her feel it, too.

Courtship begins now. Daily presence. Shared meals. Ritual observation. We are to be seen together. We are to be seen.

She left before the rest. Of course she did. Like a frightened bird who’d perched too long on the wrong windowsill.

But the scent lingers.

Gods.

It’s in my hair. My sleeves. My mouth. I want to name it. Categorize it. Find a metaphor.

I cannot, for all my experience and vocabulary. It is not wine. Not fire. Not snow or rain or steel.

It is her.

And worse—

I think I want it again.

[margin sketch]

A sketch of [name] Royce with her face deliberately oversimplified like a caricature, with swirly lines around her.

The title “The Smell???”

#aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction

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star-girl69 · 1 year ago

Text

I Can See You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you and clarisse work together to get revenge on a mutual enemy, but when that plan involves pretending to date clarisse, something better than revenge happens. requested by anonymous!

a/n: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE HOLY FRICK. the beginning is so bad and just like worldbuilding but i PROMISE!!!!! keep reading!!!!!! pls ignore the fact im reusing jackie and tyla i’m attached to them anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

I Can See You - Taylor Swift

(also Dress by tay was the original title soooo…..)

warnings: not proofread, the beginning is so bad i swear it gets better, a little suggestive haha…., kissing ofc, fake dating!!!!!!!!!, JEALOUS CLARISSE JEALOUS CLARISSE I REPEAT JEALOUS CLARISSE!!!!!!!, swearing, violence, mentions of murder!, protective clarisse the loml, ALCOHOL!!!!! reader gets drunk, allusions to sex, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT please be VERY careful, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“What the hell are you all doing?”

You had waited until nighttime for a reason, for the light of the full moon and hopefully some peace. You and your siblings looked up at the voice.

Xavier Bones was possibly the rudest and most self-centered person you had ever had the displeasure of meeting. His father was Ares, which made sense, seeing as he had a wicked temper and was strong as shit. Most of the kids from the Ares cabin could probably snap you like a stick if they wanted, but what scares you about Xavier is that he might actually do it.

He’s rude to everyone he sees, but he particularly has it out for the Aphrodite cabin. Just because Aphrodite kids didn’t have skill in battle like Ares kids, or aren’t wicked smart like Athena kids doesn’t mean they’re worthless. Xavier just didn’t understand anything except brute force.

He didn’t understand any other kind of power.

The whole reason you’re out here tonight is to finally finish the potion you’ve been making. Amokinesis was strictly a spoken sort of magic, and it was hard to do it to more than one person. But, you and your siblings had decided that maybe you could try and follow in the steps of sorceresses like Medea and Circe, using spelled objects and potions to execute your power. You had been collaborating with a Hecate kid for weeks now, learning everything you could about potion making until you were finally ready to try and make a simple truth potion- love and desire also opened the door to truth.

Aster, the daughter of Hecate who had been helping you, said it was a relatively easy first timer potion and hopefully with your Amokinesis it would come together.

You look up at Xavier, watching as he smiles in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re trying to make some sort of love potion, huh?” He sits down at the picnic table, curiously leaning in to look at it.

“Get back,” Jackie, your sibling, hisses waving her hand at him so he’ll back up.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, some glint in his eyes. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re wasting all this time, seeing as it probably won’t work.”

“Shut up, Xavier,” you sighed. You needed this bad. You needed to prove to everyone that love wasn’t a stupid power. You were so sick of Xavier, of everyone and their treatment of the Aphrodite cabin. Jackie wanted so desperately to learn how to use a spear, but no one would pay enough attention to her.

You need this.

“I thought you guys were supposed to be nice?”

You opt to ignore him.

“Hm, okay, definitely not nice. Good thing I’m not either.”

He spits his gum out and drops it straight into the cauldron.

“Fucking bitch!” Jackie screams, Tyla looks like she’s about to cry, and the wooden spoon you’re holding in your hands is about to crack under the pressure.

The potion changes an odd color, a murky brown.

“Oops,” he says.

He laughs and walks away, and you faintly wonder what happened to him to make him so cruel.

—-

The next morning you’re all stewing silently at breakfast. Jackie is glaring daggers at the Ares table, Tyla is ranting about how you need to get all the ingredients again, and you’re trying to listen and join Jackie at staring maliciously.

“I’m gonna murder him, I think.”

“I’ll help,” you murmur, favoring staring at your hands instead of being caught staring at him.

“Do you think Clarisse will let me borrow her spear? How much would that sting, getting killed by one of your Dad’s weapons, huh?”

“She probably would,” Tyla mumbles. “She hates him too, ever since he beat her sparring.”

You resist the urge to scoff. You were there that day, and Xavier had played dirty.

They were sparring, she was winning, when he suddenly pointed behind her and shouted that Ares was there. Of course, everyone had turned to look, and he had disarmed her and kicked her down while she was distracted.

Of course, the next day he was walking around sporting a black eye, but Clarisse had never lived that day down. Xavier had never lived that down, either, exactly why they’re sitting on opposite ends of the table now.

Jackie stares off into the distance. She lets out a small laugh.

“I have a horrible idea.”

“What if we make Xavier fall in love with one of us, right?”

You and Tyla both gag.

“Wait, wait! But then we just lead him on, and maybe Clarisse will do us a favor and pretend to date-”

Tyla snorts. “She would never do that.”

You remember seeing the anger on her face that day. The rage, really, the betrayal. But you remember seeing the sadness too. A part of her had really thought Ares was gonna be there. You remember feeling so, so bad for her.

No one should deserve to feel like that, but it comes with the territory of being a demigod.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

Tyla and Jackie stare at you like you’ve just cursed out Hades.

“I’ll do it. Tyla, no offense, but I think you’d crack under the pressure. And Jacks, you would just start punching him.”

“Yeah,” Tyla murmurs.

“I would,” Jackie agrees.

“I mean, it might actually work.”

—-

You corner her the next day.

She’s outside her cabin, practicing some spear forms when you walk over to her. This is all moving so fast, but you can’t help the fact that revenge is so fun. Why wait when you can get it now?

Revenge is supposed to be served best cold, but you’ve always been a little too handsy, a little too greedy for your own good. You want revenge and you want it now.

“Clarisse, hi.” You smile, she spares you a glance and doesn’t say anything. “I’m Y/N, you don’t know me but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

The spear stops in mid air. She moves from a offensive position to a standing position, and she looks you up and down so painfully slow that you think your organs are gonna burst.

“What?”

“So, you know Xavier?” you sit down on the picnic bench behind you. “I’m sure you know him, and I’m sure you know that he’s an asshole. He ruined something me and my siblings were doing, and he’s been so rude to all Aphrodite kids for so long so, we just wanna get him back.

She squints at you. “How?”

“We’re gonna use our amokinesis to make him fall in love with me, then maybe, hopefully, we can fake date to make him lose his mind.”

She stares at you blankly for a second. Your heart drops, oh, Gods, you never should have done this.

You’re gonna be the laughingstock of camp.

“‘Cause, you know, you both hate each others guts. And if he’s in love with me, but then he sees you and me together- it was this whole thing about making him see the power of love, you know, ‘cause like-”

She grabs you by your cheeks, pinching your face together, your lips puffing out.

“You can stop rambling, now.” She smiles in a demeaning way, and you would feel insulted if the way she wasn’t gripping your face right now wasn’t addicting. “I actually think it’s a pretty great plan. Surprising, but, whatever.”

You ignore that.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“When are you gonna spell him?”

“As soon as possible, tonight, at the bonfire.”

“Okay,” she nods, thinking to herself. “Come meet me before you do it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Clarisse La Rue touched your face. Clarisse touched your face, and you really fucking liked it.

—-

The three of you sit by the edge of the bonfire. You locked eyes with Clarisse a few minutes ago, letting her know you’re here.

Tyla fusses with your hair, even though you all spent an hour making everything about you perfect. It would be nice to look hot if you were gonna make him fall in love with you.

You watch as she makes her way towards the bathrooms.

Her golden skin shines in the light of the fire, she adjusts her shirt, and you swear you see her abs just under the orange fabric-

“Clarisse is pretty, isn’t she?” Tyla says. “I mean, I almost wish I was the one fake dating her.”

And she is. She is so painfully pretty.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” you wink.

When you step into the bathroom, Clarisse locks the door behind you. You turn around and she’s there. She looks you up and down. You can’t make out the look on her face.

“You’re really trying to impress him, huh?” she smirks. You ignore that.

The ceiling is low in here, so you walk to the corner and reach up at the loose board. You slide it over, reaching inside and grabbing the small bag.

Aphrodite kid secret- makeup is hidden everywhere around camp.

She stares at you. “Has that always been up there?”

You go to the mirror, taking out the mascara and applying another layer.

“Uh… yeah.”

She leans against the wall next to the mirror, watching you with such an intensity it’s like you’re the one beautiful thing in some bloody war she can’t take her eyes away from.

“We should probably set some ground rules,” you say. She hums. “This will probably only be for a month or so.”

“That’s fine.”

You stare pointedly at yourself in the mirror. You, Jacks and Tyla had dumped almost all of your plates into the offerings fire at lunch, hoping for good luck from Aphrodite. With the way your skin seems to glow, your makeup flawless, it seems she’s pleased by your offerings.

Maybe her and Ares are having a fight up on Olympus, and she’s itching to see him knocked down a peg, however vicariously through someone else.

“Well, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“I- what?” you blink, staring at Clarisse like she just turned into a cyclops.

“You can kiss me, hug me, whatever. I mean, we should really do this if we’re gonna do it. Sell it, or whatever.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I guess you can do whatever too.”

Clarisse can touch you wherever she wants.

You look up discreetly. Please, Mom, you think. Don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue.

It’s fine to admit to yourself that you’d like to jump on top of her, but she’s still an Ares kid. She’s a bully, if you’re being honest. But can you say that you’re not one too after this?

Love can burn down cities, love can start wars, love can end them. Love is always there from the beginning of your life to your beginning. The doctor who delivered you loves their career. The woman who makes flower arrangement for your funeral loves flowers, even if she hates making them for funerals.

Love is always there, and when it’s used as a weapon you know it is one of the deadliest things.

But you’re too deep in this now.

She walks around so she’s standing behind you, adjusting her hair in the mirror.

She puts her hand on your hip. You take a deep breath, you pretend. You pretend so hard it might become real.

She smiles brightly in the mirror. “See you out there, baby.”

—-

You pull your top down. That’s the easiest way to get a man to look at you. Pull your top down. You get a few looks as you move through the tree trunk benches, careful that you don’t accidentally trip, because that would completely fuck up the plan.

There’s a part of you that comes from your mother. The part that some may call vain, but how is it your fault to enjoy the attention that other people are giving you? It’s not your fault they’re looking. It’s not your fault you look like your mother’s daughter.

You walk a little longer, finally setting your eyes on Xavier, sitting across the fire from Clarisse and her group. You eyes meet hers. She pretends to itch her nose, but you can see the laugh she’s hiding. You take one more deep breath, say one more please to your mother.

“Xavier,” you say. “Can I sit?”

He already seems a little shocked that you’re talking to him on purpose, but he quickly recovers and pushes his friend down the trunk.

You sit, your thigh touching his, folding your hands over your legs.

“I just wanted to say, Xavier, that you were right. The other night… the potion would have failed anyways. Thank you so much for ruining it when you did. Who knows what could have happened? It could have exploded everywhere.”

You laugh, putting your hand on his arm. He looks up at you, mouth slightly parted.

You said his name twice and he’s already sucked in.

“Really, Xavier, thank you.” You smile softly, looking at his lips before back up to his eyes.

His hand lands on your knee.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You watch Jackie walk by. He doesn’t hear her whisper. But you see it in his eyes.

You pretend to blush, brushing your hand down his arm before it lands back in your own lap. He leans in closer, until his lips are brushing your ear.

“Why don’t I give you some more things to be thankful for?”

Tyla walks by. He doesn’t hear her whisper either.

“Oh, I should really get back to Clarisse. Sorry, Xavier,”

His hand tightens on your knee and he pulls back.

“C-Clarisse? What would you be doing with her?”

You feign innocence. “Well, she’s my girlfriend. I do a lot of things with her,” you giggle. “I just wanted to thank you, but I should get going. Bye, Xavier!”

You blow him a kiss as you stand up, and you can practically see the hearts in his eyes right along with the blazing rage. You can feel him stare as you walk away, hips swaying.

Clarisse is still trying to hide her laugh when you start walking over to her. The tree trunk around her is all full of people, and a few more are even on the ground.

You stand in front of her, smiling softly.

“Are you not gonna let your girlfriend sit down?”

“Of course I am.”

She leans back and pats her knee. She draws you forward by wrapping her big hand around your hip. When you sit down, she rests her hand flat against your stomach, pressing you right to her. Her other hand rests on your thigh.

Please, Mom, don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue. Don’t let me like her touching me like this.

Everyone is staring.

It’s exhilarating.

You twist your face into something serious, trying not to break out into a fit of embarrassing giggles.

Her breath tickles your neck.

“I gotta admit, you little witch, that was impressive.”

You smile and place your hand over hers.

“I know.”

—-

The day after the bonfire, everybody at camp is talking about you and Clarisse.

How long have they been dating? Why did they decide to become public now? I swear I saw Y/N and Xavier getting close, though, what happened?

You’ve been trying not to break out laughing all morning. During breakfast you blew Clarisse a kiss and heard one of your siblings gasp dramatically and mumble about how sweet young love is.

Jackie and Tyla made paper hearts for you during arts n’ crafts, talking loudly about how you were such a lovesick little thing. You know Xavier heard about all of those things, because he stares at you every chance he gets and glares at Clarisse at the same time.

You keep exchanging subtle glances with her, small smiles, secrets in between your gazes. It’s nice to have something like this.

After dinner, the two of you go to the woods to pretend like you’re having a secret date. Clarisse brings her spear and you bring a blanket.

You’ve been laying there comfortably for a while, arms under your head like a pillow.

“I wanna know how you did it,” she says, turning her spear in her hands. You open one eye to look at her.

“I say his name a bunch of times. With, like, a lot of intention. Then Jackie and Tyla came by and whispered “you’re in love with the girl in front of you” and other stuff like that. It’s hard to explain. It’s just, like, this power.”

“I was imagining, like, one of those mortal movies, you know? A potion, or something.”

“Oh, we’re trying that too. Medea used her amokinesis in the form of potions and spelled objects, so me, Jackie, and Tyla have been talking to Aster, who’s a child of Hecate, and we tried to make a truth potion.” You laugh, thinking of that night. “That’s why we’re doing this, actually. Xavier found us and stuck his gum in it, so… completely ruined. We have to wait for the next full moon and get all the ingredients. It sucks, whatever, I guess.”

She listened intently the entire time you were talking. Aphrodite kids are always jumping from one thing to another. Clarisse is so focused and single-minded. It feels good to be the center of just one person’s attention. Not having people look at you, but just one person look at you.

“Every time I see him I think about stabbing him 20 times. Now I’ll think about sticking gum in his ear, too.” She turns to you and smiles.

None of that stupid smirking shit she always does, or those over-exaggerated demeaning smiles, she really smiles at you.

Her smile is really pretty.

You laugh along with her after a second.

“I would love to see that,” you murmur, propping yourself up on your forearms. “What really made you agree to do this? I mean, I know you guys surface level hate each other but, come on, I was just rambling and you were all ‘let’s do it’.”

“I hate him,” she shrugs. “Why do you care, anyways? You got what you wanted. Enjoy my beautiful self while it lasts.”

“Yeah, okay,” you chuckle.

You don’t leave until the stars come out.

—-

The second day after the bonfire, Clarisse invites you to sit with her at lunch. Usually, you’re supposed to stay at your cabin tables, but Chiron is busy all day and no one would snitch on Clarisse.

You walk over with your tray in hand, watching as she whispers something to her siblings. You smile at them before she pats the seat next to her.

“Hey,” the boy next to you greets. “I’m Matty.”

He points to the girl across from him. “That’s Marjorie,” he points to the other boy with dark skin across from Clarisse, “That’s Daniel,” and finally your eyes land on the blonde girl sitting across from you.

“I’m Sarah,” she smiles. She seems nice, at least. So does Matty. The rest just seem sort of standoffish. There’s a scuffle under the table, then Daniel glares at Clarisse.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

Matty is sickly sweet nice, handsome too, and you almost wonder if he’s really a child of Ares. But he’s got that same focus like Clarisse.

He asks you questions and listens to your answers.

He had the bad stroke of fate in accidentally getting you going about your experiments in potions and amokinesis, and you find yourself shuffling closer to him.

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I’ll stop torturing you now.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I love a passionate person.”

You weren’t sure if he meant that to be flirting.

Usually you’re good at picking up these things, all Aphrodite kids have a knack for it, but you think he’s just really nice.

You stare at him, tilting your head to the side when Clarisse suddenly grabs your waist and pulls you closer to her. Her breath tickles your neck, just like the bonfire.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not his,” she whispers, her chin resting against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Am I not allowed to have a conversation?”

“Not when he’s looking.” You spare a quick glance. Xavier is looking at you, a mix between glaring and starting longingly.

“He looks like a cross-eyed dog,” you giggle.

And to your surprise, Clarisse presses her face into your shoulder to muffle her laugh.

—-

All the time you spend with Clarisse is like some stupid board game you play with Tyla and Jackie when there’s nothing else to do. Jenga. That one where you crack the ice and try not to make the polar ball fall.

The games where you chip it away slowly, one by one, wondering if this time will be the time that it falls, if you’ll be the one to lose the game.

You push a little more each time with Clarisse. Each conversation, you learn a little more, you chip away a few of her walls.

It’s addicting to open her up slowly, to get to know her like this. And when it’s just you and her alone, when Xavier isn’t around to torture, you swear it doesn’t feel fake.

—-

The eighth day after the bonfire, you skip arts n’ crafts to follow Clarisse to the archery range.

While the Apollo kids have all that effortless, natural skill with archery, Ares kids are still deadly. You faintly remember seeing Clarisse shoot once. Even though it’s not her weapon of choice, her aim was deadly and she didn’t miss one shot.

You’re okay with a bow.

Clarisse sees the perfect opportunity to flaunt in front of Xavier.

As soon as you crest the hill, your eyes find his, and he beelines towards you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, what can I do for you?”

It’s easy to switch on that stereotypical persona. You twist your fingers into your shirt.

“Yeah, can you help me?” you look up at him, trying to be as disgustingly sweet as you can,

“What’d you need?” he takes a step closer, about to cage you in between him and the cart full of bows and arrows.

“Can you help me pick out a bow? I don’t know what one would be right for me, I don’t know anything about archery. Please?”

He reaches past you, coming close so your back hits the wooden cart. You can’t help the way your eyes widen. He’s bold, you’ll give him that. Everyone reacts differently under the spell, but their true personalities still shine through.

He picks one up, running his hand up and down the curved wood. He plucks at the string, nodding to himself.

“This one’s fit for a lady.”

You take it, fingertips brushing his. “Oh, thank you so much, Xavier.” You give him a small side hug as you run past him, eager to get away from him.

You just need to find Clarisse.

“Hey, don’t you need some help shooting?” you glance over your shoulder, watching him advance.

Where the hell is Clarisse?

You’re about to say you’re fine when you suddenly slide into someone’s arms. You would have slammed into her, if not for the way Clarisse softly reached out to touch your arm, and Gods, you recognize the feel of her skin.

You knew she was there and you gratefully walked forward, your chests touching, her arm around your shoulders.

“I’ll take it from here, Xavier.”

You look up at her. She’s smiling in that same demeaning way.

You’ve grown to like it.

He doesn’t say anything else. You hear him stomp off.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. When you open your eyes after a moment, you realize how close you are.

You’re so close it’s just one move and that’s it. One move and you both know that’ll change it all.

You think she just worked out. You can feel the muscles of her arm against you, you can see the sweat on her hairline, you can see her breathing heavily.

You could just press your ear to her chest and feel everything.

The way her brown eyes reflect the sunshine is mesmerizing. You’ve been looking at her for so long, but it’s like you’re looking into the surface of a lake you swear you recognize, slightly green murky waters, but there was a whole world under the surface if you cared to look.

But you didn’t care to look for the Clarisse under the surface. You don’t care. You don’t want to.

She clears her throat and let’s go of you.

You back up.

“Put that thing down, he probably fucking poisoned it.”

You turn the bow in your hands, but when you look up, she’s already walking towards the far end of the field.

“Wait, wait, what am I gonna use then?”

“Mine, obviously.” You drop the bow.

—-

After taking a few deep breaths, and Clarisse going over the basics again, you filled your mind with images of a bow and arrow and not of her eyes. Not of her lips.

Clarisse La Rue hates Aphrodite kids too, just not as much as Xavier, and not enough to resist revenge.

You focus on that. That’s why you’re here. Revenge.

Revenge for every fucked up thing he’s said, revenge for every time he’s come too hard at you during capture the flag, revenge for all of your siblings and everyone he’s ever tortured.

“Ok, there, that’s a good stance.” She’s raking her eyes up and down your body. But you’re here for revenge. She glanced over her shoulder. “Except for…”

She presses her body to yours from behind, molding against you like she was made to protect you like this, her hand covering yours, her stance just a little wider. She glides her hand across your arm.

“Up, up, just a little.” She’s whispering right into your ear. You let her hands guide you. Your mouth feels dry. “Then let go.”

And how badly you want to let go. You want to let go of these feelings rolling around in your stomach like stones, you want to let go and let them become butterflies and fall into Clarisse.

You prayed to your mother not to fall in love with her, but maybe you should trust your mom. Maybe you should let go.

But you don’t.

You let go of the arrow instead, you keep your tumbling feelings inside, and to your shock you only hit a few inches from the bullseye.

The bow swings in your hand.

“Holy shit. Did I- did I just do that?”

Clarisse laughs. “You did, baby.”

You turn around and throw your arms around her neck, smiling wide and laughing hysterically. The bow was the one weapon you thought you could never master, and here you are after one lesson with Clarisse.

She wraps her arms around your waist, and even though you’ve hugged like this a million times, you both know it’s different this time. And you both ignore it.

But for one second, you’re pretending so hard it’s almost real. It’s almost a real date.

—-

On the ninth day, it all goes to shit.

Sword practice is held just after lunch, when the sun is still high in the sky. The Ares and Aphrodite cabins share the field first, and you, Jackie and Tyla take your time stretching to enjoy the show.

Tyla has to turn around to hide her laugh as you bend over slowly, making sure Xavier is watching, then when you face comes up flushed you smile at him. He smiles back.

You wave to Clarisse and he glares at her.

Jackie says it will take him 5 minutes to ask her to spar. Tyla says 5 too. You say it’ll take him maybe 3 minutes.

He spars with one person, a two minute match, then marched right up to Clarisse.

“How about we go, huh? Want another chance to try and beat me?”

Clarisse was smiling before he walked over, talking to her friends. Her smile fades and is replaced by the dark mask of pure focus.

“I’d love to beat you, Xavier.”

She walks past you to grab a sword from the rack.

Her eyes meet yours. You reach out and put your hand on her face, softly pressing her lips against yours. It’s a peck. It’s barely there. At least now you can check off a box and say you’ve kissed Clarisse La Rue.

She seems so shocked that you’ve actually kissed her you swear she loses her footing for a second. You swear her cheeks are a little flushed. By she stands up taller and ignores it, just like you’ve both been doing for so long.

“Good luck, baby!” you call as she walks off to the circle marked off for sparring.

Xavier looks like he’s about to light the grass on fire.

“She’s gonna beat his ass,” Jackie whispers.

“If he loses, do you think I should comfort him after?”

“Oh, Gods, yes,” Tyla smiles. “That’s so mean. We’re so mean.” It feels too good to stop.

Kissing Clarisse almost felt too good to stop. Even that second, one more longer and you would have been sucked in. You decide not to kiss her for however long this goes on.

Once you start kissing her, you’re scared you’ll never stop.

Revenge feels to good, and you need this.

As soon as they face each other Xavier springs out with a million offensive attacks, slightly sloppy- you can see his anger. Everyone knows you can’t let your emotion get in the way of battle.

Clarisse is calm and counters all his attacks. She even smiles, which makes your stomach flip in a way that isn’t fake.

Her sword flicks along his cheek. It’s a paper cut, barely.

“Oh no,” Clarisse fake frets. “You need me to walk you to the nurse?”

He grunts and launches an attack that’s just plain stupid. It’s messy. He swings too wide. She knocks his sword out of his hand.

He goes to dive for it but her sword is already at his neck.

He breathes heavily, staring at her, and it’s suddenly dead quiet. No more talking, no more swords clanging.

Your eyes are flicking in between them like a ball bouncing up and down. But they linger on Clarisse. Of course they linger on Clarisse.

It’s so quiet you swear you can hear her heartbeat.

“Daddy’s behind you,” he whispers.

She whips around, taking her sword with her, but no one is there. Of course no one is there.

Xavier runs away laughing, and Clarisse turns around. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s gripping the hand of the sword so tight you’re surprised it hasn’t broken off.

Clarisse is not your girlfriend. Clarisse is not even your friend.

But she’s someone, she’s someone to you, and you can’t stand to see her like this.

You walk forward and put your hand on her wrist, taking the sword from her. You’re not even in control of your arms and legs.

She stares pointedly at the distance.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, giving her no choice and pulling her along. You throw the sword at the rack.

—-

You end up in Clarisse’s cabin, door clicking shut behind you as you press your back to it. She stays silent for a moment, until she screams and throws someone’s pillow at the wall. You don’t say anything.

You don’t say anything but you follow her to her bed.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, watching as she sits down, fists clenched so tight you hope she isn’t bleeding. “I’m so sorry, Clarisse.”

“You weren’t the one who fell for it. You weren’t the one who fell for that stupid, stupid, childish trick. I did.”

“You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for us and our plan. If it wasn’t for me.”

You sit down on the bed next to hers.

“Why are you even here? We’re not actually dating, dummy. You can go.”

“I know,” you murmur. You know. You know you aren’t dating. You know you shouldn’t be here. “But you’re still something, Clarisse.”

She slips off her armor.

“I’m not something to you.”

She wants someone else to hurt like she does. She wants someone else to take the fall, to be embarrassed and the center of everyone’s attention so she doesn’t have to.

“I’ll never be something to you, Y/N, just- just go away. This is over, I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mutter. There’s something wet in your eyes and your throat tightens up. “That’s fine.”

You leave silently and you cry in the woods.

—-

When you finally make your way back to your cabin at nightfall, everyone is fussing around you. Your hair’s messy, mascara streams down your face, your shirt is wet with tears.

“Where have you been?” one of your brothers asks, and the rest of your siblings echo the sentiment.

Tyla doesn’t say anything when she sees you. She just wraps her arms around you. Jackie stands just behind her, eyes locking with yours. She knows. She doesn’t move. She can see it on your face, she can see it in your eyes.

Aphrodite children are predisposed to fall in love fast and hard. You’ve all gathered around your siblings time and time again when their hearts inevitably got broken.

No one wants to date an Aphrodite kid. Not really.

They all think you’re vain and self-centered. They all think you’re weak and useless.

When it comes down to it, that’s what you are.

How can you claim to wield the power of love when it brings you to your knees too?

You thought Clarisse was hot. You thought you could leave it at that. You thought you could pretend, you thought you could ignore it.

But the more you think about it, the more tears fall down your face, the more you realize you were ignoring the wrong thing. You spent so much time trying not to want Clarisse you forgot that she doesn’t even want you. It stings, like a knife in the chest, it hurts to know you’re making it all up.

But it was always pretend. It was always fake. That’s what fake dating is. The Aphrodite side of you just forgot that you couldn’t find comfort in her arms, you couldn’t memorize the feel of her skin, you couldn’t hear the sound of her heartbeat and pretended it beat for you.

You look up at the sky and you want to curse your mother. You want to know why she has abandoned you. But in your heart, you know she hasn’t abandoned you. The Goddess of Love is right next to you, and this is what it feels like.

Knives in your heart. Memories of heartbeats, memories of skin, memories of soft voices and secrets and the feeling that something was yours, something was quiet and shared.

“Y/N,” Jackie breathes.

The words hurt. You say them anyways.

“I fucked up,” you sob. “I fucked up, Jackie. She doesn’t- she won’t, she never will-”

“Y/N,” Tyla coos.

“I fell in love. I fell in love, and it’s over.”

—-

You give up on wearing makeup. The sadness still seeps through your face, and you end up crying most of it off anyways. A few of your hoodies are just permanently stained with mascara with how much you cried. The tears stream down your face and carry the little black specks with it.

You try to visualize everything you feel leaving with the black specks. The love, the anger, the sadness, the regret. But it doesn’t leave, and you’re too tired of trying to hide from it.

Everyone thinks you miserably broke up, and it’s mortifying to know that Clarisse knows you’re like this, she knows you’re absolutely ruined over this- and it was never even real.

You keep telling yourself that. It was fake. It was never real.

But it feels real, the memories feel real. You know they happened, you know Clarisse touched you so often it’s like you’re burned with it. You say she had to have felt it to, because the more you remember the more you remember the electricity, the charge in the air.

But you might just be making that up.

Lunch is the worst time. She’s always so happy at lunch, her and her table laughing loudly. She mentioned to you once, one of those fake star-studded dates in the woods, that she’s always to tired by dinner time because she trains so hard for most of the day.

You stare at her when no one’s looking, and everyone can see you better in the bright light of day- and you can’t look away.

Tyla mumbles that they’re gonna get up to make their offerings, she doesn’t ask if you’re gonna come. You’re probably not even going to eat more than a few bites again.

You’re alone at the stone table.

Xavier sees that as an opportunity.

Love spells are best to break on a full moon. You thought it would go on longer than this, and he’s only become more emboldened by what everyone sees as a breakup.

He sits down next to you, smiling sadly. You prop your head up in your hand.

“Y/N, you sad angel.” His hand grazes your shoulder, you can’t be bothered to tell him to stop. He places a flower in front of you. “To cheer you up.”

“Thanks, Xavier,” you mutter. He stares at you for a moment longer. Jackie comes back, slamming her tray down onto the table.

“Go away, Xavier,” she says, the same thing she says every day. Jackie has this look in her eyes that lets you know she’s ready to jump on you if she has to.

You think he would stop trying, but he can’t. He can’t because of this stupid love spell that ruined everything. And you can’t even take it off of him, not until the full moon.

You wouldn’t feel like this if it wasn’t for that love spell.

—-

There is one a day a year that Chiron turns a blind eye to parties. The summer solstice all of the cabin leaders come together to throw a huge party, mostly centered around the bonfire, food and drinks and even music. It’s the one night a year where you’re allowed to be teenagers, and it’s not taken lightly.

It even makes you feel a little excited.

“So what if all that shit happened?” Tyla asked. “We’re gonna make sure you look as hell at this party, and then you’re gonna go find someone and make out with them in a dark corner. Don’t even look who it is. Just grab the first random person and kiss them.”

“Okay, well, I’m not doing that, but I will do something of the sort. There is definitively some making out on my list tonight.”

“Oh, as long as it’s not with Xavier,” Tyla frets.

Jackie kicks her. “If Y/N makes out with Xavier, I will personally pay Chiron a million dollars to feed both of them to some horrible monster.”

“Supportive,” you muse.

Jackie gasps. “I forgot about this dress.”

“For which one of us?” Tyla asks.

Jackie turns around, holding up the back dress. It’s sparkly, a slit up the side, going just to your knees. It’s ruffled at the chest, thin spaghetti straps for the top. You can’t wear it. It’s too much, too revealing.

You look around the room.

Most of your siblings are wearing worse.

And you need to get your mind off her.

“I’m wearing that.”

Tyla squeals and Jackie lays it out on your bed.

You’ll forget about her tonight, you promise yourself.

—-

The bonfire burns high and bright, and even 20 feet away from it the feeling is burning. It’s so hot you’re glad you wore this barely there grass, it frees up your skin to touch the cool summer air.

You, Tyla and Jackie had gratefully taken a few too many sips of the alcohol someone had managed to sneak in and was now passing around.

Everything is so funny in the firelight.

Tyla’s tall heels keep sinking into the grass, and you keep giggling when your own do the same. You’re all holding onto each other, barely able to stand.

There was more nail polish fumes in the cabin than usual, and you’ll swear on your life that it gets to your head.

“Noooooo,” Tyla moans, sinking yet again into the grass. She gasps, pointing at the logs currently abandoned. “I’ll just walk on those!”

Your heels sink into the dirt.

“Me too,” you say, smiling as you grab Tyla’s hand and begin your ascent. Jackie ran off with an Apollo boy a minute ago, the first of your group to leave.

You grab onto each other, laughing boisterously as you keep almost falling.

“I-I can bare-barely stand!” you shout, giggling as you throw your arms to the sides.

“Me either!” Tyla shouts back. She jumps off, walking between the end of that one to the beginning of the next log.

“Hey, do you think I can jump and make it?”

Tyla judges the maybe 4 foot jump.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m gonna try,” you giggle. “I’m gonna jump!”

“Whoooo!” Tyla shouts, laughing too. This entire night is just about you and your friends and laughter. She starts clapping. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,”

You jump, eyes screwed shut, slamming into something mid air and being brought to the ground.

“Wh-” you mumble, and Tyla let’s out a gasp.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Clarisse scolds, her hands quickly falling from your waist.

And, of course, the first instinct of your intoxicated brain is to start screaming.

Clarisse grabs your arm and drags you off, past the light of the fire and into a space between the cabins. She slaps her hand over your mouth and you shut up.

“Are you going to stop being such a baby now?”

She lets go of your face and you immediately stumble forward so she has to catch you, pressing your finger into her chest.

“You, demon, are not my mother! So, I don’t know what you’re doing.”

She laughs, holding you up.

“Oh, you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” you correct. “As I was saying, don’t you remember, Clarisse, we will never be something to each other.” You push her away from you, heels sinking into the ground and keeping you upright.

Her face falls.

It’s so dark in here but you’re so close to her you can tell.

“Y/N, I-”

You can’t listen to her talk so softly. Being away from the heat of the fire clears up your brain.

“Where’s Tyla?” her hands fall from your hips. “Tyla?!” you dig you heels out of the mud, finding her sitting on the log, talking animatedly to Matty about something. “Oh,” you mumble.

They’re both so absorbed in each other they don’t hear you. And suddenly, you’re the last one left.

You head to a nearby table and chug a bottle of water, shoving a cupcake into your mouth.

“I’m not gonna be alone tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You look up at the almost full moon. You eyes scan the crowd. Xavier isn’t exactly bad looking, and you just need someone tonight. You need anything.

You don’t know where Clarisse is. You tell yourself you don’t care.

You move through the crowd, adjusting your hair, breathing in and out. You won’t be alone tonight. You won’t.

You spot him sitting off to the side with his friends, the group of them sharing a bottle just like you did.

“Xavier!” you shout. His eyes turn to you immediately. He shoves the bottle into his friends hands, standing up and walking over to you like it was his entire purpose to.

“Y/N,” he eyes you up and down. “You look- you look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. Now, dance with me.”

He follows you, his arm gripped in your hand, you can feel him staring at your ass and you don’t care, dragging him towards the music, towards the dance floor.

His hand is all over your ass, your thigh, your hips, drawing you closer to him as you spin and his other winds it’s way around your face.

He’s not her. You can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about imagining her hands on you.

You put your arms around his neck, dancing in a way that would probably make your mother blush.

When you open your eyes, they’re locked with hers.

She seems to have made her way back to her friends, sitting on a log, leaning against her arm and staring at you. Her hands are clenched the same way they were that day. You can see her, you can see her perfectly and she can see you perfectly. She can see you and him.

Good.

You smile at her, waving the way you would have done to Xavier, except now the roles are reversed. He gets to have you, and she has to watch.

His mouth finds your neck. You laugh, throwing your head back, you don’t imagine her lips there. You just sink into the moment.

When your lips crash against his, there’s nothing except hot, hot desire. Like a blue flame, you’re all teeth and tongue, clashing together in a way that is purely carnal.

His hands are everywhere and you love it. It’s like a game, trying to guess where he’ll go next, and it keeps you so wonderfully distracted.

He tugs at the slit of your dress. You pull away for air.

“N-not here. Not yet.”

His greedy hand remains where it is until you shove it down, laughing lightly.

“Maybe later,” you whisper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your neck. “Just let me…” he spins you two around, his hand slips under your dress, against your bare ass.

“Xavier-” you push at his greedy hand again.

“So, so beautiful, like you’re a witch-”

He’s ripped away from you.

You watch in horror as Clarisse grabs him by the front of his shirt and punches him square in the face.

You start screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs.

Xavier only seems to find it funny.

“You fuckin’ jealous, Clarisse?” he laughs. “Fuckin’ jealous, wonder if he’d be proud of you now, beating up his own son for a daughter of Aphrodite?”

She punches him again. Again.

“Fuckin’ jealous?” he says again, laughing, spitting out blood. “Are you fucking jealous?”

One of her siblings finally grabs her and pulls her away. She shoves them off of her.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispers to him. He doesn’t seem scared at all. You stand there and watch, stupidly, feeling like a bird from the skies watching it all unfold, unable to do anything. “Stay away from her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

She looks at you, you faintly realize the music’s stopped.

“Clarisse-”

“She’s not yours!” Xavier laughs from the ground. “The weak Aphrodite girl doesn’t belong to you, that’s gotta sting, Clarisse-”

A love spell only change’s one’s emotions towards a person. Their personalities are the same. They way they behave under a love spell is the same way they’d behave in a regular relationship, except with a lasting relentlessness.

“Shut up, Xavier!” you shout. You’re so sick of him. Sick of his bullshit. He can’t even make out with you without thinking about the next step.

You see it fade from his eyes.

It shouldn’t be.

You watch in horror as the spell falls, you realize this all wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never supposed to actually kiss him.

“Witch,” he mumbles. He was just moaning that against your cheek a minute ago.

He holds his hands to his already red face.

“You’re a fucking witch.”

Everyone is looking at you, for once in your life, you hate it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whisper.

Your eyes meet Clarisse’s. You can’t tell what’s on her face. You walk away.

—-

She finds you under the stars. Of course she does. You didn’t know where else to go. Cabin too stuffy. The lake is too far. The only place left is the woods, the spots where you would go with her.

She stands behind you. You can hear her breathing.

“Do you need something?” you mutter.

“I was selfish,” she starts.

You snort. Clarisse La Rue is a lot of things, you’ll be here all night.

“And I was hurt. So I took it out on you, which I really, really regret. You didn’t deserve that and it wasn’t true.”

It wasn’t true.

“Um, I was scared. So I made a decision for the both of us. But I’m not scared anymore.”

You place your hand on the grass next to you.

She sits, you don’t look at each other.

“That was all I had planned, but more has happened, so… uh, I was watching you the entire night, I guess. Not in a creepy way. I mean, you look, that dress… I couldn’t take my eyes away. Then you almost killed yourself on the logs.”

You smile.

“And I touched you again and I just, it was so much. Then you were on the dance floor, and he was all over you and- I was jealous. I was so jealous, like, I was actually about to go insane. And I saw you push his hand away, I saw him do it again, and I…”

“Went insane, berserk, crazy? Lost all proprietary?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “All of that. I’m not gonna apologize for punching the shit out of him. But I am sorry for the things I said.”

“Did you mean it?”

She just seems grateful you’re talking to her.

“Mean what?”

“That it wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t true.”

You finally look at her. It feels so good to let go. To finally look at her, finally see her.

“I-I was just angry, and I-”

You’re sick of hearing her talk.

It’s nothing like the kiss with Xavier.

Its slow and sweet, heady like syrup, and you feel like you’re sinking beneath the current of some river. Your hands are on her face, she rests hers on your neck.

The kiss was Xavier was pure passion, no love, just bodies and bodies and no thoughts between them. This is all care, this is all slowness, this is all appreciation. It’s faces and faces, singular focus, one intent.

You pull away.

“I was so jealous,” she breathes, like it’s an explanation for the way she grabs you closer, harder, more, kissing you like Xavier did except it’s all erased. You can’t even remember what it feels like for someone else to touch you, let alone kiss you.

It just feels like her. It all feels like her, before her and after her.

When she finally starts to kiss down your neck, it’s so slow again, it’s like she can’t believe you’re in her arms, it’s like she can’t believe she’s got your hands on you. You grab her shoulders, you have her.

You look up towards the sky. Sorry I ever doubted you. Thanks, Mom.

You could see her across from you, you could see her on the dance floor, but now you can see her.

—-

y/n, talking to matty: yes i’m like about to slay amokinesis in a way it has never been slayed before

clarisse, who is NOT catching feelings: what the hell is this bitch doing to my girl

clarisse: ykw… im just gonna…. take her back thank you oh wdym no he’s looking we gotta fake date obvi (clarisse does not care if he’s looking)

—-

y/n, about to fucking die: i’m a bird! i’m jumping!

clarisse: no the fuck you’re not!

—-

clarisse when y/n is dancing in THE DRESS: oh i’m bricked up

—-

clarisse: if this bitch doesn’t get OFF my girl i’m gonna KILL SOMEONE

literally everyone: YOUR girl????

clarisse: nvm i’m just gonna fight him

everyone: not a logical solution???

—-

shoutout to jackie, tyla, and matty the loves of my life COULD NOT DO THIS WITHOUT THEM

also the tyla and matty agenda WILL be pushed

—-

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kkoga · 4 months ago

Text

I was all over her , daniela avanzini x fem!reader / sophia laforteza x fem!reader

A valentine special with @ceeaann!!

Warning ! Foul words, harassment, mentions of drinking and also not proofread

Disclaimer ! Every person is not an accurate portrayal of themselves. Everything written here is pure fiction.

Synopsis ! You and Daniela's friendship hang on by a thread, after Daniela's crush, Aaron, had started courting you— even though you had never consented to it.

Now playing ! Friends by chase atlantic, I was all over her by salvie palth

A/N : Sorry about the vague ahh synopsis I genuinely cannot think of one rn so we gotta live w this

Collab masterlist !

WC — 7.05k

Daniela subconsciously tightens her jaw at the sight of you and Aaron together. The girl scoffs, and stuffs her books into her locker. Lara, her best friend, whistles at Daniela’s sudden burst of annoyance.

‘’Girl you good?’’ Lara says, a giggle accompanying her words. Daniela looks to her left, and sees Lara with a smug smile, also stuffing her books into her own locker.

‘’It’s just Y/n and Aaron again.. Ugh.’’

You were one of Daniela’s best friends, and you still are, but ever since Aaron, Daniela’s crush had started courting you, the Latina started drifting away, your friendship hanging by a string.

Daniela, who had told you about her crush on the boy, felt disappointed you allowed him to court you. But you were just too nice to stay mad at, too unimaginably sweet towards Daniela. So the Latina could do nothing but mope about her crush courting you.

‘’I mean, Y/n is nice but like.. I told her about it! I wanna stay mad but she’s so sickeningly sweet, I just couldn’t.’’ Lara indulges Daniela and while the two of them were only a couple meters away from you, they didn’t notice the uncomfort you tried your best not to show out of kindness.

There you were, getting pestered by Aaron for the nth time today. The boy hovered around you like some sort of annoying fly. You felt bad calling the boy that, but he just couldn’t take no as an answer for some reason.

‘’Come on Y/n. Please? Just to lunch this saturday, I pinky promise I won’t bother you for the next few days… unless of course, you want me to.’’ The 6’1 boy says as he offers you yet another rose. Good God, this was like what— the third time he’s tried this week? And it was fucking Tuesday.

‘’I already told you Aaron, I can’t. Can you please stop pressing?’’ You said as you closed your locker with a bang, and Aaron’s smug smile falters for a second, before strengthening itself.

‘’It’s fine. You’ll say yes soon.’’ The boy winks, and heads back to his friends. You wanted to roll your eyes, but your social status was at risk.

Aaron was the schools star quarterback, good looking, tall, and confident. He was every girls ‘’dream’’ guy. That however, didn’t affect you one bit. Because you already had somebody you liked, and this guy just wasn’t picking up on that.

You turned away from him, and noticed Daniela and Lara just a couple meters away from you. You took initiative to wave at the two, with a sweet smile on your face. Lara waves back at you with the same enthusiasm, but Daniela had this awkward vibe around her as she tried to return your gesture.

You turned away, saddened, but you knew why. Daniela told you she had a crush on Aaron a couple weeks ago. Ever since the brown haired boy had started bothering you, Daniela began to maintain distance. It hurt you. Did she really think so little of you?

Besides, she knew you liked someone else. Someone who definitely wasn’t Aaron. As you walked away, someone put their arm around you all of a sudden, and the scent of fresh citrus perfume notified you which one of your friends it was.

‘’Megan! You twat, I almost fell!’’ Megan rolls her eyes, telling you being overdramatic wasn’t a lifestyle. If someone paid you to pummel this girl right now, you would do it for free.

The ginger continued to ramble on about how her physics teacher was an asshole for making them do a paper on rocks. “Goddamn rocks Y/n! Can you imagine me reporting that? Oh yeah, rocks are hard and cool and bland.” To which you replied with,

“He probably meant minerals, Megan. Not straight up bland rocks you idiot. Were you even paying attention?” Megan looked at you with a blank expression. Good God there was not a single thought behind those eyes.

“You're probably right but I don't wanna give you the satisfaction so I'm gonna say you're wrong.” You sighed. Megan was like this every day, so you weren't even surprised anymore.

As the ginger continued ranting about her day— which was kind of crazy because its only been a couple of hours since school had started, and the fact that this girl could ramble about three classes was interesting. You wanted to study how her brain works.

Megan noticed you were too quiet— the sassy attitude you always had just wasn't there. So the ginger paused, and you knew she was silently signaling you that if you wanted to talk, she was listening. You sighed, beginning your rant.

“Aaron’s… all over me again. Daniela has been avoiding me more and more, and it's starting to piss me off. I never even allowed Aaron to court me, yet she's assuming I did! I've been trying to tell her, even saying it straight to her damn face. But for some reason she still thinks I said yes to Aaron in some way. Good God, after being friends for years, you think she'd notice I didn't like men!! Much more, that I like her!!!” Megan patted your back, knowing the whole Daniela situation had been disastrous for you.

Megan stops, and you continue walking. After a second or two, you notice the girl was a couple steps behind you, just frozen there.

“Megan? Why'd you stop—”

“I JUST HAD THE GREATEST IDEA IN HISTORY. Y/N L/N KISS ME RIGHT NOW!!” The ginger yelled, in the damn hallway. You looked around, embarrassed for the both of you. You hurried to her and slapped the back of her neck, reminding her to behave in public.

Other students in the hallway laughed, but most barely noticed, already used to Megan's antics. She was popular as a “class clown”, so it wasn't new to them at all.

You then told Megan to drop her “million dollar” idea. The girl snickered, and replied,

“What if… hear me out… you… move on!”

Oh my God is she asking— no, begging for a taste of school floor right now?

“Megan Meiyok Skiendiel.”

“No no, hear me out! At least try. If it doesn't work, it doesn't. If it does, it does! Try giving someone else a chance. I know like 10 people who'd be willing to be your carpet.” Megan said as she raised her hands in defense. You narrowed your eyes, and rolled them right after.

“Fine. I'll… consider it. And these people you're talking about better be women. I swear to God Megan, if you recommend men to me, I'll fucking kill you for real.” The ginger saluted, and the two of you continued walking to class, talking about whatever on the way.

It has been a week since you and Megan had that conversation in the middle of the school hallway. The girl said she's been thinking about who to send your way, and honestly? You were starting to open up to this idea. Maybe it would do you some good to at least try.

You were sitting on the cafeteria table alone, waiting for Megan and Yoonchae, the recent exchange student who Megan practically adopted, to arrive. Finally, the two were within view, but much to your very unfortunate luck, so was Aaron. Oh you could feel the gaze from behind you. You just knew Daniela was probably giving you dirty looks right now.

“Hey sweet pea!” The boy waves at you, and you physically cringed. Who the fuck calls their crush “sweet pea”?? Your friends looked behind them and saw that Aaron was also on his way to you.

As the two arrive at your table, so does Aaron. The brunet brought you chocolate milk, to which you say thank you. The boy responds by flirting with you yet again.

“You're welcome pretty.” The boy rushes off to his friends as soon as the interaction was over. And once he was out of earshot, you slid the chocolate milk to Megan. The ginger took it with a smile, thanking Aaron for being sweet yet stupid.

Daniela watched the whole interaction from a distance, mildly annoyed but also slightly confused. You didn't like chocolate milk, so why didn't Aaron know that? Good God, he should do his research.

“She likes strawberry milk, not chocolate milk…” The blonde whispers to herself, which Lara catches.

“How'd you know that?” Daniela looks up, meeting Lara's gaze.

“Because we've been friends for years? It's common knowledge once you get close to her.” Lara gives Daniela a suspicious look, and hums, letting the matter go. Lara hit Manon, the girl right next to her, with her elbow. Manon, annoyed, drew her attention away from her phone.

Manon silently asked, “What?!”, and Lara signaled to you and Daniela. Manon rolls her eyes, whispering,

“She'll figure it out soon enough.”

Back at your table, Megan was yapping about, you and Yoonchae stuck listening to this monster yap like her life depended on it.

Everything proceeded as it always did, when all of a sudden, Sophia Laforteza, one of Megan's friends, approaches your table.

“Room for one more?” Sophia said as she pointed at the seat next to you. You weren't sure if it was Sophia being friendly, or if she was someone Megan sent your way.

You glanced at Megan, and her small snicker gave you your answer. You thought about it for a moment.

Sophia Laforteza, the student body president. Kind, smart, and amazing in every way. Was she seriously into you? It seemed too good to be true.

Even if you hadn't moved on from Daniela yet, the girl's grip on your heart still as strong as ever, you were willing to try.

“Yeah, take a seat.” You said as you scooted a couple inches away. Sophia sends you a warm smile, and takes her seat.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Megan answers before you could, telling Sophia it was about her recent math class with stupid groupmates. Yoonchae rolls her eyes, telling Sophia there was no set topic. Just whatever Megan thought of at the moment.

After a couple minutes of talking, Megan decides the food she bought today wasn't enough. The ginger said she'll be right back, and Yoonchae joins Megan, saying she wants more mango juice.

That left you all alone with Sophia. It was now or never.

“So.. Sophia.. did Megan really, uh— send you my way?” Awkward silence filled the air, and Sophia broke it with a sweet giggle.

“Yeah, she did.” You let out a soft and silent laugh as well, before pausing and looking at Sophia seriously.

“I don't know if you knew this, but i already like someone else and—”

“You wanted to move on, yes? I know Y/n, Megan told me. And I quite frankly don't care. I'll woo you in every way possible, so don't worry your pretty little head about it, yeah?” Pink was an understatement. You were probably as red as a cherry right now, especially because you didn't expect Sophia to be so flirty.

You pulled yourself together, reminding yourself its only been a few minutes since you’ve started talking.

“You’d have to try really hard then.’’ Sophia looked at you with a soft smile, staring at your eyes with a sense of longing.

“What made you think I wasn’t going to give it my all?’’ Okay, being flustered was totally not your thing. The two of you continued talking, a slight tension appearing every now and then. Until finally, Megan and Yoonchae arrived with more food and drinks.

Daniela, Lara, and Manon got up from their seats, already finished with their food. Daniela glances at your table, and sees you chatting away with Sophia. The Latina pays no mind to it, thinking it was just friendly interaction. But Lara, however, noticed. The Indian, always equipped with the best instincts when it comes to love, easily noticed the way Sophia looked at you, the way she seemingly gravitated towards you, and the way her overall body language basically screamed “I LIKE YOU!!’’.

You walked by Aaron, already prepared for the boys pestering. As if on cue, Aaron calls your name, and you reluctantly turn around.

“Y/n! Hey! Wait up!’’ The boy jogs towards you to catch up, and offers you a piece of paper. You look at him weird, until you realize it was his fucking number.

“Look.. I just very recently realized we’ve never exchanged numbers. Just hit me up, I’m free for you any day baby girl.’’ You laughed awkwardly, and tried to end the conversation, but Aaron kept pushing, telling you to just say yes to his date planned for Saturday.

Just as you were, once again, gonna turn the boy down, Sophia unexpectedly stepped in.

“Hey Y/n! Oh and… Aaron. Hi. Sorry, I have important matters to attend to with Y/n, can I take her away for a while?” Sophia had this stern and commanding stare, accompanied with a friendly smile.

Before Aaron could respond, you clung onto Sophia's side, and told Aaron you both should really get going. When the boy asked why, Sophia sternly responded it was “personal matters”.

After a couple minutes of walking away from the boy, you let go of Sophia's hand, apologizing.

“Uh… sorry. And thank you.” Sophia told you it was nothing, and followed up with a question.

“It's fine, really. Also, if you're comfortable with it, why is he still bothering you? I heard rumours about you and him, saying you agreed to the courting. The interaction I just witnessed says otherwise. Mind telling me why?”

“I honestly don’t know why he keeps persisting. I very clearly said no, multiple times even. Guess he never really got the hint.’’ Sophia hummed,

“Just let me know if you need help. I’ll be your knight in shining armor.’’ The Filipina said with a light and joking tone, softening the once tense atmosphere.

“Oh, gladly. I can’t believe men like him actually exist.’’ You sighed, and shaked your head.

“Let’s change topics. Why’d you approach me?’’ Sophia shifts her gaze to the direction they were heading.

“I noticed you were uncomfortable. I didn’t have anything to tell you, just thought you needed some help.’’ You nodded, thankful for the girl's help.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.’’ The girl said as she held her hand out. You took it with no hesitation, a smile appearing on both your faces.

It was currently 11pm. An ungodly time to be out and about, especially at some random person's party. You weren't exactly the party type, unless you of course, had some steam you needed to blow off.

But today wasn't that type of day. You had no problems to run from, no nothing. You were dragged by Megan and Yoonchae to attend this party hosted by— what was their name again?

Jennifer. You were at a party hosted by a friend's friend's friend, Jennifer Huh.

In all honesty, if you could, you would have left this place ages ago. But you couldn't say no to Megan's puppy eyes, asking you to pretty please drive her home.

Now, you weren't exactly sure where the ginger was right now. She and Yoonchae had left you by yourself about an hour ago.

You were just sitting there, at the corner of Jennifer's house, looking lonely— like some sort of lost puppy.

All of a sudden, some random guys approached you.

“Hey, you lonely?” Said the one with a haircut rivaling the horridness of a bald cut. Honestly? You'd rather go bald than have… whatever haircut he had.

“Let's have some fun, miss.” Another guy said. You took one look at his horribly dyed hair. Was this supposed to be blonde? Or was he going for the dog pee color? You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

From a distance, Daniela could be seen looking at you and the men with a frustrated glare. You seemed to be uncomfortable, so the Latina moved closer to the whole ordeal.

The third guy grabbed your hand, and you tried to pry him off you, your fight or flight instinct so close to applying itself to the situation.

“Let me go—!” Daniela's eyes widened, and just as the Latina was about to run to your side, Sophia makes it there first. Like the night and shining armor she claimed to be.

“Hey, she told you to let go.” Just as the men were about to argue, they recognized her as the student body president, and didn't persist, leaving as soon as they realized.

Sophia looks at you with a worried look, carefully examining your body for any wounds or scratches.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” You nodded, tears threatening to fall. Daniela slows down, the girl letting go of a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

Sophia cupped your face, and tilts your face to the left and right. The Filipina sighs, relieved the men didn't do anything worse before she arrived.

Daniela looked at you and Sophia with a cold stare, and subconsciously strengthens her fist. She didn't know why she was so annoyed. Maybe it was because of those boys harassing you. Daniela walks away from you two, thinking you'd be fine because Sophia was there. But deep down, Daniela, in the back of her mind, had thought,

“You'd be safer with me.”

But the Latina pushed it down, thinking it was the booze getting to her.

Back with Sophia, you were so overstimulated. You just went through two hours of constant loud music with no one to talk to, and all of a sudden, you had gotten harassed. You wanted to go home so bad, and Sophia, ever the observant person, picked up on that.

The Filipina wiped a tear threatening to fall from your eyes, and spoke in a gentle tone.

“Hey, it's gonna be okay. Here,” Sophia extends a hand to you, “Take my hand, and I promise I'll take you away from all of this.” You mouthed a thank you, and gladly accepted her help.

Within minutes, Sophia got you out of that God forsaken party, and led you to a park nearby. The two of you sat on the swings, the silence of the night as comforting as it could get. Sophia understood you needed some time to yourself, but stayed. Knowing that sometimes, words weren't needed to comfort someone. Just her company alone should have some effect.

After a few minutes of calming down, you break the silence.

“... Thank you. I can't thank you enough.” You turn your head to face Sophia, but the Filipina, for some reason, had her eyebrows furrowed.

“Don't ever thank me for that. It was a normal way to handle things. I'm hurt you even thought you'd have to say thank you.” Sophia relaxes her eyebrows, a soft and slight frown neatly displayed on her pretty face.

“Still— thank you.” Sophia humms, acknowledging your gratitude.

The two of you just sat there, under the beautiful moonlit sky, peacefully swinging on the swings.

After what you thought to be a couple more minutes, you realized how late it had gotten. You hurriedly checked your phone, and saw a text message from Megan, saying,

“Hey girl so u kinda left me here so I'll js grab a lift from fine shyt 😛 and don't you worry I'll tell you ALLLLL about it tomorrow. Peace out xx” You sighed in relief.

“Hey.. Soph? It's getting late. We should get going now.” Sophia felt her breath hitch. You've never called her any sort of nickname before. And “Soph”? It hit right in the best way possible.

“Yeah, you're right. I'll… I'll get a taxi now. See you soon, Y/n.” The Filipina immediately stood up, and quickly opens her phone, hoping to mask how flustered she currently was.

As the Filipina was about to leave, you grab her arm,

“Or you could… hitch a ride with me?” You say as you pull your keys out, dangling them in front of Sophia's face.

“I can drive you home. It's the least I can do— especially after what you did today.” You noticed a slight tint of pink on Sophia's cheek, a slight smile finding its way to you.

“Yeah… that would be great.” Sophia reaches her hand out, and you take it,

“Well then what are we waiting for?” You say as you lead the way. Sophia was thankful you were leading this time, unable to see the blushing mess she currently was. The sudden change in demeanor was a bit freaky, but she liked that about you. She was sure of that.

You were chilling on your bed at 10 am in the morning, when all of a sudden, a text from an unknown number had sent a notification on your phone.

“Hey, is this Y/n?”

You furrowed your brows, who the hell was this? When all of a sudden, you remembered how you and Sophia had exchanged numbers last night, as you dropped her off at her home. You sent a reply, not too chalant, but not too nonchalant either.

“I’m assuming this is Sophia?’’ After a couple seconds, you get a reply back.

“Yes. I know it’s kinda shitty to do this on text, but are you free today?’’ You looked at the calendar hanging on your door. As far as you were concerned, the fact that you were currently still in bed, at 10 am in the morning, meant you were as free as a highschool student could possibly be.

“Yes.’’ You sent a follow up text,

“Are you taking me out on a date Laforteza?’’ It took a while, but your phone buzzed, indicating a reply.

“You caught me there, but yes, I’d very much love it if you’d be so kind to yk say yes?’’ You giggled at how dorky Sophia could be.

“12 at Angelina’s? Yk that new café down the street from school?’’ You looked at the clock. It was currently 10:12 am. You had enough time to prepare. So as you got up from bed, you sent Sophia a final text.

“Sure.’’

Sophia stood outside of the café, patiently waiting for you to show up. And as if on cue, she sees you approach her. Sophia felt the world stop.

There you were, walking towards her with a stupidly cute and soft smile on your face. You were wearing an oversized blue football jersey, exposing your left shoulder as it hung, your bra strap visible. You had baggy jeans on, white shoes accompanying them.

You were now only a foot away from Sophia. You were apologizing about being a bit late, but it fell on deaf ears. Your glasses. Sophia had never seen you wear glasses before, and oh God did she wish she had. You looked so… breathtaking.

“...ello? Hello, earth to Sophia? Are you upset about me being late?’’ Sophia shaked herself out of whatever homosexual trance she was in, and actually paid attention to you. She can’t believe such a simple outfit had her drooling like she was some dog.

But now that you had this slight pout on your face, genuinely worried if you had upset the raven haired girl, Sophia reminds herself why she was so enamoured in the first place. If the cuteness aggression she had towards dogs was strong, the cuteness aggression she had for you right now was definitely stronger.

“Uh… no no, it’s not that. You just look..’’ Sophia looks you up and down, “Amazing.’’ You blushed, telling her flattering words won’t get her anywhere.

“I beg to differ, because my flowery words have gotten me this date with you, hasn’t it?’’ You giggled,

“Whatever floats your boat Sophia.’’ Like clockwork, Sophia extends her hand for you, and you take it. The two of you enter the café, and spend the rest of the afternoon together.

You stood at the entrance of Disneyland. It's only been a couple minutes since your original meeting time has passed.

“Y/n!” You heard your name being yelled by Sophia, and turned around, wondering which direction the girl's voice came from.

And there she was, in all her glory, with a cute oversized red sweater that fit her in all the right ways, accompanied with some light oversized jeans.

You jogged towards her, and giggled at her choice of clothing.

“What's so funny?”

“A sweater? Sophia, it's the middle of the day in Los Angeles. You're gonna start sweating before we even enter a single attraction.”

“Wha— I can't choose what I look good in okay?!” You both entered the gates, a soft atmosphere surrounding you two.

After what seems to be hours, you and Sophia were now right in front of the roller coaster attraction. To say you were scared shitless of roller coasters was an understatement.

“I.. I don't know Soph. I can’t..” Sophia looked at you endearingly. The Filipina proceeded to speak to you with a soft tone.

“Hey, we don't have to if you don't want to. But… will you trust me on this?” Sophia extended her hand, with her stupid cute doe eyes. How could you say no?

So with a heavy heart, you took her hand, and stepped on the roller coaster. As the two of you strapped on, Sophia kept her fingers tangled with yours.

“Just hold on to my hand. If things get too scary, then squeeze them, okay? Don't worry, I'm here.” You nodded, as you mumbled small thank you.

Needless to say, you hated the ride. It was scary, dangerous, and overall not your thing. But maybe, just maybe— maybe it was worth it. Worth it to see Sophia smile like a little kid, giggling after you had gotten off the ride. A smile you couldn't help but return.

It's been about a month since you've been in a situationship with Sophia. Needless to say, you've been happier these past few weeks. But no matter how much Sophia was around you, Aaron, the dumb asshole he always was, still hasn't gotten the damn hint.

“Why are you playing so hard to get?” You were not in the mood for this. It was 8 am in the morning, and you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Look,” You faced Aaron, as you held your math and science books in your hand. “I'm not in the mood, Aaron. Just leave me alone.”

Aaron let out what seemed to be a mocking laugh, and grabbed your hand as you tried to walk away.

You accepted your fate, too tired to actually give a fuck, when all of a sudden, two people appeared by your side, slapping Aaron's hand away.

Those two people were Sophia and Daniela.

Sophia you expected, given the Filipina has been doing so for the past few weeks you've known each other. But Daniela?

The Latina hasn't spoken to you in weeks, almost as if you've never known each other at all. It was quite funny really. But you somehow managed to pull through— all because Sophia had been distracting you from the hard truth.

Daniela stepped forward, pointing a finger at Aaron, rage written all over her face.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on her. You fucking mutt. Learn your damn place.’’ As Daniela was confronting Aaron, Sophia checked your wrist, and noticed red marks left by Aaron’s tight grip on you. Oh she was livid.

Both Daniela and Sophia were seething from the way Aaron had just treated you, and you know… free will?

“Oh please, I wasn’t doing anything wrong! Your friend over there was just playing hard to get.’’

“Listen here you—’’ Before Daniela could finish her words, Sophia stepped in.

“Veronica. Kaylee. Rhianna.’’ You and Daniela looked at Sophia with a confused stare. What the hell did they have to do with this?

But for some apparent reason, Aaron looked like he wanted to shit his pants.

“You want me to list more names, Aaron Williams? I know more shit about you than your side hoes do. So get your shit together, and never approach Y/n ever again. One more action— one more stupid little spectacle, and I will make it my life's mission to get you kicked out of this damned school. Am I understood?’’ Silence filled the halls, and after a few measly seconds, Sophia spoke again.

“I said, Am I understood!’’

“Ah— yes! I'm s—sorry.’’ Aaron stumbles with his words, and leaves the scene as quickly as he could, scared shitless, not wanting to face the consequences of his actions.

You sighed, glad the whole ordeal was finally over. The two girls shifted their attention to you, worry visible on both faces.

Daniela slightly opens her mouth and closes it almost immediately, as if she had wanted to say something but held back. Sophia however, did not hold back.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you any more than that?” You reassured Sophia, but the Filipina couldn't stop worrying.

In the midst of it all, Daniela stood there, right next to you and Sophia. But for some reason, it felt as if she was watching from a distance— like she didn't belong there. You looked so happy, and the Latina felt her presence there was not wanted.

It was, after all, her who had started avoiding you for getting harassed by that man— albeit not knowing what he was really like, or that you had never consented to the “courting”.

If she could take it all back— she’d do so in a heartbeat. Daniela felt as though she was extending her stay, so after taking one more look at you, Sophia cupping your cheeks and you telling her you were really fine, the Latina quietly stepped back.

Daniela watches you from a distance, hanging out with Megan, Yoonchae, and Sophia. For some reason, Daniela felt so… weird.

The Latina stares at her hand— the one she used to slap Aaron’s hand away from yours. She doesn’t know why she’s been thinking about it so much. Aaron was straight up harassing you— her friend—so of course she stepped in! Even if she liked him! But for some odd reason, calling you just a friend hurt.

She tries to shake herself out of it, but her eyes land on you, currently getting spoon fed by none other than Sophia Laforteza. Your friends were cheering her on, looking at you two like you were the sweetest couple in the world.

Her stomach twisted. Daniela thought about all the times Aaron was around you— all the times she felt “jealous” of you being courted by Aaron. But now that she was watching you and Sophia, now that someone else had suddenly been too attentive towards everything you say— been too sweet for her liking, Daniela second guesses it all. Did she truly like Aaron? Yes. But was that uncomfortable, gut wrenching feeling of jealousy directed towards you?

Daniela took a few short breaths. It hit her like a train. She wasn’t jealous of you— she was jealous of Aaron.

The light in Daniela’s eyes disappears once she sees you look at Sophia in a certain way— like you were starting to fall for the Filipina. Daniela grits her teeth, a pained expression visible on her face. Lara, who was right next to the Latina, asked what was wrong.

“It’s nothing Lara.” Daniela’s reassurance made Lara worry even more. She never calls her Lara— only Lars or some other teasing nickname like “Dumbass” or “Bitch”. So Lara knew this was serious.

The next few weeks were devastating for Daniela. The sudden realization of her feelings for you was crushing enough— but the fact that Sophia was now openly courting you intensified her heartbreak.

On the other hand, things have been going well for Sophia. She’s finally able to pursue the person she’s been liking for the past few months— the only reason why she didn’t do so in the first place being the fact that you explicitly made it clear you were not interested in a relationship.

But after Megan Meiyok, your friend, approached her and let her know you were in the market— the Filipina jumped at the chance.

After you had told her about your feelings for someone, although she did not know who you liked so much, Sophia sympathized with you. She made it her mission to make you fall for her— to be the one you admire the most.

And with every date, every conversation, every time you had accepted her hand—trusted her— Sophia was sure she fell even more in love, if that was even possible. You were amazing, kind, reassuring, and the only person who had her heart. The past few months she’s spent with you were by far the best in her life. Your laugh, your smile, your stupid doe eyes— had her captivated.

Sophia wanted nothing more than for you to be hers— and for her to be yours.

It was currently the music festival, and you were with Megan. Megan, the hyper little bitch she was, had been running around trying stuff from different stalls. Just a couple minutes ago the girl had eaten food with peanuts in it, her peanut allergy kicking in.

“This has… what now?” Megan awkwardly laughed, looking at the food in her hands with an obvious bite on it, and the person selling.

“Peanuts girl— it’s got peanuts in it.” Your jaw dropped, and just as you were about to call school staff, or maybe even run around trying to find anyone with an epipen, Megan brushes it off.

“Oh its fine, I’ve got an epipen with me. I came prepared.” With a smug and confident smile, Megan takes another bite out of the cake. You had no idea how this girl was still alive.

It was in fact, not fine. Her peanut allergy kicked in almost immediately after the second bite, and Megan began scrambling for her epipen. She struggled, only to find it at the bottom of her bag. You swore you were going to kill her before her allergy gets to her first.

It was starting to get late, the sky turning into a familiar dark shade of blue. You and Megan walked around a bit more, and reached the middle of the festival. Here, everyone was gathered to watch what seems to be a performance of some sort.

“The festival is coming to an end, so we'll be finishing it off with a bang!” The singer says, and their drummer starts it off with a “1 2 3 4!”

All of a sudden they started playing what seemed to be Tokyo Ghetto. Their lead singer had started singing in Japanese, which was to be expected since he himself was supposedly Japanese. Some girls yelled his name, squealing. “Oh my god Ni-ki!!”

You were vibing with the music, until you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around, a bit spooked, only to find Sophia looking at you with a gentle smile.

You returned her cheerfulness, and the two of you just stood there, admiring the music. In the middle of it all, fireworks had suddenly started popping, which scared you. You hated loud noises— especially if you didn't know they were going to happen.

Your breathing started getting faster— more erratic than you wanted it to be. You didn't notice how or why, but you were starting to get overstimulated.

No, scratch that, you already were overstimulated. The fireworks were just what sealed the deal.

Sophia noticed your discomfort almost immediately. Sophia gently tilted your head to face her. You looked at her with a confused and tired face. The whole going around campus had you exhausted.

Sophia looked at you with a worried but gentle smile. She softly covered your ears, mouthing, “Let's go?” You nodded. Of course she came to your rescue once more. You shut your eyes, hoping to get away from all the noise.

Sophia quickly grabbed your hand, and dragged you away from the crowd. After a few minutes, you were both now in the parking area, far away from where all the ruckus was.

Sophia gently tapped your ears, and you slowly opened your eyes.

You were met with Sophia, looking absolutely ethereal. Even under the moonlit sky, her beauty was still visible— rivaling even the moon itself.

You calmed yourself down, feeling thanks to comforted Sophia's presence.

Sophia took a deep breath, and started speaking.

“I… I know this isn't the best time Y/n, but still. I just— I wanted to let you know. I know it's obvious that I like you, but…” You look at Sophia. It felt too early. You liked the girl, yes. She's been nothing but understanding and amazing— but.. but Daniela.

“I love you, Y/n L/n. I want you to know that I love you. Even through all my hectic schedules, sleepless nights, you've been the only thing I could look forward to. Day and Night I think about how lucky I am to have had the chance to even be your friend, much more this. I'll treat you as my world, if you promise to treat me as yours. So, Y/n L/n, will you take my hand, and accept my faulty but sincere confession?” Sophia reaches out her hand, hoping— praying you'd take it.

But you hesitated. An image of Daniela suddenly appearing in your mind— her sweet smile, the very one you fell for all those years ago, flashing as a memory.

Sophia took one look at you, and knew your answer. You've never hesitated in taking her hand. So she knew. She knew your answer.

Sophia sighs, and puts her hand away. Just as you were about to say sorry, the Filipina cuts you off.

“Don't. It's not your fault. I don't want nor do I need your pity.” Despite the sadness written all over her face, a tear threatening to fall, Sophia shot you a reassuring smile.

“You still like her, don't you?”

With an ashamed nod, you bit your lip and mumbled a yes. Sophia raised your head to look at her straight in the eye.

“Hey, I'm gonna be fine. You know me Y/n. But if you're gonna reject me this way, all because you couldn't move on and still continue to mope over someone you haven't even confessed to, then I just feel mocked.” Sophia's face turned serious,

“So you better get with Daniela, or else I'll kick either you or her in the shin.” Sophia laughed it off, but the guilt was starting to overwhelm you. Sophia noticed you were now shaking, and noticed how cold it had gotten.

The Filipina swiftly takes off her varsity jacket, and places it around you. She pats the jacket down, just so it could fit you perfectly.

She reaches her hand out, and looks at you with a pained smile.

“Let's head back?” You hated how considerate she still was. How she ignored all the pain she felt when you had rejected her— all because she prioritized your feelings first. You nodded, and took her hand.

It's been a week since the music festival. Sophia was still kind to you— too kind. To the point where no one knew about what had happened, except Yoonchae and Megan until she told her other friends.

Sophia was still your friend, so she greeted you, Megan, and Yoonchae more often than not.

Daniela has been in and out of it lately. She's been wanting to confess to you the moment she realized her feelings, but she knew she had to mend your friendship first. So here she was, with Lara and Manon, currently seated at your table. She apologized to you a couple days back— but she knew she had to do more.

Daniela has been by your side for the last few days, hoping to make amends. You hated how easily she can just slip back into your life, how easily she could just barge back into your heart.

As the whole table chit and chattered, everyone in some sort of conversation, Daniela handed you a note, and mouthed,

“Open it later.” You nodded, wondering what it was about.

It was now math class. Well, before math class was about to start but that's besides the point. You grabbed Daniela's note from your pocket, and it read,

“Dismissal, 5pm, school gym.” You wondered what this was about, but you were going to go nonetheless. It's not like anything major was going to happen anyway.

“Hi.” Daniela said as she stood in front of you.

“Hi Dani. What's this for?” Daniela looked hesitant, but the Latina continued speaking.

“I… I know I apologized. But… still. I'm sorry about the whole Aaron thing.” You chuckled, and told her it was okay— that you didn't really mind. Even if you did.

“Look I—” Daniela sighs, “I recently realized. I was never…”

“You were never..?”

“I was never jealous of you. I was… I was jealous of Aaron.” Daniela says as she fidgets with her fingers.

“I know, this may be kinda shitty but… all this time, the only person I truly liked was you. I don't know how it slipped past me, but it did. I'm so sorry for the way I treated you, and everything else.” Your breath hitched. Was this seriously happening right now?

Normally, you'd say yes in a heartbeat. You've been waiting for this for so long— but Sophia's confession rang in your head. You remember her telling you to choose wisely. To make sure whoever you were going to be with was worth it.

After all Daniela had done, you weren't so sure anymore.

“I…”

“Just— a chance is all I need, Y/n. I won't mess this up. I promise.” You wanted to say yes, but you couldn't.

“... I need time, Daniela. I know I said I forgave you but— it still hurt me nonetheless. Prove to me. Prove that you deserve to be the one to hold my hand, to be the one I call mine.” Daniela held your hand, and brought it to her chest.

“Of course.”

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jamesmcalover · 27 days ago

Text

worst plus one 9

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: last part </3, party, alcohol, so much fluff it's almost disgusting

Summary: Reader is Matti's best friend and is brought along to this whole Eurovision mess. His annoying brother is making this trip even messier.

2.5k words - not proofread

The party starts before you’ve even left the arena.

Someone pops a bottle of something sparkling. Maybe it’s actual champagne, maybe it’s cheap prosecco, but it doesn’t matter. The Icelandic delegation passes it around like a holy relic, taking swigs straight from the bottle and laughing with the kind of relief that only comes after weeks of living on nerves and no sleep. It’s messy, it’s noisy, but it feels like a small, defiant celebration. You didn’t come last, and somehow, that’s enough to make you feel like you won.

By the time you all stumble into the official after party, the energy is somewhere between delirium and euphoria. The air is thick with sweat and perfume and that sweet burn of adrenaline, everyone’s faces flushed, limbs loose, voices raw from too much cheering and not enough water. Glitter sticks to everything. Your arms, your hair, someone’s cheek, like the night itself is determined to leave a mark.

The venue is a cavern of noise and color. The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, the bass rattling your ribs. The lights flash in bright, dizzy bursts of pink and gold, casting everyone in an otherworldly glow. Delegations from every corner of Europe and beyond are mashed together on the dance floor, sequins catching the light, shoes long since kicked off and forgotten. It’s like the whole contest has melted down into this one wild, feverish moment.

You’re in the thick of it, a plastic cup of something suspiciously sweet in your hand, Sirry’s laughter in your ear on one side and Úlla’s high, bright whoop on the other. Matti’s already climbed up on a table with Baldwin, both of them leading a chaotically off-beat choreo to their own song while the DJ spins JJ's track at double speed. They’re not even close to the beat, but nobody cares. It’s glorious.

And Hálfdán? Hálfdán looks like he’s been waiting for this all night.

He’s in the center of the floor, moving like the music is part of his blood, shoulders loose, head thrown back. His sunglasses are perched back on his nose like they never left his face, and he’s got a paper crown someone shoved onto his head, slanted and ridiculous. He’s glowing. Maybe it’s the lights. Maybe it’s the aftershock of everything. Or maybe it’s just him.

When his eyes find yours, he grins so wide it nearly undoes you. He points straight at you from across the pulsing crowd, then crooks his finger in a slow, dramatic beckon, like you’re a VIP guest at his personal concert.

You try to fight the smile that breaks across your face, but it’s useless. It bubbles up and out of you in a bright, breathless laugh as you push your way through the bodies toward him.

“You,” he says when you’re close enough to hear, catching your wrist and spinning you in a lazy circle. “Look dangerously good.”

He’s teasing, you know he is, but there’s something in his voice. A rawness, a warmth that feels like a promise. It does something to you. The world spins around you in a blur of music and sweat and laughter, and for a moment, it feels like you’re both untouchable.

“You’re drunk,” you say, steadying yourself on his shoulder as the crowd surges around you, the beat thumping in your bones.

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “So are you.”

“Barely,” you protest, though your voice wavers just a little. You’re not as far gone as some of the others, but there’s definitely a dizzy sort of buzz in your head, a heat in your veins that has nothing to do with the music.

He tilts his head, his grin lazy and full of mischief. “Then I guess,” he says, leaning his head down, his voice low, a little rough, “I just find you dangerously good all the time.”

You roll your eyes, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but your cheeks are warm, and he can see it. You can feel it. His fingers brush along your waist, light and teasing, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

His grin just grows wider, brighter, and he says, “You like it,” like he already knows the answer.

And maybe you do. Maybe tonight, with the music and the lights and the whole world stripped down to this moment, you don’t mind at all.

For a while, you just dance. Not like professionals. Not like people being watched. Just two idiots with aching feet and tired bodies and enough adrenaline left to keep moving. Hálfdán spins you around, lets your hand go just to catch it again, and you almost trip over your own feet because you’re both laughing too hard to care. The music pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you’re sure you could keep going forever.

Someone spills something sticky and sweet on your shoes, and you’re too breathless to even care. There’s a conga line at one point that weaves through the crowd like a snake, and Úlla snatches your hand, pulling you in. She leans in close, yelling the lyrics of whatever song is playing directly into your ear like it’s the only way to make them real.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, ridiculous chaos, and you're still wearing the smile he gave you.

Eventually, the night starts to catch up with you. Your feet are killing you, and your voice is nearly gone from all the singing and shouting. Hálfdán pulls you in close, his hands warm against your waist, his forehead bumping against yours.

“Ready to call it?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

You nod, and he takes your hand. You weave your way out of the club together, past the tangle of bodies and the thump of bass that seems to echo in your bones. Outside, the night air is cool and fresh, a relief after the heat and sweat of the party.

He looks at you, grinning under the streetlights. “Want me to walk you back?”

You just nod again. It’s not really a question.

The city is quiet compared to the chaos you’ve just left. The air outside is cool and quiet, like the universe turned the volume down, and your footsteps sound too loud on the cobblestones. You’re still a little drunk on it all. The music, the laughter, the fact that he’s here, that he’s still holding your hand like he’s afraid to let go.

You walk side by side, not speaking at first. There’s no need to.

He swings your linked hands between you. “You alright?”

“Yeah. You?”

He hums. “Think my feet are bleeding. Worth it, though.”

You smile at the pavement.

It’s a slow walk. Neither of you in a hurry. The streets around the venue are mostly empty now, the crowds thinned out, the city calming down after its wildest night of the year. You take the long way back, past the river where you sat earlier with Sirry, past souvenir shops that are now dark and shuttered.

He’s quiet. But not awkward. Just calm. Steady.

When you reach the hotel, he follows you inside without question, moving alongside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The night air clings to your clothes and hair, but the quiet of the hotel lobby feels almost too still after the noise and light of the party. You slip past the doorman, up to the elevator, the soft hum of it carrying you both up to your floor.

Neither of you says much. There’s something soft about the silence, like you’re both too full of everything else to bother with words.

The hallway is dim, carpet muffling your steps. You walk slower than you need to, not wanting the moment to end. He’s beside you the whole time, his shoulder brushing yours, his hand still holding yours like a promise.

You stop at your door, the card key in your hand, suddenly not sure what to do. You’re still buzzing with adrenaline and whatever was in that plastic cup, your chest tight with the kind of warmth that feels too fragile to name.

“I don’t really want to go in yet,” you admit, your voice a little smaller than you meant it to be.

He leans against the wall beside you, one foot propped up, head tilted to look at you. “Then don’t.”

You shift the card key in your hand, heart beating too fast. “And what are we supposed to do instead?”

He smiles, just a little. “I don’t know. We could keep walking around until the sun comes up. Or… I could stay for a bit.”

You swallow. “Stay?”

He nods. “If you want me to.”

It’s stupid how much you do. How much you want to hold on to this night for just a little longer. You press the key card to the reader, the door clicking open.

“Okay,” you say, stepping back to let him in.

He walks past you, pausing just long enough to catch your hand and pull you in with him. The room is dark, quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and your breathing.

He turns to you in the soft light of the street lamp spilling in through the window. “You know,” he says, voice low, “I can’t believe I hated you two weeks ago.”

You laugh, but it comes out choked, too close to something else. “I know. I can’t either.”

He brushes a thumb along your cheek, like he’s still trying to figure out how you ended up here, together, in the quiet after the storm.

“I don’t hate you now,” he says.

“I don’t hate you either,” you whisper back.

He leans in, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheek, your mouth. “Good,” he murmurs.

You look up at him.

He’s already watching you.

And in that instant, you forget what tired feels like. You forget the crowd, the noise, the months of buildup. All you can feel is his breath against your skin, the way his eyes hold yours like he’s afraid to blink.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing slowly, carefully, beneath your eye. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s tracing every line and freckle now that there are no cameras left to catch you, no music to drown out the way your heart stutters in your chest.

When he kisses you, it’s nothing like the chaos of the night before.

It’s unhurried. Real.

You kiss him back without even thinking, your fingers twisting in the soft fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of him. In something solid. Something that’s been simmering ever since that first spark, that first moment you realized he was impossible to ignore.

It deepens, slowly, like the world has narrowed to the two of you in this quiet room. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, your pulse quickening in response. You bury your fingers in his hair, tugging him just a little closer, tasting the last remnants of laughter and victory and all the things you’re not sure how to name.

His lips part against yours, and the world outside the door disappears. There’s nothing but this — the warmth of him, the weight of his hands, the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

But he pulls back before it gets too much.

“Wait,” he murmurs, breathing uneven. “Are you sure?”

You nod, chest aching with how much you mean it. “Yeah.”

His forehead rests against yours. “Okay.”

Then he kisses you again, and this time neither of you stop.

You lose track of time. Of the lights outside the window and the hush of the city settling down for the night. Of the faint bass thumping from the afterparty two blocks away, still echoing in your bones like a heartbeat you can’t quite shake.

You don’t know how you ended up here, in this quiet hotel room with glitter stuck to your skin and the faint taste of him still on your lips. The world outside feels far away. Unreal.

Eventually you end up on the bed, tangled in sheets that smell faintly of laundry soap and something sweeter you can’t place. Still fully dressed, shoes kicked off but everything else a blur. You’re both too tired to care. Too wrapped up in the way his fingers trace circles on your hip, in the warmth of his body pressed close to yours.

He tugs the paper crown from his head with a sleepy mutter and drops it on the floor like it’s a piece of the night he doesn’t need anymore. You laugh, just a little, and do the same with your lanyard, letting it fall from your fingers.

Then you curl into his side, breathing him in like you’re trying to memorize the way he smells: sweat and soap and a hint of cologne, something that’s just him. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek, and the slow rise and fall of his chest anchors you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

His hand draws slow, absent-minded shapes against your back. A wordless comfort, a promise you don’t have to hear to believe. Neither of you speak. There’s nothing to say. Nothing you need to explain.

Then you shift slightly, turning your head to look up at him through the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Can’t believe I hated you two weeks ago,” you murmur, voice low and soft.

He snorts, eyes still closed but a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You were obsessed with me. Don’t lie.”

You shove at his chest, just enough to make him crack one eye open. “You were unbearable.”

“I was charming.”

“You were loud. And cocky. And… so sure of yourself.” You pause, then add, “It was annoying.”

He tilts his head a little, amusement flickering in his half-lidded gaze. “And you couldn’t stay away.”

You sigh, letting your head rest back against him, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “God, I really couldn’t.”

He hums, the sound deep and content, and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around you like he’s anchoring you there. “Good thing you didn’t,” he says, his voice soft and a little rough with exhaustion.

You close your eyes, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear. The weight of his arm around you, the warmth of his skin, the quiet of the room around you. It’s all so simple, so easy.

His hand finds yours under the covers, fingers lacing with yours without a word. Like it’s always been that way. Like it always will be.

And yeah. Maybe you did hate him two weeks ago.

But now you’re here, wrapped up in each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you’re not sure how you ever existed before this.

Before him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

a/n: please don't be mad at me but this is the end of worst plus one </3. THANK YOU to every single one of you for your endless love and support, i had so so much fun writing this!! <3 and don't worry, i'll keep proving you with hálfdán fics & maybe start writing for other esc people too, we'll see :3

#hálfdán #væb #vaeb #eurovision #esc #esc25 #eurovison 2025 #esc x reader #eurovision fanfiction

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cheriecelestial · 4 months ago

Text

Angel Pt.III

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ nsfw. 18+ content. MDNI. porn with plot. creampie. unprotected sex. phone sex(if you can call it that). oral(m!+f! receiving). our jaybird is tad bit obsessive and manipulative (mild yandere content). mild mask kink. praise. dacryphilia. fingering. mentions of domestic and child abuse. swearing. canon typical violence. crowbars. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Okay so here’s what was promised. It’s my first time writing smut so please let me know your thoughts in the comments. All flashbacks are in italics. Comment Reblog and Like

☆〜（ゝ。∂）

╰ ┈➤ Part I ➤ Part II

Y/N knew that Red Hood leaving would create a void in her life, but she hadn’t anticipated feeling so adrift. The excitement she once felt at the sight of the fridge filled with expensive groceries, imagining them cooking together, disappeared without a trace. A humorless chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips staring at the assortment of items he bought, wondering why he assumed she needed seven kinds of cheese, varieties she didn’t even know existed.

Despite her best efforts to keep herself busy, Y/N couldn’t ignore the emptiness growing inside her. Somehow, she found herself struggling to navigate everyday life with the listlessness weighing down on her, even her friends begun to notice. The void left by his absence grew more palpable with each passing day, leaving her longing for him to return. Why are you moping around like that? It’s not like he was your boyfriend or anything. A voice taunted her. He’ll be back before you know it, yet a hopeful voice reassured her. What if he won’t? What if he — no. I can’t think that. Y/N slapped her hands on cheeks to snap herself out of dismal train of thoughts. He’s strong, he’ll come back. He has to.

Her eyes found their little parcel he had left her. Exactly 15 minutes after Red Hood left, a parcel arrived for Y/N in the mail, much like the one she received a couple months back — though slightly larger. Unwrapping the brown paper around it was a shoebox with the words “Red’s Anti-Goon Starter Kit” written on it with permanent marker. Inside were several unusual items like tiny smoke bombs, a very potent possibly industrial strength taser, pepper sprays which Y/N was sure were banned sometime back and a flip phone. Accompanying these tools was another handwritten manual, meticulously detailing the operation of each item in the simplest language possible.

She couldn't help but marvel at the items before her. As she studied the contents of the kit, she felt the mix of gratitude and apprehension stirring within her. The things he gave her were unsettling, though thoughtful. Somehow it reminded her of an alley cat, who would get odd sorts of gifts for people who were nice to them. Y/N took out the phone and stashed the box under the couch because whenever Stephanie was over, she had a habit of snooping around the kitchen cabinets for snacks so it wouldn’t be the best place to put it. She plugged in the phone, noticing it appeared pristine with no contacts saved. She just assumed that the phone was for calling her without either of them getting tracked.

As days turned into weeks and then months, Y/N would often find herself staring at the phone, hoping the small screen to buzz to life. Leaning against her balcony railing as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, she drifted into a daze. Twirling strands of hair absentmindedly, her thoughts inevitably returned to him; wondering where he would be or if he’s eating well.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. With a sigh, Y/N pulled out the flip phone, scrolling through it for the nth time. The sleek and compact flip phone sported a soft pastel pink colour, the same shade of cotton candy with tiny shimmering Sanrio charms dangling from silver chains and the keypad adorned with dainty floral patterns that lit up with a soft pink glow when in use. The cover was embellished with rhinestones. Ever since she was young, Y/N had always harbored a fondness for cute things and this phone was something she had always longed for something like this since her middle school days.

Y/N wondered if he would call, glancing at it in anticipation. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as her mind conjuring up various scenarios. And almost as if on cue, the phone illuminated with an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. Y/N’s heart raced, nearly dropping the device in shock. Rushing to her bed, she hastily answered the call, her breath catching in her throat.

Relief washed over her as she was greeted by a very familiar voice on the other end, a wave of happiness flooding through her. Y/N's brain buzzed with a whirlwind of emotions. She hadn’t heard his voice in months. Her heart fluttered with a mix of joy and longing as she savored the sound of his voice. “Red,” she whispered softly with a smile on her face. “Missed me angel?”

“Yes. I did. Very much so,” she confessed,“How about you ?”

His response was immediate, filled with the same affection that had always warmed her heart. “More than you’d think,” his voice so crackled over the phone that Y/N almost thought she imagined it. She buried herself in the blankets wrapped around her, almost being feel his presence, as if he were right beside her rather than miles away. His tone was tender, leaving a strange sort of chill on her skin. In that moment, the distance between them seemed insignificant, eclipsed by what she felt.

“So, how’s that mission going? Any hope of returning soon?” She joked to lighten the mood of the conversation. “Sorry angel. This might take a while. I could only call you once throughout this whole thing and tonight was particularly tough. I just needed to hear your voice.” his voice seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable, casting a bittersweet shadow over their conversation. Y/N's heart ached with empathy as she listened to his words, realizing the sacrifices he had to make for Gotham. “I understand. Take your time and I’ll be here waiting for you.” Her voice a gentle reassurance across the airwaves.

There was a brief pause filled with unspoken sentiments and shared longing before he spoke again, his voice tinged with gratitude and affection ,“Fuck don’t do this to me angel. I swear I’ll drop everything and take the next flight to Gotham.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile as she let out a soft chuckle, “ As much as I would like that, your mission is important.” Her tone gentle yet firm. With those words, the burden of his duty weighing down on his shoulders felt a little lighter, buoyed by her unwavering spirit. He sighed in resignation, “I know I know but that doesn’t make it any easier. Y’know what angel? Forget it. Just keep talking. Anything, topic doesn’t matter. I just need to hear you.”

“Of course,” her heart swelled with tenderness at his request. I guess what people said about distance making the heart grow fonder was true. Despite the crackling static and interference, every word was like a soothing melody to him. After a point he lost track of what she was saying. Everything around him seemed melt away and was replaced with him, her voice and joy at its purest.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice the faint groans and whimpers on the other end of the line. She initially dismissed it as static but still decided to ask, “ Red are you okay?” Red Hood replied with a nervous cough, “ Wh-what? Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry. J-just don’t stop talking. Okay?” His voice was hoarse, and his breathing became noticeably choppier. Y/N was the least bit suspicious but still continued rambling on about the happenings of the cafe. “Though I still don’t get why you thought I needed so many different types of cheese.”

“I just read somewhere that women like cheese. You can make into a charcuterie board or something.” He answered casually, trying to stifle the soft moans slipping from his lips. Y/N paused, I could swear I heard moan. The only time people make such sounds are when they’re in pain or when they’re —

“Red, are you hurt?” she asked again cautiously. He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before reaffirming, “ N-no. I’m fine. Just dealing with stuff. That’s all.” His words came out oddly strained. “If you insist.” She sighed in resignation. There was a moment of silence on the other end before he let out a shaky exhale, “I should really get going. I’ll see you soon” And just like that the line went dead.

Y/N sat there, staring at her phone, her mind swirling with questions. It didn’t sound like he was with someone. Could he be —? Heat rose to her cheeks as images flashed through her mind. No no don’t think such things Y/N. She did suspect that her advances hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed by him. Well, it seems she’ll just have to make sure when he gets back.

Two more months flew by since the phone call and the frequency of thoughts about him had, albeit not much, diminished as she busied herself with work. As the last customer sipped the last of their latte and left— Y/N sighed, preparing to close up and head home. With Stephanie having to leave early because of a family emergency, Y/N found herself alone to shut down the shop. She wiped the espresso machine and counter tops clean once again, leaving them gleaming under the dim glow of the overhead lights. With each swipe, she removed any traces of the sticky spills and stray coffee grounds left behind by the bustling crowd, a farewell to the day’s countless cappuccinos and macchiatos. The hiss of steam escaping the machine, the gentle dripping of taps from the cleaning of the frothing wands, the screech of the chairs across the wooden floors — all seemed to reverberate a little louder than usual in the tranquil solitude. Flipping the closed sign gave her a sense of satisfaction, marking the end of yet another long day.

With a final glance around the now-empty café, Y/N flicked off the lights and locked the door. Outside, the evening sky had dimmed to a soft twilight, casting a warm glow through the café windows. The bat signal appeared in the sky above her, a small smile gracing her lips as she remembered Red Hood. It reminded her of the red bat insignia on his chest— a symbol known to strike fear into the hearts of all those that dare take advantage of the innocent but struck solace and warmth in hers. She hadn’t gotten far on her way home when she felt her purse vibrate. Y/N pulled out her phone and realized it was the flip phone that chimed. The phone could be used only once to contact Red Hood, and she knew she wouldn’t be receiving another call on it without compromising her safety, yet she carried it around as a tangible reminder of his promise.

With a sense of both apprehension and anticipation, she flipped open the phone to answer. However, this time, it wasn’t a call. It was a text message. The message contained a straightforward address located near the Narrows; a part of town Red Hood had specifically warned her to steer clear of. Y/N couldn’t help but feel skeptical about the ominous message. But what if it is him? Her fingers hovered over the SOS button on her necklace, a safety net if things took a turn for the worse.

Y/N remained alert as her footsteps echoed through the desolate streets, she felt a chill creeping up her spine which just felt all the more foreboding in the eerie stillness around her. Yet in that stillness — she could hear the insects buzzing around the flickering streetlights, the distant howls of stray dogs and the sounds coming from the seemingly abandoned buildings looming overhead, slowly building a palpable sense of déjà vu. Except this time, it was much more unsettling than the night she met him in the alley near her apartment. She could feel someone’s gaze burning holes into the back of her head, but she couldn’t tell if it was the product of her paranoid imagination or not.

Y/N looked over her shoulder but saw no one feeling her senses heightened by the creeping unease. She tried but couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being watched but every nerve in her body remained on edge. Yet despite the trepidation suffusing in the air, she was driven to see this through the end. Y/N pulled out the flip phone and dial the number that Red Hood used to call her. Within moments, the faint chime of a ringing phone echoed somewhere nearby.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she followed the sound of the ringing phone. As she rounded a corner, the sound became cleared and clearer — a phone lying on top of cardboard boxes next to a dumpster, its neon screen lighting up in the darkness. She slowly approached the phone, hands trembling slightly as she reached out to pick it up. As her fingers touched the phone, she felt a sudden presence loom behind her. Before she could react, darkness enveloped her vision, silencing any screams that may have escaped her lips.

“Must you have incapacitated her so forcefully, Roy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have the luxury to serenade and take her for coffee before bringing her here. In case you didn’t notice Kory we have a stubborn son of a bitch bleeding out.”

“I noticed plenty but she’s a civilian, you know they’re… fragile. You ought to be more considerate Roy. I doubt he will take it well.”

“He was the one who asked me to bring her here in the first place.”

“Your funeral.”

“Well if this one doesn’t wake up soon there’ll be a funeral, just not mine. Should I get some water to pour on her?”

“Don’t even — hush I think she’s waking up.”

Y/N eyes fluttered open, the world around her seemed hazy and distant. The room in front of her danced in and out of focus, a ballet of blurred shapes and muted colours. The last thing she remembered was the events of the —. She shot up, immediately regretting it as she was hit by a head splitting migraine. Discomfort took over almost immediately when her eyes moved about, albeit slowly, taking in her surroundings properly now that her head was clearing up somewhat.

What she was able to take it, was one of few things. First, she was on a very comfortable couch with a blanket draped around her shoulders and secondly, two red heads in costumes staring at her curiously.

“You —,” she started, her throat feeling parched but still continued, “ Arsenal and Starfire? You’re Red’s friends.” Her words were careful, she pretended to not have overheard their conversation from before. She knew that she was better off not knowing the real identities of people like them. That’s why she never tried to take Red Hood’s helmet off. And though she would never admit it out loud to anyone else, but she knew having a mask kink in a place like of Gotham wasn’t the best idea.

Arsenal, or as his teammate called him, Roy exchanged a glance with Kory and spoke up first with a cocky smirk, “ You got that right princess. How’re ya feelin’?” Kory offered her a comforting smile, though her glowy neon eyes were somewhat intimidating to Y/N. She heard somewhere that Starfire was the alien princess of a faraway planet but never thought much of it. Nevertheless, she appreciated the effort Kory was making to appear friendly.

“Fine I guess.” The h/c haired woman forced a small smile, trying to ignore the twinge of pain around her neck and in her head. Roy chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “Thank fuck. If anything happened to his precious little darling, Hood would have me six feet under.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Red’s name, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “He talks about me?” she asked shyly.

“Uh No,” Roy began ,“I’d wager he planned on keeping you all to himself cuz y’know he’s not big on sharing and not that I don’t see why.” His grin held a flirtatious edge with his gaze subtly checking her up and down until Kory smacked his shoulder, making him to wince and drop his smile immediately. “Please don’t mind him,” she said with a gentle laugh, “He means well even though his words lack … finesse.”

Roy huffed, almost pouting, “ I’m right here y’know.” Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter, though the question about Red lingered in her mind. Meeting Arsenal and Starfire was pleasant, but there was someone else she longed to see. “Where is Red?” she finally asked, unable to suppress her curiosity. Roy’s eyes widened and Kory’s expression turned into a pained one. “Fuck I totally forgot about him. Come with me.” He exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and leading her urgently to the room. Red Hood lay on the stretcher in the center, clutching his side and softly groaning. Y/N’s breath hitched in horror as she rushed to his side. “Red ?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern. “Long time no see angel,” he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

“We need to call a doctor!” She turned to Roy and Kory with panic lacing her tone. As vigilantes, she assumed they must have a designated doctor at their base, like in movies where such groups often had retired military personnel or medical prodigies in their ranks.

Roy clicked his tongue and sighed before stating matter-of-factly, “We did call a doctor.” Both of them glanced between Y/N and Red Hood. “I was the best you could find ?!” she exclaimed incredulously. It seemed unbelievable given the seriousness of Red Hood's condition. While she had patched up a few wounds before, her last operation had been back in med school and even then, it was her teacher performing it on a cadaver.

He shrugged apologetically, understanding the gravity of the situation. “We’re stretched thin right now. Plus, you’re the one he asked for,” he admitted.

“You want to put his life in the hands of a med school dropout ?!” Y/N asked rhetorically. “You’re a dropout?” Kory blinked in surprise. “He didn��t tell you?” The h/c haired woman gasped incredulously. All three pairs of eyes turned accusingly towards Red Hood. He shifted uncomfortably under their gazes, tense with unease. “It's not like that," Jason began, but Y/N interrupted him with a pointed look, crossing her arms, “Not like what? That you failed to mention you were relying on someone with minimal experience?” Her tone tinged with frustration.

“Can we do this later doll? Kinda dying here.” He coughed out, followed by a pained groan. Y/N felt a lump form in her throat and his discomfort grew almost palpable. Despite still being visibly distressed, her expression softened slightly — not being able to bear to see him in pain like this. “Fine,” she relented, steadying her panic and her concern breaking through her annoyance, “Let's focus on getting through this first.” With a nod of agreement, Kory and Roy turned their attention back to the task at hand. “We need to stabilize him until we can get him to a real qualified medical practitioner,” Y/N stated eyeing him accusingly. Jason let out a small sigh, relieved to momentarily escape the interrogation, though he could feel his consciousness slipping away from the blood loss.

“Stay with us bud.” Roy tapped his helmet. Jason’s grip on his consciousness was tenuous but still he nodded with labored breaths, fighting against the pull of exhaustion as they worked frantically to stabilize him. Y/N quickly immersed herself into the task, seizing the bag of sterilized equipment in the team’s med bay.

“Take off his armour.” Kory’s hands worked nimbly through Jason’s armour. It took her less than a minute to dismantle everything. The three worked in a manner that felt almost choreographed with their intent clear – to save their friend.

The skin of Red Hood’s torso marked was network of scars and red splotches. Y/N knew that for someone like him, injuries were inevitable and so were the scars they left behind. There were minor ones that resembled cigarette burns and larger ones that were angry red ones from fire or acid. She recognised some of the slashes as the ones she stitched herself. She recalled that Red Hood, probably not wanting her to see his wounds, would always pull his shirt back down as soon as she finished sewing. As someone who grew up in the rough part of town, she was no stranger to scars so she didn’t feel repulsed by them, rather she felt a sense of awe for the man who did everything in his power to make Gotham a better place. People admired the bat vigilantes sure, but not all knew just how tough it actually was, honestly Y/N didn’t know if she understood either but one thing, she knew was that Red Hood was worth every ounce of respect he commanded with each scar being the testament of the storms he weathered.

However, one scar particularly stood out to her, probably the biggest one. The raised ridges in shape of a Y travelling from his collarbones to his abdomen. Y/N felt her stomach lurch, she had seen that shape in medical book several times but never on a living person. Maybe it was some sicko who carved it onto him during one of his missions, she tried to convince herself but in the back of her head she knew that it was too prominent to be just skin deep.

“Y/N?” Roy’s voice broke her reverie, snapping her back to reality. Y/N quickly looked away, realizing she had been staring. “Turn him over. We need to remove the bullet first,” she instructed Kory and Roy. You can't afford to space out like that, she mentally scolded herself. Refocusing, she pushed aside her distractions. The blood had soaked through the first aid bandage, tainting the sheets crimson under him. “This might hurt. Do you have anaesthesia?” She inquired. Roy shook his head sheepishly, “We don’t keep that, but we do have booze, a leather belt to bite onto and horse tranquilizers. Would any of that work?” Y/N gaped at him incredulously. “Perhaps not,” Roy muttered, searching the room for alternatives. “Just go ahead without it,” Red Hood rasped, his voice barely audible. “But—” Y/N began in protest. “I don’t need it and besides you’d kiss it better, wouldn’t you angel?” he joked. Her face broke into a smile seeing his bravado still intact.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle softly at his remark, appreciating his attempt to lighten the tense situation. “As you wish,” her tone softened with affection and partly from being impressed by his resilience. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and began the task of removing the bullet from the injured area with utmost caution and care. Despite the lack of anaesthesia, Jason endured the discomfort stoically only to wince ever so slightly, not wanting to cause Y/N any more distress. Kory and Roy could only watch in awe as she worked with exceptional finesse. Regardless of what Y/N said, Roy could tell that she was far more skilled than she admitted to being. Maybe calling her wasn’t that bad of an idea after all.

Gotham city was a place where shadows stretched endlessly, the skyscrapers piercing the skies like jagged edges of broken glass cutting through the darkness. It offered a stark contrast to the labyrinth of impoverished and gritty streets of the Narrows.

Poverty, desperation and every other negative emotion to man was pervasive with the social fabric frayed under the weight of corruption and systemic injustice. And when it rained, the sound of the fresh water striking the flimsy roofs of the dilapidated buildings carried a sense of morbid irony - a reminder of despite how the city was plagued by perpetual rainfall, there were those who still struggled to get access to drinking water. But even then, the rainwater was far from fresh considering the untreated chemicals the industries pumped into the air of Gotham. Water was turned to acid and people’s hearts and minds to poison.

After working a long and tiring shift, Y/N stepped out the back door to dispose of the leftovers amidst the rain threatening to soak her cheap and scratchy waitress uniform. As she approached the dumpster, she heard movement and craned her neck to see what it was. “Jase?” she called out. In a moment’s notice, the boy crawled from under the empty cardboard box with his face lighting up when he saw her. Y/N’s eyes widened as she noticed the boy drenched head to toe and sporting a huge blue-black bruise across his cheek and eye.

“How did this happen?” She asked gently caressing his cheek and guiding him out of the rain. After their first meeting, 14-year-old Y/N formed an unlikely friendship with the elementary schooler. The boy recoiled from her touch and averted his gaze. She sighed, “Willis is having one of his episodes again?” Jason’s expression turned solemn, and he nodded slowly, “Mom told me to stay at the neighbor’s for the night but the neighbor was being weird and handsy, so I ran away.”

“Well let’s get you something to eat and that treated,” Y/N pointed at his black eye and continued, “I’ll call Catherine and let her know you’ll staying with me for the night, but we need to go home for that. Lucky for you, my shift just ended.”

“Don’t you have a phone?” Jason asked curiously. Since everyone he knew who had a job had a phone, it simply made sense that she would as well. “Ain’t got the kind of money for that kiddo. But if I did, I’d probably buy those cute flip phones. You know the cutesy ones with the flower pattern, rhinestones and crystal chains?”

“But they’re so —” his nose wrinkled in revulsion making Y/N laugh at his cute expression, “ Girly?” She made a guess, and he slowly nodded. “Well, I am a girl,” She patted his head but as soon as her hand touched his forehead, she withdrew it with a gasp, “ My god, Jase you’re burning up!”

“It’s nothing.” The boy muttered. Y/N shook her head firmly, “Pardon me but it’s not exactly convincing coming from someone who looks like a sopping wet cat. We’re going home no buts, you hear me?” Jason hesitated, torn between his discomfort and not wanting to burden Y/N. He knew her situation wasn’t much different from his own, and he couldn’t keep taking advantage of her kindness. “I-I’ll be okay. I don’t need your help.” he insisted but a dizzy spell from his raging fever hit him just as he spoke. Y/N caught him quickly, her expression leaving no room for argument. She crouched down, motioning for him to get on her back. “Get on. I’ll take you home,” she said. Jason complied without resistance. “I’m heavy you know,” he remarked. Y/N blew out a laugh as she stood back up. “And I’m stronger than I look you know.”

She draped her raincoat over both of them and carried him home, her steps steady despite the added weight. She could feel Jason’s fever rising, she kept talking to him trying to keep him awake despite his half-slurred responses in his fever-induced haze.

Much to her relief, it was Y/N’s mom that answered the door. “Is that Jason?” Her mom asked and Y/N nodded, gently placing him on the couch and explaining the situation. Her mother's gaze darted between her daughter and the boy; her expression filled with concern. “Y/N you can’t keep doing this.”

“Mom please he’s just a boy —”

“He is not your responsibility. He has his parents for that. You need to learn to be more selfish, this is the Narrows not the diamond district. If your father finds him —”

“He won’t.” Y/N answered in a clipped voice. Jason couldn’t help but feel guilty, it was clear that her mother wasn’t going to help, and he understood why. Both of them knew that all too well that Y/N was too kind for her good and insisted on helping despite the fact that they themselves were barely getting by. Despite his state, he could feel the tension in the air. He felt like an intruder, burdening Y/N and her family with his problems.

“The bathroom’s over there. Go change,” Y/N instructed, her voice firm but not unkind. She set a clean set of clothes down beside Jason and draped a towel over his shoulders. Her movements were practical, efficient, but there was a softness in the way she cared for him that didn’t go unnoticed. Y/N’s mother stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed as she watched Y/N heat up a glass of milk on the stove. Her expression was a mix of frustration and concern.

“What’s with this kid, anyway?” her mother remarked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Feeding a stray cat or dog every now and then is one thing, but this… this is too much. We can’t afford this.”

Y/N’s hands stilled for a moment, her grip tightening on the glass. She took a deep breath before turning to face her mother, her eyes steady but filled with emotion. “Then what do you want me to do, Mom? Send him back to his abusive father and just let him—” Her voice faltered, catching in her throat as the weight of her words hit her. She paused, swallowing hard before continuing, her voice quieter but no less determined. “I can’t do much about my own life, but at least I can help him.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “So is that what this is? Pity?” she questioned, her tone sharp and probing.

“Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me,” Y/N said, brushing past her mother with a tray in hand. She set it down on the bedside table next to Jason, who sat hunched under a blanket, his face pale and drawn. She poured a dose of medicine onto a spoon and held it out to him, but he turned his head away, his expression clouded with hurt. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Y/N lowered the spoon, exhaling slowly as she felt the weight of his words settle in her chest. Her heart ached, realizing that her intentions might not be coming across the way she had hoped. “It’s not pity, Jase,” she said gently, setting the spoon aside. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, searching for the right words. She knew the sting of being pitied all too well, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel that way.

“I hate the Narrows,” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “Every single inch of it.” Jason stayed silent, his eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to go on. “You heard what my mom said, and I get it—she means well. But I refuse to be selfish. I just can’t. Because everyone here is. The adults? They only care about themselves. So it’s up to us—the kids—to look out for each other, you know?”

Jason nodded slowly, his guarded expression easing slightly as he listened. Y/N felt a flicker of relief, grateful that he seemed willing to hear her out.

“It’s like… we’re all we’ve got,” she continued, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “Everyone expects us to turn out just like them—selfish, bitter, and broken. And if I give in to that, if I stop caring, then how am I any different from the people I can’t stand? So no, Jason, this isn’t pity. I’m doing this for you, but I’m also doing it for me. I won’t let myself get trapped in this cycle. I’m going to break out of here—someday.”

Jason studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “So you’re being nice out of spite?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile faintly at his question. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But mostly, I’m being nice because it’s the right thing to do. And because I don’t want to become someone I hate.” She paused, her gaze steady on his. “You don’t have to trust me, Jase. But I’m not going to stop trying to help you. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because I think you’re worth it.” Y/N booped Jason’s nose making lips curve into a half-smile. “You’re very weird. But ... in a good way.” His response made her own smile grow wider. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, be a good sport and take your medicine.”

Jason’s face scrunched up in distaste as he eyed the spoonful of medicine in her hand. “But that’s too bitter. I don’t like medicine,” he complained, his bottom lip forming an adorable pout. Y/N rolled her eyes before sighing softly, “ Well who does. You know what? Fine, lemme cut you a deal. You eat this and I’ll read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?” The boy contemplated the offer for a moment before opening his mouth reluctantly, his expression shifting from defiance to resignation. Y/N didn’t spare a moment before feeding the medicine, his face contorted into a grimace but swallowed it down, nonetheless. Handing him a glass of warm milk, she added,” I added extra sugar in this. This should help.”

Jason accepted the glass of milk with a grateful nod, a welcome relief from the bitterness of the medicine. He took a sip, savoring the comforting warmth spreading through him.

“Thanks Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the rim of the glass. Y/N smiled warmly at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You're welcome, Jase. Just remember, sometimes we have to do things we don't like for our own good,” she reminded him gently.

The boy scooted closer to her, resting his head against her shoulder as he continued sipping the glass of milk she had given him. Y/N had always been there for Jason, she was the one person who would always make all his problems disappear into oblivion. Her presence was a sanctuary from the Narrows’ harsh realities, a dream he never wished to wake up from. It was probably the only time in life he felt entirely safe and loved. “Now let’s get on with that bedtime story. Yeah?” she suggested.

Jason nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he lied down on the bed, pulling the blanket closer to him. “Well, I don’t have a lot of kids’ storybooks lying around but I can read to you this one of my current favorites.” Jason didn’t mind, in all honestly considering his fever, he doubted he’d retain much of the story anyway, it was the soothing cadence of her voice that he craved. “What’s it called?” He asked.

“Pride and Prejudice. It’s by Jane Austen”

Jason's mouth formed an 'o' shape, unfamiliar with the title. Y/N hadn't expected him to recognize it either. Literacy rates in the Narrows were less than ideal and she didn't know anyone who willingly picked up a book, let alone a classic.

Despite his lack of familiarity with the title and the plot, he listened intently as Y/N began to read. Though some of the nuances of the story may have been lost on him, regardless he relished the opportunity to escape into this world that Y/N liked so much. He observed the small smile that graced her face when she mentioned a particular character. “Y/N?” he called out. Y/N tore her gaze from the book and met his eyes with a hum of acknowledgment. “Hmm?”

“Do you like this Mr. Darcy?”

Y/N’s expression turned pensive as she considered Jason’s question. “Well, Mr. Darcy is a complex character,” she began, her voice reflecting her fondness for the literary figure. “He may seem kind of a jerk at first, but as the story unfolds, you'll see there's more to him than meets the eye.”

Jason felt intrigued by Y/N's insights. He could sense her genuine affection for the character. He knew that Y/N didn't have a boyfriend so often he couldn't help but wonder about her preferences in men. “— I just find his character development fascinating. And of course, there's the fact that he’s rich. Like really really rich.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “You like rich men?”

“I mean, who doesn't love financial security?” she replied with a shrug before continuing, “ I have two game plans for the future — either become rich myself or marry into wealth.”

The boy nodded, processing her words thoughtfully. “But aren't most rich men sleazeballs?” he interjected, curious about her perspective. “Well then, I guess I'll have to find someone who's at least agreeable. And when I say rich, I mean like —” she trailed off, searching for the right words considering how redundant of a topic this was for discussion with an elementary schooler.

“Mr. Darcy rich?” Jason guessed, eliciting a hearty laugh from Y/N.

“That's what I want. A huge penthouse at the top of a hotel, wearing luxurious clothes every day, receiving pretty flowers and indulging in gourmet delicacies like that wooden board thingy with different types of cheese, bread and grapes,” Y/N added, propping her hand against her chin and sighing dreamily. “Dunno what it's called but l've seen it in a magazine,” Jason remarked. He couldn't help but smile at her response, struck by her clear vision of the ideal lifestyle.

Y/N closed the book with a soft thud, placing it on the bedside table to signal the end of their reading session. “But that’s a conversation for another time. It’s late, and you should get some rest,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

Jason, who had been ready to protest, hesitated at the quiet authority in her voice. Recognizing there was no point in arguing, he gave in with a slow nod. He tugged the blankets tighter around himself, shifting to the other side of the bed as he prepared to settle in for the night.

As Y/N reached the door, Jason’s voice stopped her. “Y/N, wait—just one more thing.” She turned back to see his face peeking out from the cocoon of blankets, his expression curious. “Yes?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.

Jason hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before finally asking, “If a guy is rich, nice, and good-looking… would you marry him?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, a warm, genuine smile spreading across her face. “Go to sleep, Jason,” she said, shaking her head as she stepped out of the room. Her laughter lingered in the air behind her, leaving the question unanswered. Little did Jason know, as he lay there in the quiet of the night, that her response—or lack thereof—had sparked something in him. That night, he found his aspirations for the future, though he couldn’t quite put them into words just yet.

Jason Todd was no stranger to waking up in excruciating pain after a particularly grueling mission. This time was no different. As consciousness slowly returned, agony was the first thing he registered, sharp and unrelenting. The last thing he could recall was Y/N bent over him, carefully operating to remove a bullet, and the searing pain of her incisions cutting through his flesh. He guessed he must have triggered vasovagal syncope—a reflex that causes blood pressure and heart rate to plummet, leading to fainting as the body’s way of shielding itself from overwhelming stress or pain.

A small part of him felt almost insulted by it. He’d been trained to endure, to stay conscious through the worst of it. But maybe the endless sleepless nights, the relentless pursuit of his target, had finally taken their toll. Jason had left Gotham months ago with one goal: to dismantle Black Mask’s overseas drug operations. Base after base, lead after lead, he’d chased the trail for six exhausting months, only to end up back on the outskirts of Gotham.

Black Mask and his men had set a trap, one that caught Jason and his team off guard until it was almost too late. They’d used civilians as bait, forcing Jason into a corner. In the chaos, he’d managed to take down two of Black Mask’s top generals, but not without cost. A bullet had found its mark, leaving him wounded and vulnerable in the crossfire.

His eyes struggled to get into focus, blinking several times as he continued looking at the ceiling, it was a familiar one. The one at the outlaws’ base. He exhaled softly, his throat dry and aching, due to the lack of a much-needed drink. Regardless that was nothing compared to the pain coursing through his body, the sources varied, spreading like fire to his nerves. As the initial wave of pain subsided, he became more aware of his surroundings, he felt a weight on his leg. He turned his head and saw her.

Y/N L/N, in all her quiet grace, was asleep with her cheek resting gently against his thigh. Her hair, tied into a loose bun earlier, had partially come undone, strands falling softly around her face. She looked as beautiful as ever, though the faint dark circles under her eyes hinted at the sleepless nights she’d endured lately. Yet, despite the fatigue, her expression was serene, almost ethereal, radiating a sweetness that reminded Jason of something divine—like an angel, if he believed in such things. It struck him that this was the first time he’d ever seen her sleep like this, so peaceful and unguarded.

Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light so as not to disturb her. He froze when she stirred slightly, but instead of waking, she nuzzled closer to his hand, her face softening further in her sleep. At that moment, Jason felt something shift inside him, a warmth spreading through his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if his heart had melted into something unrecognizable, something tender and fragile.

Jason had long since turned his back on religion. Given the life he’d lived and the things he’d done, he was certain there was a special place in hell reserved just for him. He’d never given much thought to angels or divinity, convinced he’d never know what they truly looked like. But in that moment, as he watched Y/N sleep, he felt as though he was staring at something sacred. She embodied the purity and grace of every scripture, every gospel, every story of goodness he’d ever heard. And for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something akin to hope—or maybe even redemption.

She stirred awake slowly, the sensation of a calloused hand brushing lightly against her cheek and neck pulling her from sleep. “Red?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. The sound of her voice caught Jason off guard, his breath hitching as it pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the quiet reality they shared.

“Mornin’, doll,” he greeted softly, his voice rough and scratchy but warm. She hummed in response, instinctively leaning into his touch, her face nuzzling closer to his hand. Just as she was about to drift back into sleep, the memories of everything that had happened rushed back to her, jolting her fully awake. Y/N sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with alarm, and without thinking, she threw her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her chest rose and fell with quiet sobs, the relief she’d been holding back finally spilling over.

Jason understood that witnessing someone close suffer a severe injury like his could be profoundly unsettling for someone not accustomed to such dangers. Though taken aback, he returned her embrace, caressing her hair with a tenderness he didn't realize he possessed.

As Y/N held onto him tightly, he felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. The pain throbbing through his body long forgotten as he continued holding her close to him. Her presence was all comfort he needed. Jason was a man of many talents unfortunately comforting people wasn’t one of them, at least so he thought. “Shh it's okay, sweetheart. I’m okay. I swear,” he murmured, rubbing small circles on her back soothingly.

Y/N sniffled against his chest, her tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. She slowly pulled away, “I was so scared.” He brushed a stray tear from the corner of her eye, his touch filled with unspoken promises and reassurance. Jason’s heart ached at the sight of Y/N’s tear-stained face, his own emotions mirroring hers. Despite his usual stoicism, he found himself struggling to find the right words to comfort her in this moment of vulnerability.

“I know angel,” he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. “‘m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” Yet despite her initial relief, her eyes betraying the lingering distress. He knew the storm of emotions was far from over. “Red we need to talk,” the tone of her voice spoke volumes of the impending conversation they would have about his recklessness.

Jason's heart sank at the seriousness in Y/N's tone. He knew that if he wasn’t careful with this, it could drive a rift between them and scare her off for good, something that he considered an absolute non-option. Nodding solemnly, he met her gaze,“I know,” he replied quietly. “Let's talk.”

As they settled into a tense silence, Jason braced himself for the worst. “Red, I don't think I can keep doing this. You should really hire someone more qualified as your doctor,” Y/N continued, her words filled with concern. Despite her relief at seeing him alright, she was painfully aware of the potential dangers of their situation. The possibility of a misstep, such as making an incision in the wrong place or nicking an artery, weighed heavily on her conscious. Jason felt a knot tighten in his stomach at her almost palpable distress, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for putting her in such a precarious position. “Please don't put your life in my hands like that again. I- I don't think I can take it.” Her bottom lip quivered with emotion and her eyes grew glossier.

Reaching out, he gently cupped her face with his hand. “You won't have to do something like that again,” he vowed earnestly. There was a pause after his words where neither of them knew what to say. “But I can still crash at your place, yeah?” he added playfully with a hint of hope.

Y/N's serious expression broke into a smile, “Of course.”

Their moment was interrupted by a cough, and they turned to see Roy leaning against the door with a smirk. “As much as I hate interrupting your canoodling sesh, l gotta borrow Hood for a moment. Do you mind Y/ N?”

Y/N pulled away from Jason's touch with a jerk before hastily getting up and leaving the room, her cheeks flushed with furious blush of embarrassment. “Cute,” Roy's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he watched her walk out, then turned back to Jason, who was not amused in the slightest.

Jason shot Roy a stern look, his irritation evident. “What?” he said, his tone clipped. Roy Harper had been his ride or die for a very long time now, mostly because his plans were often high-risk high return and to be conducted by higher trained individuals with dubious moral compasses - two of them being himself and Roy. And one could say Jason trusted him with his life and had done so many times. But as of now asphyxiation seemed like a very tempting plan.

Despite wearing his trademark helmet, Jason’s sharp scowl didn’t escape Roy’s notice, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he sat down on the bed with barely concealed mirth and curiosity in eyes, like that of a schoolgirl talking gossip with her girlfriends. “Y’know Jaybird I’m kinda sad. You got a girlfriend and such a hot one at that and didn’t tell me? And here I thought we pinkie promised to tell each other our secrets when we braided each other’s hair and painted our nails at Lian and the outlaws’ slumber party.” he teased with faux sadness.

Jason rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile despite himself. Roy always had a way of lightening the mood. “Just forget it,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “Y/N’s not my girlfriend. Not yet, at least,” he began, unsure of how to approach the topic. Roy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying Jason’s attempt to downplay the situation. “Uh-huh sure whatever you say buddy,” he remarked, his playful demeanor unwavering.

“You were out for a like two days, so I took the liberty to make my acquaintance with our lovely Y/N. I already know how you folks met and all. So, I’ll start asking the real questions. What’s the plan ? ” Roy asked vaguely.

“What are you talking about?” Jason replied, playing dumb. Roy leaned in closer, his usual playful grin replaced by a more serious expression. “Come on, Jay. You and I both know you don’t actually need a doctor. We’ve stitched ourselves up plenty of times, and if it’s really bad, there’s always Alfred. So, there’s only one reason you’re keeping her around. You want an excuse to keep her close without her figuring out what you’re really up to.” Jason’s carefully constructed facade didn’t last long under Roy’s sharp observation, and it wasn’t long before the truth began to show through.

“Do you think I’m agreeable?” He asked. Roy’s brows furrowed in confusion at the odd question, but he decided to play along, “Uh yeah, I guess? What’s that gotta do with this?” Jason shook his head dismissively, waving off his question. He slumped back against the headboard and sighed heavily, wincing slightly from the pain of his injury. “Look let’s just say it’s easier for me to get her to accept gifts and stuff if she thinks she saved my life. And well she did.”

Roy's confusion deepened as he tried to make sense of Jason's words. “That bullet wound wouldn't have killed you,” he pointed out, stating the obvious.

“No. But abuse would have. Starvation would have. Disease would have. Neglect would have. The Narrows would have. She didn't let it. She saved me and continued to save me again and again. For years.” Jason's response was solemn. His voice softened to a whisper as he reminisced what were probably the only good memories of his childhood.

Roy’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “You two have history,” he stated, not bothering to wait for Jason’s confirmation before diving into his next question. “So, what is this? Some kind of childhood sweethearts thing?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words to explain without making it sound awkward. Roy, meanwhile, held up his hand, counting on his fingers as if doing some quick math, his face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, she’s older than you, right? How does that even work?”

“Uh well. It is childhood love, just one sided and —“ Jason began, but Roy cut him off with a scandalized gasp. “Ain't no way dude ! So that's why you asked me and Kory to make sure she doesn't find out your identity. You know she'd never let you hit it if she knew you were the same snotty-nosed brat she babysat or some shit.”

Jason shot him a glare, his scowl deepening at Roy’s crude phrasing. “I’m not just ‘trying to hit it,’ Roy. I’m in love with her,” he snapped, though deep down, he knew his best friend wasn’t entirely wrong—even if he didn’t appreciate the bluntness of the delivery.

For a moment, he was speechless. In all the years he’d known Jason, love had never seemed to be a priority. Jason was always more focused on his missions, his goals, his vendettas—matters of the heart rarely, if ever, made the list. Seeing him so openly and sincerely lovesick was unexpected, to say the least.

“Dang, Jay,” Roy finally said, his tone a mix of disbelief and pride. “I always knew you’d get there someday. But man, I should’ve seen this coming. You’re absolutely down bad for her.”

Jason’s scowl deepened at Roy’s teasing, his irritation flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, his voice defensive.

“I mean, I had my suspicions ever since I heard you getting all… worked up to the sound of some girl telling you about her day. Y’know, like a few months back?” Roy said, his grin widening.

Jason’s eyes narrowed in surprise. “How did you—” he started, but Roy cut him off with a casual shrug. “You forgot to mute the comms,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry. Kory was asleep and didn’t have her comms in. She didn’t hear a thing.”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “So you’re telling me you didn’t have the decency to, I don’t know, not eavesdrop on a private moment?” he retorted, his annoyance clear.

Roy shrugged again, his expression still unapologetic. “Hey, it’s not like I was trying to snoop,” he insisted, though his tone lacked any real remorse. “I was just about to crash when I heard this cheerful voice coming through the comms, and, well… I ended up hearing the whole thing. Total accident, I swear.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, his skepticism obvious. “Sure, Roy,” he said dryly, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because accidentally overhearing something like that is totally normal.”

Roy raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, maybe I should’ve given you some privacy,” he admitted, though his tone was far from sincere. “But come on, Jay. If it had been a mutual thing, I would’ve backed off immediately. No questions asked—that’s private and all. But it was just you, so I figured, hey, that’s fair game.”

Jason let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head at Roy’s weak justification. “Fair game? Seriously?” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your—” He gestured vaguely toward Roy’s body, his words trailing off. “And let’s not forget, you didn’t give a rat's ass about privacy when you were fucking that model girl five feet away from me and Starfire at the iceberg lounge.”

He winced as the memory resurfaced but, in his defense, she was undeniably attractive and he had been as intoxicated as his metabolism allowed him to be. He reasoned with himself that it was simply a momentary lapse in judgment, a product of the stress and frustration from the mission. “Anyways 'nuff about that. Let's talk about Y/N.” Much to Jason's relief, Roy dismissed the topic eager to shift the conversation back to the original topic. “You're serious about her, yeah ?”

“Absolutely,” Jason replied without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. Despite the complications of their situation, his commitment to her was unwavering.

Roy leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. “So, what do you plan to do when she finds out the truth?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

The question gave Jason pause, forcing him to confront the reality he’d been carefully avoiding. He hesitated, his mind racing as he weighed his words. “Well, I—” he began, swallowing hard as a hint of vulnerability crept into his voice. “I’m hoping to build our relationship enough that we can work through it when the time comes.”

“So, no plan?” Roy pressed, his tone skeptical as he sought a clearer answer.

Jason’s gaze faltered for a moment, his confidence wavering. “I mean, I haven’t mapped out all the details yet,” he admitted, “but I’ve thought about it. I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Like securing yourself as her sugar daddy so she’ll be too attached to let you go?” Roy quipped, rolling his eyes as he remembered how Jason had been mysteriously draining their funds lately. But then it hit him—when he’d spoken to Y/N, she hadn’t mentioned anything about receiving gifts or money from Jason.

“Well, yes and no,” Jason admitted, his tone a mix of defensiveness and honesty. “I’ve been sending her three grand every month, and I’ve been keeping an eye on her bank account. But she hasn’t spent a single cent of it. The only money she’s used is what she won from our video game bets.”

Roy raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Huh, so she’s not after the money. That’s cool,” he said casually. Jason shot him a sharp glare, and Roy quickly cleared his throat, backtracking. “I mean, not that I ever thought she was. But if she’s not spending your money, that could mean one of three things: one, she’s just a natural saver; two, she’s saving up for something big and specific, like a one-way ticket out of Gotham; or three, she’s planning to give it all back to you.”

Jason scoffed, his voice carrying a subtle but unmistakable edge of possessiveness.

Roy’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the tone. “Let her what? Return the money or leave?” he asked, his concern growing as he recognized something familiar in Jason’s voice—a determination he’d heard before, but this time, it lacked the usual rage and vengeance. Instead, there was a darker, more intense undercurrent.

“Both,” Jason stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Roy’s unease deepened at Jason’s unwavering declaration. The gravity of the situation was starting to sink in, and a sense of dread crept over him. Please don’t let it be what I think it is, he silently prayed to whatever gods might be listening. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and spoke up. “Jason, I need to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Jason replied, his expression unreadable.

“What if she rejects you?” Roy asked cautiously, his tone measured as he braced himself for Jason’s reaction. The air between them grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. Jason fell silent, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question. After a moment, he replied, “Well, I’ve got a secure penthouse. It’s furnished with everything she likes.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening as he processed Jason’s words. He pressed his lips together, rubbing his forehead as a knot of unease tightened in his chest. “Is that why you’ve been blowing through all that money? To set up some kind of gilded dollhouse to keep her in, just in case she tries to leave you?”

Jason’s demeanor shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “It’s not like that,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. Roy’s skepticism didn’t waver, his gaze sharp and probing as he stared Jason down.

“I asked you what you’d do if Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with you, and your first thought is kidnapping her? Jason, this isn’t how any of this works!” Roy’s voice rose in disbelief, his worry spilling over before he caught himself. He glanced toward the living room, where Kory and Y/N were, and quickly lowered his tone, realizing the risk of being overheard. The depth of Jason’s attachment to Y/N was becoming alarmingly clear, and it left Roy deeply unsettled.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he met Roy’s gaze. “You’re making it sound worse than it is,” he said, his voice low and defensive. “It’s not about trapping her. It’s about making sure she’s safe, that she has everything she needs. If she doesn’t want me… fine. But I’m not going to let her walk away without knowing she’s taken care of.”

Roy shook his head, his frustration evident. “Jason, you’re not hearing yourself. This isn’t about taking care of her—it’s about control. You’re so scared of losing her that you’re planning for the worst-case scenario instead of just… I don’t know, talking to her. Being honest. Letting her decide what she wants.”

Jason looked away, his shoulders tense. “You don’t understand. It’s not like I want to do it. It’s just a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose her, Roy. Not again.”

Roy let out a frustrated scoff, his words sharp and cutting. “You Bats and your goddamn contingencies! Listen, Jay, Y/N is a civilian—and a really good person. You don’t pull this kind of crap with people like her. Or with anyone, for that matter.” His disapproval was clear, his voice firm as he laid into Jason.

“At least she’s not a villain,” Jason shot back, his exasperation bubbling over as he tried to justify himself.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed a finger at Jason in warning. “Don’t bring the mother of my child into this,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He dropped his hand and let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Roy knew all too well how stubborn Jason could be, and arguing with him often felt like talking to a brick wall. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. “Look, if you want to win her over, start with flowers and dinners, y’know—green flag stuff,” Roy suggested, his tone softening as he tried to steer Jason toward a better approach. “The way to a woman’s heart is through genuine, romantic gestures—not through some creepy forced captivity. You read romance novels, for crying out loud. You should know this!”

“Like I said, it’s just a worst-case scenario. And yes, dinners and flowers are exactly how I plan to start,” Jason replied, his arms crossed as he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something to a child.

Roy nodded, feeling a small measure of relief at Jason’s reassurance. “Good,” he said, his tone easing slightly. “I’ll help however I can. Just don’t let those ‘worst-case scenarios’ of yours mess with your head.”

Jason gave a slight nod and hummed in acknowledgment. The two fell into a brief silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Roy understood the complexity of the situation—he couldn’t risk the safety of a civilian, and he certainly couldn’t let his best friend make a choice he’d come to regret, especially with Batman always watching closely in the background.

Despite being father and son, Batman and Red Hood’s relationship was anything but smooth. Their differing approaches to crime-fighting and their clashing ideologies often put them at odds. Roy frequently found himself stepping in as a safety net for Jason, especially when his best friend’s anger and thirst for vengeance threatened to spiral out of control. Roy knew what it meant to owe someone your life—Jason had saved him and his daughter, Lian, more times than he could count.

That’s why Roy was acutely aware of how Jason’s feelings for Y/N could further strain the already fragile relationship between him and Batman. Bruce had always been adamant about keeping civilians out of their world, especially when it came to personal relationships. But one thing was undeniable—Y/N brought a sense of joy and peace to Jason’s life that Roy hadn’t seen in years. After everything Jason had been through, he deserved that happiness.

Roy clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, breaking the silence. “Good talk. You should get some rest now. I’ll take Y/N home,” he announced.

Jason’s head snapped up, his expression one of surprise. “What? Why?” he asked, his voice tinged with protest. “Can’t she stay a bit longer?”

“Nope,” Roy said firmly, pointing a finger at Jason. “You’ve used up your Y/N privileges for now. She hasn’t been home or gone to work since you’ve been out. If you keep her here any longer, you’re going to get her fired.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he didn’t argue. He could see the exhaustion written all over Y/N’s face, and he didn’t want to push her any further. Without waiting for a response, Roy turned and walked out of the room. As he stepped into the living room, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Y/N and Kory were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together like old friends sharing secrets. The sound of their laughter filled the room, warm and genuine, and it brought a sense of comfort to Roy’s heart.

It wasn’t often that Kory found someone who treated her so naturally. Most civilians kept their distance, wary of her striking appearance and alien origins. Despite her boundless optimism, Kory often faced mistrust and hesitation from others. But Y/N didn’t seem to care about any of that. She treated Kory like anyone else, and it was clear they had hit it off.

“Having a good time, girls?” Roy asked, leaning casually against the couch.

Kory’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile radiant. “Conversing with Y/N has been most delightful,” she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Y/N smiled back, giving Kory’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Likewise, Kory,” she replied warmly.

“Well, hate to break up the fun, but I need to take Y/N home,” Roy announced, disrupting the cheerful mood. Kory’s smile faded slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I suppose you do,” she said with a reluctant nod. It was obvious the two had hit it off, and Roy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for cutting their conversation short.

Y/N excused herself to gather her things. “She’s nice,” Roy remarked, earning a hum of agreement from Kory. “I also approve of Jason’s choice,” she added with a small smile. When Y/N returned, ready to leave, Roy gestured toward the door. After a round of goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, they headed out of the Outlaws’ base.

The car ride was mostly quiet, though not uncomfortably so. Y/N considered asking Roy how he knew her address, since she hadn’t actually given it to him. But given his line of work, she figured it wasn’t that surprising. Still, she saw it as a chance to break the silence and decided to ask anyway. “How did you know where we’re headed?” she inquired, her tone curious.

“Hood has a file on you. I read it,” Roy replied casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Red had a file on her? The idea was intriguing, to say the least. She’d seen stuff like that in detective shows and movies, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. “What else is in there?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“The usual stuff. Date of birth, place of birth, height, weight, criminal record—or lack thereof—and a bunch of other details,” Roy explained, choosing his words carefully to avoid alarming her. He knew, of course, that the file was far more extensive than that. In reality, calling it a “file” was an understatement. Jason had dug deep into Y/N’s past, compiling an almost obsessive amount of information. Roy found it unsettling, even by his own standards. Jason had crossed into borderline stalker territory, and if it weren’t for the fact that he already had a 24/7 tracking device hanging around Y/N’s neck, Roy wouldn’t put it past him to install hidden cameras or something equally extreme. Thankfully, it seemed Jason hadn’t gone that far—yet.

Y/N decided not to press further and instead turned her attention to the passing scenery outside the window. The exhaustion from the past few days was catching up to her, and despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed. Roy glanced over at her, noticing her head resting against the window as she drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as he watched her succumb to exhaustion, her features softening in the quiet comfort of sleep.

A gentle tap on her shoulder eventually roused her. “We’re here,” Roy said, his voice low so as not to startle her. Y/N blinked awake, peering out the window to see her apartment complex. She gathered her things from the seat and reached for the door handle, ready to step out. “Y/N?” Roy called out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yeah?” she replied, turning back to face him.

“Can I get your number?” he asked, the question coming out a bit abruptly. Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the request. Sensing her hesitation, Roy quickly clarified, “No, no—not like that. I’m not hitting on you. You’re Hood’s girl, and he’d kill me if I tried. What I meant was, before Kory and I knew about you, Jason would disappear for hours, and we’d have no idea where he was. Turns out, he was with you. So, next time he pulls a vanishing act, I can just call you and check in.”

And also so I can keep tabs on you to make sure you’re not kidnapped, he thought to himself, though he wisely kept that part to himself.

Jason’s intentions toward her were far from innocent, and Roy knew it was only a matter of time before Y/N became so deeply entangled in his world that escaping would feel impossible. She was blissfully unaware of the situation she was in, and a part of Roy hoped she’d never have to find out. That would be the best outcome for everyone involved.

“Of course. You could’ve just asked earlier,” Y/N replied with a warm smile, handing him her phone. Roy quickly saved his number in her contacts. “Hood can be… unpredictable sometimes,” he added, his tone serious. “If anything ever happens, call me.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly at his words. While she trusted Hood enough to believe he wouldn’t do anything to harm her, she appreciated Roy’s concern. Living in Gotham had taught her that preparing for the worst was just part of life.

“Thank you, Roy,” she said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just so you know, Red and I aren’t dating, though I’ll admit he’s quite the catch.”

“It’s actually the opposite,” Roy muttered with a dry chuckle, his tone laced with irony. Y/N smiled, misinterpreting his comment as a compliment rather than the subtle warning he meant it to be. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, completely unaware of the underlying meaning behind his words.

Roy frowned, realizing she hadn’t picked up on his implication. “That’s not what I—” he started, but then stopped himself. “You know what? Never mind. Stay safe, Y/N,” he said with a sigh, forcing a reassuring smile to mask his unease.

With a final nod, Y/N bid Roy farewell and headed toward her apartment. As she walked away, Roy couldn’t help but think to himself, he’s the one who caught you Y/N.

As the sun began its descent, soft golden light filtered through the kitchen window, bathing Gotham in a warm, amber glow. The sky, once a mix of vibrant blues and cloudy grays, now melted into the softer hues of pink and orange, gradually deepening into the purples of twilight. Y/N stood at the kitchen counter, preparing herself a light evening snack. It had been nearly a week and a half since she last saw Red. In that time, she’d stayed in touch with both Roy and Kory, receiving regular updates on his recovery.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Y/N remembered texting Kory earlier, asking if Red could visit once he was feeling better. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon, but the idea of finally seeing him again filled her with anticipation. Quickly drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she made her way to the door, a smile spreading across her face as she imagined the familiar sight of the red helmet and leather jacket.

“Hello, Y/N,” a voice greeted as she swung the door open. But her smile faltered, and her heart sank like a stone. Standing on the threshold wasn’t the figure she’d been eagerly waiting for. Instead, it was someone from her nightmares. The excitement bubbling inside her vanished in an instant, replaced by a storm of emotions—confusion, anger, hatred, and, most of all, an overwhelming sense of dread.

Time seemed to freeze as shock and disbelief washed over her. Memories of past traumas flooded her mind, sending a cold shiver down her spine. Her eyes locked onto the metal crowbar in his hand, and the icy rage in his gaze made her heart pound with fear. She was trapped, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Where did I go wrong? she thought desperately. She had done everything to ensure he’d never find her. So how had he?

“Dad,” she muttered involuntarily, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her own voice sounded strange, distant, as if it belonged to someone else. She knew she had to act fast, her survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Despite the paralyzing fear threatening to overwhelm her, she forced herself to focus, summoning every ounce of strength and determination to find a way out of this nightmare.

With trembling hands, she took a step back and tried to slam the door shut, but he wedged the crowbar into the gap before it could close. Panic surged through her as she threw her weight against the door, pushing with all her might to force it closed. But the crowbar held firm, leaving the door stubbornly ajar.

“You ungrateful wench!” he roared from the other side, his voice dripping with venom. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

Desperation clawed at her chest as her mind raced for a way to escape. Then it hit her—the box Red had given her. The SOS pendant! Her hand flew to the delicate chain around her neck, fingers fumbling as she pressed the button repeatedly, her heart pounding in her ears. Please, let help come soon, she prayed silently, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she braced herself for what might come next.

Without a second thought, she sprinted toward the box, but before she could take more than a few steps, her father forced his way through the door. His hand shot out, grabbing her ankle and yanking her backward. She crashed to the floor with a painful thud, her face hitting the ground. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking and thrashing wildly. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to break free, but her father’s grip was ironclad. His only response was a cruel twist of her ankle, sending a sharp, searing pain through her leg and drawing a cry of agony from her lips.

Despite the blinding pain, Y/N refused to give up. Fueled by adrenaline, she swung her free leg with all her strength, aiming a fierce kick at her father’s torso. The blow landed with enough force to make him stagger back, giving her a fleeting moment to act.

Seizing the opportunity, Y/N scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting around for something—anything—to defend herself. Her hand closed around the nearest object, a hatstand, and she swung it with all her might. But her hope was short-lived. He blocked the swing with his crowbar, the impact jarring her arms, and then wrenched the hatstand from her grasp, tossing it aside. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the hair and hurled her to the floor. Her back slammed against the couch, knocking the wind out of her.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “You really thought you could run from me?” He punctuated his words with a brutal kick to her stomach, the force of it leaving her gasping for air.

“Mom’s dead because of you. Haven’t you done enough already?” Her voice trembled with raw emotion, every word heavy with years of pain and anger. After enduring so much suffering—both her own and her mother’s—at his hands, the physical pain she felt now was nothing compared to the hatred and rage burning inside her. She heard him scoff, the cold metal of the crowbar nudging her face as he leaned closer.

“Now that I think about it, you do remind me of her,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “How she used to beg me not to hurt you. To take it out on her instead of her precious little daughter. You’re just as pathetic as she was.” He sneered, his words cutting deep.

Y/N stayed silent, her mind racing. She needed to buy time, to keep him talking long enough for her to reach into the box and grab what she needed. Her heart pounded as her fingers brushed against the box Red had given her. Relief flooded through her as she pulled out the can of pepper spray, her grip steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. She aimed it at him, her expression cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, you bastard,” she spat.

The spray hit him square in the face, and he let out a howl of pain, stumbling backward as he clawed at his eyes. Curses and threats spilled from his lips, his voice a mix of rage and agony. But before she could react, he lunged at her, crowbar raised, his movements wild and uncontrolled. Y/N knew she couldn’t dodge in time. She shut her eyes tightly, raising her arms to shield her head, bracing for the blow she was sure would come.

But it never did.

The crowbar clattered to the floor with a deafening crash, followed by a piercing scream. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and there he was—Red, perched on her father’s chest, his fists raining down blow after blow. Her father, bloodied and battered, let out a sardonic laugh despite the pain. “What’s the price for playing hero?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “She offering you more than just gratitude?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Red growled, his voice low and dangerous, barely containing the fury bubbling beneath the surface. He grabbed her father’s jaw, forcing it shut with a rough grip, before delivering another punch that landed with a sickening crack. Y/N watched, a mix of shock and relief flooding her as Red continued to pummel her father, each strike precise and brutal. Blood poured from her father’s nose, pooling on the floor beneath him. With every hit, his struggles grew weaker until he was nothing more than a limp, broken figure beneath Red’s relentless assault.

In one last, desperate attempt, her father’s hand twitched toward the crowbar, his fingers brushing the metal. But before he could even lift it, Red grabbed his wrist and twisted it with a sharp, merciless snap. The sound of bone breaking echoed through the room. Something in Red seemed to shatter in that moment. Blind rage consumed him as he snatched the crowbar from the floor, his hands trembling as he stared down at the broken man beneath him. Emotions he had buried for years surged to the surface, raw and unrelenting.

“Red, stop! You’ll kill him!” Y/N cried out, rushing forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist to hold him back. She wasn’t entirely sure why she intervened. For years, she had dreamed of her father facing justice for everything he’d done, but the thought of Red staining his hands with blood for her sake was unbearable.

Red’s head turned slowly toward her, and he flinched at the sight of her tear-streaked face. Her eyes held a glimmer of something all too familiar to him—fear. A sharp pang of regret stabbed at his chest. What had he done? Was she afraid of him now? Did she hate him? This was the side of himself he had always hoped to keep hidden from her, the darkness he never wanted her to see. But in that moment, he realized he had failed. His rage had taken over, turning him into the very thing he despised.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension. Red’s mind raced, a storm of guilt, shame, and self-loathing swirling inside him. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he was still the same person she had trusted, the one who had always tried to protect her. But the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his own regret.

“Hood, I got the—” Roy’s voice cut through the apartment as he burst through the door, breathing heavily. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. Without hesitation, he knelt beside Red and gently pried the crowbar from his hands. Turning to Y/N, he quickly scanned her for injuries before tapping his comm. “Star, comm in. Rendezvous at the SOS coordinates.” Within moments, Starfire arrived, her eyes immediately locking onto Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re injured!” Kory gasped, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to her side.

“Star, help Y/N. Hood, you’re coming with me,” Roy ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. Red obeyed without protest, rising to his feet and leaving the apartment without so much as a glance back. Roy sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.

“Don’t worry about this, Y/N. We’ll handle it,” Roy assured her, gesturing toward her unconscious father sprawled on the floor. Y/N nodded slowly, the shock beginning to fade as reality set in. “Red’s going to be okay, right?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s a tough nut—bounces back from pretty much anything,” Roy replied, though his tone lacked the confidence he wished it had. Kory helped Roy lift the unconscious man, and together they carried him out. Y/N didn’t ask what they planned to do with him, and truthfully, she didn’t care.

“Where do you keep the first aid kit?” Kory asked, her voice calm and steady.

“In the bathroom cabinet,” Y/N answered. Kory nodded and quickly retrieved the kit. She guided Y/N to the couch and knelt at her feet, carefully tending to her injuries. “Fortunately, you’re not seriously hurt,” Kory remarked, her tone carrying a note of relief. As she worked, a sense of calm began to settle over the room.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful for Kory’s presence. The alien woman’s soothing demeanor and gentle hands brought a sense of comfort despite the chaos that had just unfolded. “Thank you, Kory,” Y/N said softly, a genuine smile of appreciation spreading across her face. Kory’s expression softened, her eyes lighting up with warmth at the gratitude.

“You’re very welcome,” Kory replied warmly. “Even though we’ve only just met, I’ve grown quite fond of you. Since I’ve been on a break from the Titans, I haven’t stayed in touch with many of my old friends. So, it’s nice to make new ones. We are friends, right?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

Y/N smiled warmly and reached out to take Kory’s hand. “Of course. If you’d like, we could go shopping or catch a movie sometime. You know, just girl stuff,” she suggested. Kory’s face lit up with excitement, her vibrant green eyes sparkling. “I would love nothing more,” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.

“Hey, Kory,” Y/N began after a moment, her tone shifting slightly. “Can I ask you for a favor?” Kory nodded, her attention fully on Y/N as she waited for her to continue. “Could you ask Red to come see me? It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but I just…” Y/N trailed off, struggling to put her feelings into words. Kory’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the request. Usually, after violent outbursts like the one today, Red needed time and space to calm down. But maybe Y/N was exactly what he needed right now.

“I will,” Kory assured her with a soft smile.

About half an hour after Kory left, the doorbell chimed. Y/N took a deep breath, wincing slightly as her injuries made her movements a bit slower, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was immediately greeted by a large bouquet of roses.

“Last I checked, it wasn’t my birthday,” Y/N teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Even though Red’s face was hidden behind his mask, she could almost feel him smiling back.

“Well, I couldn’t show up empty-handed, could I?” he replied with a casual shrug. “And who says you need an occasion to give a girl flowers?”

“Come on in,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Jason stepped inside, the air between them thick with awkwardness. As he set the bouquet down on a nearby table, he could feel the anxiety gnawing at him. The memory of nearly killing her father in front of her weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t shake the fear that it had changed everything between them. A part of him was terrified she’d called him here to end whatever they had.

They settled onto the couch, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Finally, Jason broke it. “How’s your ankle?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

“Oh, it’s almost healed,” Y/N replied, her tone light. “Who knew Kory could do a hot and cold compress with just an ice pack and her hands? Perks of having superpowers, I guess.”

“Roy still has burn marks from when she tried that on us the first time,” Jason recalled, a chuckle slipping out. But he stopped short when he noticed the concern on Y/N’s face.

“Oh, um, I see. Anyway, thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” Y/N said, steering the conversation in a different direction. Jason nodded, his posture relaxing slightly as he appreciated the shift in topic. “Yeah, no big deal. Thought they might brighten the place up a bit.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Y/N replied, her tone softening. Then, her eyes flicked over him, and she tilted her head curiously. “So, what’s with the suit?” Amid all the chaos earlier, she hadn’t noticed, but now she couldn’t help but see how different he looked. Gone was his usual leather-and-armor ensemble. Instead, he wore a crisp red shirt, a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, and a sleek black waistcoat. His signature biker helmet was replaced by a red and black mask that covered half his face, leaving his dark hair—with that striking white streak at the front—to fall casually over his forehead. Y/N couldn’t tell if the white streak was natural or dyed, but it only added to his magnetic presence.

There were attractive men, and then there was him. Y/N had never met someone whose aura was so intensely masculine and commanding. It was almost overwhelming to be near him. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a mafia romance novel—the kind of man who could dominate a room with just a glance. Come to think of it, she vaguely remembered hearing something on the news about him being a crime lord.

“Oh, this?” Jason started, pausing briefly before clearing his throat. “I had a… meeting. Just business stuff.” His answer was vague, but Y/N’s imagination filled in the blanks effortlessly. She could picture him lounging on a luxurious black leather sofa, a glass of whiskey in hand, while some underling groveled at his feet, begging for mercy. She hummed in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on her lips. “So, is this how your thugs get to see you every day?”

“Only the high-ranking ones or the ones in really deep shit,” Jason replied with a smirk, leaning back casually.

“A life of crime suddenly seems much more enticing,” Y/N joked, her tone light but with a hint of playful envy. Red chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, angel, not everyone gets the Y/N treatment.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she replied with a grin, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “Too much happened today. I need a drink. Can I get you anything? I have—” She opened the refrigerator, only to realize with a flush of embarrassment that her options were limited. “Water, coffee, and… oh! Tequila!” she exclaimed, pulling out a bottle with a triumphant grin and holding it up for him to see. It was cheap liquor, the kind someone of his stature probably wouldn’t even glance at, let alone drink.

“I’d drink anything you pour for me angel.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush and her stomach flutter at his words. Red wasn’t usually the flirtatious type, so she wondered if his comment was more than just a casual remark. Maybe it was genuine. Maybe this was something worth exploring. She grabbed two shot glasses and set them on the table.

“You get started. I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile before heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her expression determined. “Okay, Y/N, you can do this. You’ve been dreaming about this for months. The worst he can say is no. You’re a grown woman, and you can go after what you want. You just have to try.” Her pep talk sounded a lot like Stephanie cheering her on, even though Stephanie had always been quick to encourage her to dump her past boyfriends. And, looking back, Y/N couldn’t blame her. But this was different. He was different. Before heading back, she smoothed her clothes, reapplied her lip gloss, and spritzed on some perfume.

Feeling more confident, Y/N took another deep breath and walked back to the living room. The bottle was now a quarter empty, and her glass was filled to the brim with the golden liquid. “Took you long enough,” Jason said, his gaze fixed on her, studying her intently. Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder, picked up his shot glass, and downed it in one swift motion without hesitation.

“I didn’t know you could handle your liquor so well,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with curiosity. He was trying to draw her into conversation, maybe to distract himself from how her perfume was clouding his senses. The longer he stared at her, the more desire crept into his veins. It didn’t help that her hair fell over her shoulder, framing her face, or that he could almost feel her breath brushing against his skin. His mind began wandering to places it definitely shouldn’t. Y/N’s laugh, soft and genuine, filled the room, and Jason felt his resolve waver. It stirred emotions he’d been fighting hard to keep buried. She set the glass down and leaned back, her arm still resting casually over his shoulder, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more.

“Why don’t you find out?” she challenged playfully, her gaze locking with his. It’s now or never, she thought to herself. Y/N reached up, tracing the edge of his mask with her finger, watching as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish, angel,” he warned, leaning into her touch, trying to throw her off balance. But her reaction wasn’t what he expected.

“Well whether I finish or not depends on you. Can you make me finish ?”

That was the moment Jason’s control shattered. His attraction to her was like a moth drawn to a flame—inevitable and dangerous. His love for her, his desire for her, was a risk because he knew if he let himself go even a little, he might lose all restraint. Jason stood up, closing the distance between them until they were face to face. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. Her eyes traveled over his figure, towering over hers. He could hear a deafening heartbeat but couldn’t tell if it was hers or his own.

“All these past months, I just have the same moments playing on repeat and you— you make it so hard.” As the words stumbled out of his mouth, he felt as if each syllable was bringing him closer to the precipice of ruining whatever fragile relationship they might have had.

“So hard to what ?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but charged with intensity.

Jason swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. “So hard to keep myself from you,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “Every time I'm near you, I feel like I'm losing control. And the more I try to fight it, the stronger it gets.” The confession was a cathartic release, not done out of blinded optimism but out of raw honesty begging to be acknowledged.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Despite the mask, she could almost see the struggle in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed. She reached up, her hand gently cupping his cheek. “Maybe you don't have to fight it. Maybe I want it too,” she said, her voice soft yet still holding that lilt that so keenly resembled a siren's song reeling him closer and crumbling any walls he could’ve even thought of putting up.

Jason's plan seemed to have taken an unexpected yet much appreciated turn. From the start of his pursuit of Y/N, he had never really considered the possibility that she could be attracted to him out of her own volition, without any of his tricks or deceptions. But now he saw that this had a chance of really working out, the right way. As much as he wanted to keep her all to himself, he knew she didn't deserve to be manipulated, and he couldn't let his selfishness get the better of him.

Realization hit him like lightning. He had meticulously planned every minute detail to make their first time absolutely perfect, and he felt panic surge internally when he realized he didn't have enough time to do all of that. “Y/N, I hate to break the mood, but I need five—no, seven minutes to prepare. On the clock, I swear.”

Y/N blinked in confusion at the suddenness of the request but didn't refuse it and watched as he dashed into her room and close the door behind him. Her earlier confidence started to deflate at the awkwardness of the situation, but she couldn't help but wonder what he meant by needing “time to prepare”. It was understandable if an awkward teenager needed time to get himself together but what could a man like him possibly need to prepare for ? Left alone, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She decided to trust him, knowing that whatever he was planning, it was likely something thoughtful. Y/N wandered over to the couch and sat down, her mind replaying their conversation and the emotions that had surfaced.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Jason reappeared. He extended his hand towards her chivalrously and led her into the room. Y/N's earlier confusion melted away as she saw the effort he had put in. The bed was now adorned with luxurious silk sheets that looked incredibly expensive. A sweet scent wafted through the air, and she noticed scented candles on the side tables. “Didn't have enough time to get roses. Sorry about that,” he spoke, scratching his neck sheepishly, clearly nervous about her reaction.

“What are you talking about ? It's perfect Red ! How did you know I liked these scented candles ?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with appreciation.

“It reminds me of your perfume.”

Y/N's heart swelled at his thoughtfulness and effort. “You're really something, you know that ?” she said, stepping closer to him. Before he could reply, she leaned in and kissed him over his mask. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he relaxed into her touch as if it were second nature.

Jason's fingers found their way into her hair, tangling in the soft strands, the scene unfolding just as it had in his imagination countless times before. The kiss, despite the mask, was electric, sending shivers down his spines. Y/N could feel his breath quicken, matching her own heartbeat's rapid pace. She was amazed at how something so simple could feel so intense. His hands roamed gently over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her shirt as he gently laid her down against the silk sheets. He marveled at how perfectly she fit against him, how natural it felt to be this close to her.

The only light in the room came from the scented candles, leaving her to explore solely through touch and sound. She heard him remove his mask with a click and toss it aside, before diving into something more passionate, more intense. There was an edge to this kiss, a rougher, almost desperate need. Despite what how much he promised himself to be gentle with her - he needed it, the fiery desire to feel her in his arms, to hear her breathless gasps and little moans to feel like he was alive.

“God,” kiss, “you're,” kiss, “perfect—”

Jason's words tumbled out in a haze of desire. For years, he had longed for this moment. From the very first time he saw her, he had been captivated, convinced she was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. But over the past few months, his feelings had deepened far beyond a simple childhood infatuation. Y/N had become the center of his fantasies, leaving him restless and yearning for her touch on countless nights. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, leaving a trail of marks as he went. Her soft whimpers and moans, like sweet nectar, only fueled his eagerness.

His hands roamed her body with a delicate caution, as though she were a fragile porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest pressure. The sound of his kisses, slick and hot, deepened the flush on her skin, drawing out incoherent whines and whimpers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the intensity between them grew.

Every touch, every sound she made, was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He couldn’t get enough of her—the way her body arched toward his, the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps, the way her skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips. It was as if she had ignited something primal within him, something he could no longer control.

“Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with need. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea…”

His words trailed off as his mouth found her collarbone, nipping and kissing his way down to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She gasped, her grip tightening as she clung to him. The sound of her pleasure was like music to his ears, driving him to push further, to give her more. He wanted to hear her fall apart, to know that he was the one who had unraveled her.

Her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if she were afraid, he might disappear. “Red,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Please…”

That single word, dripping with longing and desperation, was all the push he needed. His hands moved swiftly, pulling her tank top over her head and tossing it aside. Her shorts followed just as quickly, discarded without a second thought. The candles around them flickered, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. It wasn’t enough light for her to see clearly, but with the enhanced abilities he had gained from the Lazarus Pit, he could see every detail of her. For a moment, he paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of her beneath him—flushed, breathless, and utterly beautiful.

But the moment didn’t last long. The fire between them was too intense, too all-consuming. He joined her on the bed, his body pressing against hers as his lips found her neck once more. His kisses trailed down further and further till he was at the valley of her breasts. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

Then, unexpectedly, Jason hesitated.

“What happened?” she whispered, her voice tinged with confusion and desire. “Didn’t you say you wanted this for the longest time? Why are you stopping now?”

Jason shook his head before sliding down the straps of her bra and pressing kisses along her collarbone. The air seemed to leave his lungs entirely as he unhooked her bra, the reality of the moment hitting him hard. This was real. After years of longing, of imagining this very moment, it was finally happening. His hand cupped one breast while his mouth found the other, his touch both possessive and reverent.

“Fuc—,” she moaned and he huffed a chuckle, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt across her arms. She felt dizzy and elated at the same time as though she were standing at the edge of the world, gazing down at a kaleidoscope of colors swirling beneath her.

Y/N gasped sharply as his teeth grazed her sensitive nipple, a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure shooting through her, sending shivers down her spine and igniting a fiery heat between her legs. He took his time, his tongue swirling and sucking, leaving broad, wet strokes that spread warmth across her skin. Jason’s fingers lingered at the waistband of her underwear, teasing for a moment before slipping beneath. Her back arched instinctively as his fingers brushed against her, and she squirmed under the light pressure he applied to her clit. He traced her folds, teasing her gently before circling her throbbing clit again and again, each touch deliberate and maddening.

Before she could muster a coherent sentence, he slid a finger inside her, making her back arch. He was fascinated by how responsive she was, every touch eliciting a reaction. He curled his finger inside her, as if searching for something specific, and when her legs began to tremble and her eyes water, he knew he’d found it. A smirk tugged at his lips as he added a second finger, his movements alternating between slow and deliberate and fast and relentless, driving her closer to the edge.

It had been months since she’d been with anyone, and her body reacted intensely, as if rediscovering pleasure for the first time. As if two fingers weren’t enough, he added a third, pumping into her with a rhythm that felt almost punishing, determined to stretch her to her limit. His lips crashed into hers, swallowing her moans and cries as he quickened his pace. “ S'too much,” she managed to gasp between kisses.

Jason chuckled darkly, clearly amused. “Angel, trust me, you wouldn't be able to take me if I didn’t stretch you out first.”

Y/N’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and defiance. “Excuse me? I’m not a virgin, nor am I a prude. I’ve had boyfriends before. You’re nothing I can’t handle,” she shot back, though her words felt more like an attempt to convince herself than him. Sure, she’d had boyfriends, but none of them could even come close to Jason. She was certain he was twice her size, if not more, and the thought alone sent a thrill of anticipation—and a hint of nervousness—coursing through her.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful challenge. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, curling and stretching her in ways that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. She tried to hold back the sounds threatening to escape her lips, but it was impossible. Every touch, every movement, was designed to unravel her completely. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white as she tried to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensations.

“You’re so tight, angel,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “Even like this, you’re squeezing me so damn hard. Imagine how it’ll feel when it’s me inside you.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her, and she couldn’t help but whimper in response. Her mind was a haze of pleasure, her body trembling under his skilled touch and tears flowing freely. She wanted to fire back with a snarky remark, to prove she could keep up with his teasing, but all that came out was a breathless moan.

“Red—” she gasped, her voice cracking as her hips instinctively rocked against his hand. “I—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice firm yet tender. “Look at me. You’re doing so well, darling. S'good for me.” She forced her eyes open, struggling to maintain his gaze. Even in the dim light, his eyes stood out vividly, glowing faintly.

“Your eyes… they’re green, like emeralds,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, grateful kiss to them, as if silently thanking her for the compliment. His free hand intertwined with hers, holding her steady as his fingers worked her with precision, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Her legs shook, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

And then, with a sharp cry, she shattered. Her body convulsed as the wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Jason didn’t let up, his fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out her orgasm until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him.

When he finally withdrew his hand, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. Just as she thought she might have a moment to recover, Jason’s mouth descended to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Still think you can handle me, angel?” he teased, his voice low and rough with desire. Y/N groaned, her body still buzzing from the intensity of her release. She was too exhausted to argue, too overwhelmed by everything he had just put her through.

Y/N had always known Red had an appetite, but nothing could have prepared her for the way he devoured her now. His lips and tongue moved with a hunger that left her breathless, her slick coating his mouth as he feasted on her. The obscene sounds of his lips and tongue against her sent shivers through her, the heat of his spit only adding to the wet, aching pressure building inside her.

“Nghmm ,” he moaned against her, his green eyes glazed and hazy as he looked up at her, utterly lost in the taste of her. “You taste heavenly,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The bridge of his nose brushed against her swollen clit, and he took the opportunity to drag his lips across her folds, teasing her sensitive nerves until she was writhing beneath him. Her back arched off the bed, her mind spinning as she struggled to make sense of where she start and he ended.

Her hands tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Jason’s tongue worked relentlessly, swirling around her clit before dipping lower to taste her deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough. Every flick, every suck, every groan he let out against her sent her spiraling further into ecstasy. She was a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body trembling under his relentless attention.

“Red please please —,” she choked out, her voice breaking as her hips bucked against his mouth. “I—I can’t—it’s too much—”

But he didn’t stop. If anything, he only intensified his efforts, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her in place as he devoured her like a man starved. The wet, sinful sounds of his mouth on her filled the room, mingling with her desperate moans. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her, threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, angel,” he growled, his voice low and rough, the vibrations sending shivers through her very core. “Let go. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

His words were the final push she needed. With a sharp, breathless cry, her body shuddered, her release crashing over her in a blinding, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Jason didn’t stop, his tongue working relentlessly as she rode out the intensity, her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath him. He savored every drop, drinking her in as though she were the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted, until she was left a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked up at her with a wicked grin, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction. “I think that’s plenty of warm-up before the main course,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief. “Or… do you want more?”

Y/N’s breath hitched at his words, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. She wanted to respond, to fire back with something clever, but her mind was too foggy, her thoughts too scattered. All she could manage was a weak, pleading whimper as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with desire.

Jason let out a dark chuckle, clearly reveling in the effect he had on her. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before slowly trailing his lips upward, leaving a searing path of heat in his wake. His hands moved up her body, his touch firm yet tender, as though he were committing every curve, every inch of her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, “Completely undone, completely mine.”

His words sent a fresh wave of shivers cascading down her spine, and she instinctively arched into his touch, craving more. Despite being exhausted and oversensitive, the raw hunger in his eyes reignited a deep, primal need within her. She wanted him—every part of him.

“Not fair,” she eyes almost watered, her voice trembling.

“What’s not fair?” he asked curiously.

“You’re still fully clothed,” she breathed, her hands weakly reaching for him. “And I… I want you. I want to touch you, to feel you—not just through fabric.”

Jason’s smirk deepened at her words, a flicker of surprise and satisfaction crossing his features. His eyes, dark and intense, glinted with a mix of amusement and raw desire as he watched her. It was almost surreal to him—the way she wanted him, the way she looked at him like he was something worth craving. He’d spent so long believing he wasn’t the kind of man someone like her could want, not in this way. And yet, here she was, her words and touch unraveling him. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d somehow died and stumbled into some kind of heaven. “Well, angel,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “if you wanted me out of these clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

Before she could respond, he leaned back, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt and waistcoat. The fabric fell to the floor with a soft thud, though Y/N could barely make out the details in the dim lighting, silently cursing the lack of visibility. “Better?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence as his fingers moved to the buckle of his belt. Y/N nodded, her throat suddenly dry. “Much,” she managed to whisper, her eyes glued to him as he finished undressing.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “you can touch me all you want.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands immediately found their way to his chest, her fingers exploring the hard planes of his muscles, tracing the ridges of his scars, and following the faint trail of hair that led down his abdomen. She marveled at the way his breath hitched when her nails lightly grazed his skin, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. It was intoxicating, knowing she could unravel him just as much as he unraveled her.

Feeling a surge of boldness, her hands trailed lower and lower until they reached the waistband of his pants. She glanced up at him, his brilliant green eyes darkening with desire, his breathing growing heavier. Her fingers dipped further, brushing against the hard outline of his arousal. Her eyes widened in surprise and curiosity.

“Is that…?” she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Jason let out a low, throaty chuckle, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah, angel,” he said, his voice rough and dripping with desire. “That’s all for you.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let her fingers curl around him, feeling the heat and hardness through the fabric of his pants. Jason’s breath hitched, his hips instinctively pressing into her touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tilting back slightly as her hand began to explore him more boldly, “You’re gonna be the death of me angel.”

She smirked, emboldened by the way he reacted to her touch. With her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she pulled down his boxers. Jason’s hands gripped the sheets tightly, his muscles tensing as she finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

Her eyes widened as she took him in, her breath catching in her throat. He was… impressive, to say the least. Her hand wrapped around him tentatively, her touch light but deliberate. Jason let out a sharp hiss, his hips jerking slightly as her fingers brushed against her tip.

“Hold on…” she withdrew her hand, her voice shaky. “Jus’ wait a minute.”

Jason froze, his eyes flashing with uncertainty.

“You… don’t want this?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with vulnerability.

You don't want me?

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, and it pained her how quickly he assumed he was undesirable. As if he could ever be anything less than everything she wanted.

“No!” she blurted out, her fingers gently hooking under his chin to make him look at her. “I just… need a second to recalibrate because… holy shit… you’re so big—”

He burst into laughter, his boyish face lighting up with joy. “That’s all? Aw, angel…” he cooed, flicking her nose playfully with his index finger. “Swear, you can be so adorable sometimes…” he teased, his voice dripping with affection.

She huffed, the tips of her ears turning red, but the tension between them had softened, replaced by a warmth that made her heart swell. Jason’s laughter was infectious, and despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier worry completely erased.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured against her mouth, his tone reassuring. “We’ll take it slow. I’ve got you, angel.”

His words eased her lingering nerves, replacing them with a warm, comforting reassurance. She took a deep breath, centering herself before gathering her courage. Her thumb brushed over the wet tip of his cock, feeling the soft, velvety skin twitch under her touch. His length curved slightly upward, and she couldn’t help but squirm at the thought of how perfectly it would hit all the right spots inside her.

“Nghh—fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained but encouraging. “Didn’t expect you to feel this good…”

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “I know something that’d feel even better,” she said, her voice low and teasing. Slowly, she dipped her head down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting her hands explore the shape of him, familiarizing herself with every inch. Her smirk widened when she felt the prominent vein pulsing beneath her touch. She ran her tongue along it, and the reaction was immediate—his head fell back, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips.

The sound sent a thrill through her, hotter and more intoxicating than anything she’d ever heard. Taking it as encouragement, she wrapped her lips around him, stretching them as wide as she could to accommodate his size. He barely fit in her mouth, and the thought of how he’d feel elsewhere made her pulse quicken. There was no way something that big would fit inside her—but the idea of trying sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Jason’s hands tangled in her hair, not pushing or forcing, but gently guiding as she took him deeper. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hips twitching slightly as he fought to keep himself still. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re—god, you’re amazing.”

She hummed softly in response, the vibration drawing another sharp moan from him. Her tongue swirled around him, exploring every inch as her lips moved up and down his length. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, the taste of him intoxicating as she lost herself in the rhythm.

“Fuck. I’m close. Y/N, I—,” he managed, his voice breaking.

“Come for me Red.”

Jason’s grip tightened in her hair, his breath catching as her words sent him spiraling over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he fell apart, his release hitting him with such intensity that it left him trembling. Y/N stayed with him, her lips and tongue moving gently to coax out every last wave of his pleasure until he was completely spent, his body relaxing and his breaths coming in heavy, uneven gasps.

When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him, her lips glistening and her eyes dark with a satisfied gleam. Jason’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip, ensuring not a single drop of his release went to waste. He gazed down at her, his expression a mix of awe and adoration.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice still rough but laced with tenderness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, angel.” Y/N smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re not so bad yourself, Red,” she teased, her voice warm and playful.

Y/N's world suddenly tilted as Jason hooked her ankle and draped it over his shoulder, positioning himself firmly between her legs. He pressed a series of soft, lingering kisses along her calf, each one sending a shiver through her body. Her breath hitched as he aligned himself with her wet entrance, his eyes dark and intense as they met hers.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, his voice low and husky, laced with both desire and concern.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in anticipation. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I’m ready.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, his eyes never leaving hers as he gave her time to adjust. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt him stretch her, fill her completely. It was overwhelming, almost too much, but in the best way possible. A cry escaped her lips as she struggled to take all of him, her body trembling under the intensity. He had done his best to prepare her, to be as gentle as he could, but the sheer size of him was still a challenge.

“Relax, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “Stop squirming, and it’ll be easier for you, I promise.” He pressed a tender kiss to the tears streaming down her face, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d noticed it before—how her eyes tended to water when she was particularly aroused. Maybe it was the darker, more sadistic part of him that found it so captivating. He couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that, from now on, he would be the only one to see her like this—so vulnerable, so undone, so completely his.

She nodded, focusing on his voice, on the way his hands stroked her sides, grounding her. Slowly, the initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that made her toes curl. Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of him, and Jason groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.

His pace quickened as he felt her body finally begin to adjust to his size, the initial tension giving way to a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he chanted, each word a declaration, a promise, punctuated by a deep, relentless thrust that drove the air from her lungs. Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back as he rocked into her, the pleasure unfurling down her spine like a live wire, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Fuck… Red…” she gasped, her voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick, rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

In that moment, there was nothing else in her mind but him. The sound of his low, guttural groans, rough and primal, filled the room, mingling with her own desperate cries. She could see the way his brow furrowed in ecstasy, his face a portrait of raw, unbridled pleasure. His swollen lips hovered inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, yet he held back, as if savoring the tension, the anticipation. Even the dim, flickering light of the candles seemed to wrap around them, casting a warm, golden glow that cocooned them in their own private world—a world where nothing else mattered, where they were safe from the chaos and horrors that waited outside.

“You’re mine, understood?” he growled, his voice rough and commanding, cutting through the haze of pleasure that clouded her mind.

Y/N barely registered his words, let alone processed them. The onslaught of sensation was too much, too overwhelming, leaving her unable to form a coherent thought, let alone respond. Her body was a live wire, every nerve alight with pleasure, her mind blank except for the feel of him, the sound of him, the sight of him. But then, suddenly, he stopped, and the sharp sting of a light slap on her cheek brought her back to the present. Jason grabbed her face, his large hands squishing her cheeks together as he forced her to look at him, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I said,” he continued, thrusting into her again with a pace that was both punishing and exhilarating, “you’re. fucking. mine. Is that clear?”

His words were firm, demanding, and laced with a possessiveness that left no room for argument. Y/N nodded as best as she could, her breath hitching as she managed to choke out a weak, “Yes. I'm yours I promise.”

Jason’s expression softened slightly, though his movements remained relentless, each thrust driving his point home. “Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost tender growl. “Because I’m not letting you go, angel. Not now, not ever.” His words were a vow, a promise that wrapped around her as tightly as his arms did. And as he continued to move inside her, his pace unyielding, Y/N felt a strange sense of comfort in his possessiveness. It wasn’t just about control or dominance—it was about belonging. In his arms, under his touch, she felt wanted, needed, cherished in a way she never had before. The world outside might be cruel and unforgiving, but here, with him, she was safe. She was his, and he was hers, and nothing else mattered.

As the pleasure built to a crescendo, Y/N’s cries grew louder, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge. Jason’s hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly as he drove into her with increasing urgency, his own release drawing near.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Her body trembled as she came undone, a creamy layer of her release coating the base of his cock, a sight that sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Jason wasn’t far behind, his own climax hitting him with such force that it left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he rode out the waves of his release, his grip on her tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

When the intensity finally subsided, they both lay there, their bodies still intertwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Jason pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. Y/N’s body felt boneless, every muscle relaxed and humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe and affection. “Absolutely incredible.” Y/N smiled weakly, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Y’know, I regret not making you mine sooner,” Jason continued, holding her close, his arms wrapping around her like a shield.

“You know you haven’t even asked me yet,” Y/N reminded him, her voice soft but teasing.

“What is it that you want us to be, Y/N?” he asked, his tone earnest. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, as long as you’re mine. If you want a friend with benefits, a boyfriend, or even a husband—it can all be arranged. Just say the word.”

“I like the second option for now. But you know,” she said, her voice light but laced with curiosity, “for someone who’s willing to marry me, you haven’t even told me your name or shown me your face.” Her fingers trailing along his face, relying solely on touch to piece together his features. From what she could feel, he had a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. But one feature stood out more than the others—a scar. It started under his left eye, trailing down to the bridge of his nose, with a jagged curve at the center that almost formed a malformed J.

Jason hesitated, his body tensing slightly. “I will, darling. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—” He paused, his voice faltering, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. Y/N cut him off before he could finish, not wanting to make him feel worse. She hadn’t meant it as a jab to hurt him—it was more of a lighthearted tease. She knew he had his own struggles, his own reasons for keeping parts of himself hidden, and she understood that.

“I know, don’t worry,” she said softly, her hand resting on his cheek. “Take your time, Red. But I have a request.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Can you tell me the first letter of your name?” she asked. She knew he wasn’t ready to reveal his full name yet, but she hoped for something more personal than just “Red.” Jason paused, considering her request, then nodded. “Give me your palm.” She extended her hand toward him, and with his index finger, he traced the first letter of his name on her palm.

“Your name starts with a J?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s nice because it’s a cool nickname on its own. Right, Jay?”

His heart leapt at the way she said it—soft, playful, perfect. But there was also a pang of guilt. He hated that she had to settle for fragments of him, for pieces instead of the whole. Still, he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at her acceptance, at the way she made even the smallest part of him feel special.

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that left her breathless. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low, tinged with a hint of regret. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek. “And one day, I’ll give you more. I promise.”

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the late evening sky was shrouded in dark clouds, a familiar sight in Gotham. Among the gloom, the Bat Signal shone brightly, cutting through the haze like a beacon. Her chest tightened as she stared at it, a knot of worry forming in her stomach. “Does that mean you have to go?” she asked, her voice soft as she pointed toward the signal. She knew all too well the weight of his responsibilities to the city.

Jason followed her gaze, his expression softening as he looked back at her. “No,” he said firmly, his hand reaching out to gently turn her face back toward him. “I asked Star and Arsenal to cover for me tonight. Tonight, I’m not Red Hood. Tonight, I’m just yours.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over her. “Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Really,” he confirmed, his lips curving into a small, tender smile. “Tonight, I just want to spend my time with my precious girl.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tension in her chest easing as she leaned into him. For once, the city could wait. Tonight, he was hers, and that was all that mattered.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Y/N stirred awake, her hand instinctively reaching out for Jason, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Her heart sank, a pang of panic tightening her chest as she sat up, clutching the sheets to her.

He left. The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. After everything they’d shared, after the way he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, he’d just… left. Her mind raced, doubts creeping in. Had she been too much? Had he regretted it? She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in her throat.

But then, a faint aroma wafted into the room—something savory, something warm. Her nose twitched, and she froze, listening. The sound of faint clattering came from the kitchen, followed by the low hum of someone moving around. Her heart leapt, hope flickering back to life.

Before she could overthink it, the bedroom door creaked open, and there he was—Red, rather, Jay standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. On it was a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of coffee. His hair was slightly messy, and he was wearing nothing but his mask and the same pair of pants as yesterday that slung low on his hips. The sight of him, so casual and domestic, made her breath catch.

“Morning, angel,” he said, his voice soft but laced with that familiar roughness. “Thought you might be hungry.” Y/N stared at him, her emotions swirling—relief, joy, and a hint of embarrassment for jumping to conclusions. “You… you didn’t leave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head in confusion as he stepped closer, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“Leave?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “Why the hell would I leave?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You thought I’d just take off after last night?”

She looked down, her cheeks flushing. “I woke up, and you weren’t here, and I just… I thought maybe you regretted it or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. I don’t regret a damn thing. Not last night, not you, not us. I just wanted to make you breakfast. That’s all.”

Her eyes searched him, looking for any hint of doubt, but all she found was sincerity—and something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. “Really?” she asked, her voice small.

“Really,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re stuck with me, Y/N. Whether you like it or not.” A smile broke across her face, the tension in her chest melting away. “I like it,” she admitted, her voice soft but sure.

Jason reached out and patted her head, the simple gesture making her stomach flip. “Good,” he said, his tone warm but firm. “Now eat up. You spent a lot of energy yesterday. You need it.”

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she reached for the tray. “That I do. God, I’m starving. How’d you know strawberry pancakes were my favorite?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she took in the stack of fluffy pancakes topped with fresh strawberries.

Jason hesitated for a moment, his mind flashing back to a memory from years ago—back when they were kids, and she’d mentioned it in passing. But he couldn’t admit that. Not yet. Instead, he shrugged, his tone casual. “It’s the only flavor of pancake mix I’ve seen in your pantry in months of knowing you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So you’ve been snooping in my pantry, huh?”

He smirked back, leaning against the headboard. “Call it reconnaissance. Gotta know what I’m working with if I’m gonna keep you fed.”

She laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth, and took a bite of the pancakes. “Well, consider me impressed. These are amazing.”

Jason watched her eat, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. For a moment, everything felt perfect—the soft morning light, the easy banter, the way she looked at him like he’d hung the stars just for her. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Jason’s smile faded slightly as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, angel,” he began, his voice tinged with regret, “I’ve got some… business to take care of. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

Y/N looked up from her pancakes, her expression softening. “Business, huh?” she said, her tone teasing but understanding. “Let me guess—something involving a certain red helmet?”

He smirked, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. “Something like that,” he said vaguely, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead through his mask. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, though a shadow of worry flickered in her eyes. “Be careful, Jay.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady as he grabbed his jacket and helmet from the chair by the door. With one last lingering glance at her, he got dressed and slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.

The warehouse was a tomb of shadows, its high ceilings swallowed by darkness and its walls stained with the grime of decades. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and sweat, the only sound the faint drip of crimson hitting the cracked concrete floor. A single flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters across the walls.

In the center of the room, Jason stood like a wraith, his red helmet gleaming under the sickly light. The man tied to the chair in front of him was barely recognizable—his face a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, his body trembling as he struggled against the ropes that bound him. His breaths came in ragged, wet gasps, each one a desperate plea for mercy that would never come.

Jason tilted his head, the movement unnervingly mechanical, as he circled the chair like a predator sizing up its prey. The man flinched with every step, his swollen eyes darting wildly, trying to follow Jason’s movements.

“You know,” Jason began, his voice low and distorted by the helmet’s modulator, “I’ve been looking forward to this. You’ve been on my mind ever since for a long long time.” He stopped in front of the man, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. “Stealing money from your own daughter and then coming back to hurt her ? No wonder not even Black Mask wanted you as one of his petty thugs.”

The man choked out a sob, his words slurred and broken. “I-I didn’t know… I didn’t know she was yours! I swear, I didn’t know!”

Jason straightened, his laugh a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the warehouse. “Mine? Now that's one thing you've said right. She's mine and you hurt her. Even as my future father-in-law, it's not something I can let go you know. She doesn't want to see you anymore you know.” His voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and deadly. “So you should disappear.”

He reached into his belt and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the light as he turned it over in his hand. The man’s eyes widened in terror, his breathing quickening as he struggled against the ropes. “P-please… I’m sorry! I’ll never go near her again, I swear! Just let me go!”

Jason tilted his head again, the motion almost playful, but there was nothing playful about the way he stepped closer, the knife glinting in his hand. “Sorry?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “You think sorry fixes this? You think you can just say a magic word and make it all go away?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “This isn’t about forgiveness. This is about consequences.”

The man screamed as Jason brought the knife down, the blade slicing through flesh with surgical precision. Blood pooled on the floor, the metallic scent filling the air as Jason worked methodically, his movements calm and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t lose control. This wasn’t rage—it was calculation. Every cut, every slice, was a message. A reminder.

“You see,” Jason said, his voice eerily calm as he wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, “I don’t just kill people. I make sure they understand why they’re dying. And you?” He leaned in close again, his voice a whisper. “You’re dying because you thought you could hurt her and walk away. But here’s the thing about me—I don’t let things go.”

“Oh, and since you’re about to die,” Jason added, his tone almost casual, “I’ll let you know who killed you.” He pressed the back of his helmet, and it opened with a hiss, revealing his face. He looked directly at the man, the one he’d hated for so, so long.

“Do you remember who I am?” he asked, his voice cold and steady, his green eyes locking onto the man’s terrified gaze.

It was just another one of those days when Jason didn’t feel like going home. Instead, he found himself lounging in his second home—Y/N’s house—flipping through one of the library books she’d borrowed. The quiet comfort of her room was a refuge, a place where he could breathe without the weight of his own life pressing down on him.

The door creaked open, and Y/N slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. “Jase, come here,” she said, her voice low but excited, her eyes sparkling with a secret she couldn’t wait to share. Jason’s curiosity was instantly piqued, especially when he noticed the small box clutched in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, setting the book aside and sitting up.

Y/N’s smile was radiant as she opened the box, revealing a neat stack of dollar bills. “I finally saved up enough to get that pink flip phone I told you about!” she announced, her voice bubbling with pride.

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s amazing! Once you have a phone, I can call you from my mom’s!” he exclaimed, his excitement matching hers. The two of them broke into an impromptu celebratory dance, their laughter filling the room. For a moment, everything was perfect.

But the moment shattered as the front door slammed open, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. Y/N’s face fell, her joy evaporating in an instant. Her father was home.

Jason had heard enough stories to know what that meant. Y/N’s father was a cruel, useless man—a gambler, a drunk, and a bully who took his frustrations out on his wife and daughter. He didn’t contribute a dime to the household; instead, he drained what little they had. And when he was in one of his moods, no one was safe.

“Jason, get under the bed,” Y/N whispered urgently, her voice trembling. “Do not—and I mean do not—come out. Okay?” Before Jason could protest, she shoved the box of money into his hands and pushed him toward the bed. He scrambled underneath, his heart pounding as he watched Y/N’s feet shuffle nervously on the floor above him.

The door to her room burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that made Jason flinch. Y/N’s mother was clinging to her husband, her voice pleading. “I already gave you everything I have! She’s just a kid—she has nothing, I swear!”

“A kid with a job,” her father snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t know?”

There was a sickening crack as he backhanded Y/N’s mother, sending her stumbling into the room. She collapsed near Y/N, who immediately dropped to her knees beside her. “Mom!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her mother. Y/N’s father loomed over them, his face twisted with rage. “What do you want?” Y/N demanded, her voice shaking but defiant as she glared up at him, her eyes burning with hatred.

“You ungrateful brat!” he roared, his hand raised to strike again. “How dare you talk back to me?”

Under the bed, Jason clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his chest constricted with a mix of rage and helplessness. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to burst out, to shield Y/N and her mother from the monster towering over them. But he couldn’t. Not yet. All he could do was lie there, frozen, as the sounds of their suffering filled the room. Each cry, each plea, etched itself into his mind.

“You think you can hide money from me?” her father snarled, his voice booming like thunder. “Where is it? Where’s the money you’ve been saving, you little thief?”

“I don’t have any money!” Y/N shot back, her voice trembling but defiant. “I swear, I don’t!”

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room, followed by Y/N’s cry of pain. Jason’s stomach twisted, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he fought to stay silent. He could hear Y/N’s mother pleading, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her daughter.

“Please, stop! She’s just a child! Take whatever you want, just leave her alone!”

“Shut up!” her father roared, his voice dripping with venom. There was another sickening thud as he shoved Y/N’s mother aside, sending her crashing into the wall. “Both of you are useless! Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for this family? And this is how you repay me? By hiding money from me?”

Y/N’s mother continued to beg, her voice desperate and broken, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Jason heard every slap, every kick, every cruel word that followed. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could hear Y/N’s quiet sobs, the sound cutting through him like a knife, tearing at his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

“Now,” her father sneered, his voice dripping with malice, “will you give me the money, or do you want me to move onto the little brat you’re hiding under your bed?” He yanked Y/N’s head up by her hair, forcing her to look at him. Despite her pain, Y/N grabbed his ankle, her voice trembling but desperate. “Please, not him. I’m begging you. I’ll give you everything. Just don’t hurt him, please.”

She crawled to the side of her bed, her movements slow and pained, and extended her hand toward Jason, who lay under the bed clutching the box of money like his life depended on it. Jason shook his head vehemently, his eyes pleading with her not to give in. He’d rather take the beatings himself than hand over the money she’d worked so hard to save. But Y/N, her face streaked with tears, whispered a broken, “Please,” and he had no choice but to relent.

She gave Jason a small, pained smile as she took the box from him and turned to her father. “That’s all I have. Take it.”

Her father snatched the box, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “About damn time,” he spat before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The house fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft cries of Y/N and her mother.

Jason waited a few moments, his ears straining for any sign that her father might return, before carefully sliding out from under the bed. Y/N was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in her hands. Her mother was beside her, gently stroking her hair, her own face streaked with tears. Jason hesitated, unsure if he should intrude, but Y/N looked up and saw him, her eyes red and swollen.

“Jase…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside her. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here.”

Y/N leaned into him, her small frame shaking as she cried. Jason wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make it better, so he just held her, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

Her mother watched them, her expression a mix of sorrow and gratitude. “Thank you, Jason,” she said quietly. “For being there for her.” Jason nodded, his jaw tightening. He didn’t trust himself to speak. All he could think about was how much he hated Y/N’s father, how much he wanted to make him pay for what he’d done. But for now, all he could do was be there for her.

As the minutes passed, Y/N’s sobs gradually quieted, and she pulled away from Jason, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jason said firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who should be sorry. Not you. Never you.”

Y/N nodded, but her gaze was distant, as if her mind had drifted somewhere far away, somewhere safer. Jason’s chest ached at the sight. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from all the pain in the world, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. After all, what could a child do against a grown man like him? The thought burned in his chest, a bitter reminder of his own helplessness.

“One day,” he said, his voice low but fierce, filled with a determination that belied his age, “I’ll grow up into a big, strong man, and I’m gonna make sure no one can ever hurt you again. I promise.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. “I know you will, Jase,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet faith that made his heart swell. “I know.”

And in that moment, Jason made a silent vow. No matter what it took, no matter how far he had to go, he would keep that promise. For her, he’d do anything. For her, he’d become someone strong enough to stand between her and the world. For her, he’d make sure she never had to cry like this again.

The man’s bloodshot eyes widened as he stared at Jason’s face. The bruises and scars couldn’t hide the boy he once knew—the boy who had cowered under the bed, powerless to stop him. “You…” he croaked, his voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re that kid… the one who Y/N used to bring home…”

Jason’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m the kid you thought you could push around. The kid you thought would never fight back.” He leaned in closer, his green eyes blazing with fury. “But guess what? I’m not a kid anymore.”

The man’s face paled, his body trembling as the realization sank in. “P-please… I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was you…”

“You didn’t know a lot of things,” Jason said, his voice icy. “But you’re about to learn one last lesson.”

The man’s screams turned to gurgles, his body slumping in the chair as blood poured from his wounds. And as the life drained from his eyes, Jason stood, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood. He looked down at the man who had caused so much pain, the man who had haunted his memories for years, and felt no remorse. Only cold detached satisfaction.

He pressed the back of his helmet, and it closed with a hiss, sealing away his face once more. “Rest in hell,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away. The warehouse fell silent, the only sound the faint drip of blood hitting the floor.

Jason had kept his promise. And he would keep it for the rest of his life. For her. Always for her.

a/n: Got sidetracked with several new projects but we made it gang (Even though it's almost a year late). So yay me and suck on that ADHD and College. Comment to be added into the tag list and I’m taking some requests for Part IV’s smut and suggestions for plot points since I'm running low on brain juice.

Tags : @thisisafish123 @ceramic-raven @millyhelp @blamedbisexual @trunkswithlonghair-blog @jasontoddthings @deans-spinster-witch @12134z03 @sophiethewitch1 @johnnysilverhandeeznuts @yasmin-oviedo @rosecentury @pierayanna @jinviktor @crybaby-21 @solarrexplosion @sahana28banana @ari-sama21 @princessbl0ss0m @fictionalwhor3 @leeleecats @lalalozer @shkosm

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : @hana-no-seiiki

Told you I’d write it and tag you in it.

And this anon

Thank you and I tried to make it worth the wait. ily </3

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chogiwow · 5 months ago

Text

hold me, heal me | jake sim

pairing: jake x gn!reader (ft. jay's cameo)

wc: 9.1k+

genre: angst; sickfic; hurt-comfort

au: exes to lovers

warnings: both mc and jake are emotionally constipated for most part of the fic, jake is sick, mentions of food, yn is a sort of brusque caretaker, mentions of nudity, kissing and making out but jake is still sick ew but that’s on being in love ig, jake also contemplates murder (it's just my attempt at humor), not proofread

a/n: i’m sick atm so yayyy :d anyway, busted this out in one sitting idek what happened

one.

jake contemplates ignoring the doorbell, the very sound of it making him snort out in mild annoyance. the weighted blanket around his frame feels warm, his feet peeking out against the soft kiss of the spring breeze.

he smells kind of mouldy, like a day-old dusty bookshelf, his fingers sport a fine sheen of oil when he rubs it across his face and his lips feel too dry. the bell rings again – he contemplates a silent murder this time.

against his will, he finds himself dragging his body out from under the comfort of his toasty blanket, sniffling and letting out a violent sneeze and somehow that hurts his throat. still, he persists, stumbling across the cool tile floors of his tiny apartment, heaving his body in his feverish state and unlocking the door with a heavy sigh.

the frown on his face drops too quickly – and again, it is against his will. not that he’s complaining this time around, because it’s you. you’re standing there; even after he blinks his eyes and squints at your face, you’re still standing there. it’s you. and he had just contemplated your murder not even minutes ago – he suddenly wants to apologise.

jake doesn’t know what to say. his throat is scratchy, thick with the remnants of sleep and sickness, but even if it weren’t, he’s pretty sure words would still fail him.

because you’re here, and he doesn’t know why.

his feverish brain scrambles for an explanation – maybe you forgot something here (impossible, you never leave things behind), or maybe you’re lost (equally impossible, you know your way around his place better than he does), or maybe you’[re here to finally cut him out of your life forever (uh, probably possible).

jake swallows. his throat protests, burning raw.

“you look disgusting,” you say, finally breaking the silence.

wow, you’ve really outdone yourself. maybe you’re taking the ‘just friends’ part a bit too literally, but even so, you won’t say that to any friend of yours. but this is jake, your ex – your ex you met again after a year not even two months ago, your ex who you had a long deep talk not even two weeks ago, your ex who, in said talk, spilled his guts out for you (literally and figuratively) over a late night drink, your ex who reluctantly promised to stay friends with because he would do whatever you told him.

jake exhales a short laugh, the sound raspy and strained. “glad to know i’m still leaving an impression.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. there’s something tight in your chest, something uneasy about the way he looks – pale, sweat-damp, like he’s been marinating in sickness for hours without bothering to take care of himself. which, knowing him, is probably exactly the case.

“you haven’t eaten, have you?”

jake, stubborn as ever, lifts his chin. “i had a banana.”

you glance past him, into the dim apartment, where his couch is buried under a heap of blankets, and his coffee table is cluttered with an empty cup and what looks like an unopened packet of instant ramen.

“right,” you deadpan, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. he moves aside automatically, like he’s too feverish to even pretend to stop you.

the air inside is warm, a little stale. you wrinkle your nose, setting the plastic bag down on his kitchen counter before turning back to him.

“you look worse than i thought.”

“you mentioned that already,” he mutters, rubbing his temple. “why are you even here?”

that question. you expected it, but it still sits heavy in your stomach.

“i was in the neighborhood.”

jake gives you a flat look. “you don’t live anywhere near here.”

you press your lips together. fine. he’s not going to let you get away with that one.

“i heard you were sick.”

this is a truth. honestly, it was your precious weekend after a long week of gruelling workload, you were planning on staying in and commit fully to the homebody tag you proudly wore like an honor, but ever since getting an urgent call from jay – who was the usual caretaker in your friend group – informing you in a voice filled with worry that he was out of town and somehow jake had ended up sick and how he couldn’t be there and how jake wouldn’t let anyone take care of him anyway, you had ended up pacifying your friend that you would drop by at his place.

jake lets out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. the way he looks at you makes your throat tighten – like he’s trying to decipher something, trying to read between the lines of what you’re really saying.

he won’t push, though. he never does.

instead, he just nods, running a hand over his face. “well. that explains a lot.”

you arch a brow. “like what?”

“like why i thought i was hallucinating when i saw you at my door.”

your lips twitch, but you bite back the urge to smile. “maybe you are.”

jake hums, as if seriously considering that possibility. his feverish eyes flicker over you, lingering like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks too long. you can’t blame him. this – being here, stepping into his space again – is uncharted territory, and neither of you know what to do with it.

you clear your throat, turning away before the weight of his gaze unsettles you too much. “sit down,” you say, already moving toward his tiny kitchen.

jake doesn’t argue. he trudges back to his couch, collapsing onto it with a groan. he watches you from beneath his blankets, eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to do this,” he says after a moment. his voice is quieter now, almost careful.

you pause, rummaging through the bag you brought. “i know.”

it’s the truth. you don’t have to be here. you didn’t have to spend your saturday trekking across the city, picking up soup from that overpriced place he likes, remembering that he doesn’t like ginger in it, showing up at his door despite every logical reason not to.

but here you are.

you hear him sigh, long and tired. maybe he understands that arguing is pointless. maybe he’s just too sick to fight you on it. either way, he doesn’t protest when you kneel in front of the coffee table and open the container of soup, letting the steam curl into the air.

“eat,” you tell him, pushing the spoon toward him.

he looks at it, then at you. “you’re kind of bossy.”

“you’re kind of impossible.”

jake chuckles, though it quickly turns into a cough. he takes the spoon from you, fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second. it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t.

you tell yourself that as you watch him take the first sip, his shoulders sagging as the warmth settles in his chest.

“better?” you ask, voice softer than you mean for it to be.

jake doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you, something unreadable in his fever-glazed eyes. then he smiles, small and a little lopsided.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “better.”

jake eats slowly, his movements sluggish from the fever. you sit across from him, arms crossed, watching the way he cradles the bowl in his hands like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. it’s strange – being here again, in his space, close enough to remember how he used to lean against your shoulder whenever he was sick, how he always got clingy when he had a fever, how he used to–

you stop the thought before it can go any further.

“you’re staring,” jake mutters, glancing at you over the rim of his bowl.

“i’m making sure i keep up my end of the promise i made to jay. seriously, you can't still be this childish, refusing to even go to a hospital. what do you expect, that you’ll just get better if you rot in a bed for a few days without anyone to look after you–”

your words are harsh, you can feel them scratch your throat with their thorns, but they come out of a place of genuine concern and mild bewilderment at jake’s stubbornness. so you hope that at least a few of those thorns get stuck in your throat, for his sake at least.

“what about you?”

you blink at the interruption, lips parted midway forming your sentence. jake notices, shoving a mouthful of soup that burns his tongue before explaining.

“when you were in japan, you lived alone too. what did you do when you got sick…or, was there someone to take care of you?”

it's easy to pass off the quietness with which the question comes out to his raspy throat, but it does nothing to soften the sudden drop in your stomach that resounds like a gong in your ears.

“how did you know i lived alone?”

i asked jay.

“jay told me.”

jake blows on his next spoonful of soup, waiting patiently for you to answer. did you have someone to take care of you?

you hesitate for a moment, caught between the truth and something easier.

“no,” you finally say. “i took care of myself.”

jake hums, like that answer is enough. like it doesn't leave a hole in the conversation. you expect him to drop it, but then—

“that must’ve been hard.”

you exhale through your nose. “it was fine.”

“liar,” he says, not unkindly. he sets the bowl down with a quiet clink, watching you with that same unreadable expression. fevered, but sharp. "you always hated being sick. said it made you feel helpless."

the words come from somewhere too familiar, a piece of history you thought had been buried. because he’s right. you did say that – once, a long time ago, wrapped up in his sheets with a fever of your own, curled up against the warmth of his body as he pressed a damp towel to your forehead. you hated it, the vulnerability of it all, the way it made you feel like you couldn’t move forward. jake had laughed back then, brushing the hair out of your face, promising you’d get through it together.

but there was no together anymore.

"excuse me?" your voice is sharp, defensive before you can stop it. but jake doesn’t flinch, doesn’t backtrack. he just keeps looking at you, feverish but steady, like he’s seeing through every wall you’ve built.

“you hate being alone,” he says simply. “you always have.”

your fingers curl against your palm, nails pressing into your skin. the room feels too warm now, the scent of soup thick in the air, pressing against your ribs. you don't know if it's his fever or yours, but suddenly, it feels like you can't breathe.

“i got used to it,” you say, and it’s meant to sound indifferent, like a shrug. but it doesn’t. it sounds tired.

jake watches you carefully, then sets the bowl down on the table with a quiet clink. his fingers trace the rim absentmindedly. “doesn’t mean it stopped hurting.”

you push yourself up, dusting imaginary lint off your jeans. "i’ll get you some water."

jake doesn’t stop you, but you can feel his gaze following you as you move around his tiny kitchen, familiar in ways you wish it wasn’t. your hands know exactly where to reach, where the glasses are, how the faucet squeaks if you turn it too fast. it’s ridiculous.

and he wonders what you might have gone through yourself. here, he had the safety of his friends, a reliable, if not burdensome indulgence for him. one call, and he was sure one friend or another would drop by if he was sick.

you however, had been all alone in a new country. new job, new people, new place, an unfamiliar language and no friends to call upon. did you let yourself rot in bed too? he wanted to ask you so much, but he still didn’t feel like he had the right to pry into your life yet.

it’s been a year since you broke up, two months since you met again, two weeks since you had that conversation – one where he admitted things you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, and you promised things you weren’t sure you could keep.

and now you were here, refilling his glass like no time had passed at all.

jake watches you carefully, his fever-flushed face softening in a way you don’t quite know how to deal with. his gaze lingers – not in the sharp, teasing way he would look at you, but in a quiet, searching way, like he’s seeing something in you he hadn’t noticed before.

placing the glass on the table, you make a final attempt at saving yourself. you’re not sure what you need saving from, jake is the one who’s sick, if anything you have the upper hand here (again, you don’t why you need a upper hand in the first place), but jake’s sudden intervention had rattled you nonetheless. the way he kept on seeing through you like he knew you better than the back of his hand, even when all your cards were tucked safely in your han and the table in front of you was empty.

“it’s not like i had a choice.”

“yeah,” jake murmurs. “i guess not.”

a silence settles between you, neither awkward nor comfortable, just there. you could fill it with something light, something inconsequential, but the weight of the moment keeps you still.

jake sets the bowl down on the table, leaning back against the couch. his head tilts slightly, exhaustion tugging at his expression. “you should’ve called.”

you frown. “what?”

“when you were sick,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “you should’ve called me.”

a bitter laugh rises in your throat before you can stop it. “right. because that would’ve been appropriate.”

jake doesn’t flinch, he just looks at you, steady despite the fever dulling his edges. “i wouldn’t have cared about “appropriate.”

you open your mouth, then close it again. because what can you even say to that? you hadn’t called him. of course, you hadn’t. it had been a year. a whole year of learning how to exist without him, of burying old instincts, of teaching yourself not to reach for your phone when something reminded you of him.

but now, sitting here, watching the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, you wonder if you ever really unlearned any of it.

you exhale, shaking your head. “just finish the soup, jake.”

his lips twitch, barely a ghost of a smile. he doesn’t argue.

maybe it’s the fever, or maybe it’s just him, but he doesn’t stop watching you. even as he eats, even as the warmth returns to his face, even as you sit there, pretending this is normal.

you don’t look back at him. you can’t.

because something about this – about being here, about taking care of him again – feels too easy. about the way he so easily manages to remind you of the past despite yourself, how he easily manages to look past you, through you, at you with those same kind eyes you had fallen in love with all those year ago. and you don’t know what to do with that.

so you do what comes to you naturally when your mind is crumbling on itself. you move, you work, you take action. you make yourself busy.

shrugging off your jacket, you push the sleeves of your shirt up and rummage through another plastic bag. pulling out a packet of fever reducing medicines, you pop one out of its pellet and hand it to jake.

“have this, then go to sleep.” there’s determination in your voice, you’re already planning out what to do, “i’ll clean up here and check on you later, so just go get some rest and don’t worry too much about it.”

jake doesn’t want to argue, but he doesn’t want to waste his time sleeping when he knows you’ve already made up your mind to stay in his apartment for the time being. also, he doesn’t want to make you clean up after him.

“wait y/n, you don’t have to clean up–”

“jake, for all i know, you’ve been marinating in your own sickness for two days straight,” you deadpan, already picking up the leftover dishes off his table and striding towards his kitchen, shaking your head at the sinkful of old dishes, “go to sleep, i’ll wake you up in a few hours and you can take a shower then. i’ll change your sheets while i’m at it too–”

you ramble off about the list of things you’re mentally taking note of and it makes jake dizzy. this is a side of you that is new to him. it’s like you’re giving him no chance at making a move. he sees you deal out your cards, it’s so clear to him, but he feels powerless right now, your back facing him like a sturdy wall.

he follows the line of your shoulders, the tension taut in them as you continue with your work, your hands moving on their own as you rinse dishes and rearrange the kitchen, though you’re not really seeing any of it. the soft clink of plates against each other fills the quiet room, but your mind is miles away.

behind you, you hear jake shift on the couch, a low sigh escaping his lips. it’s soft, the kind of sigh that says more than words ever could. you try to focus on the task at hand, but every time you move, you feel his eyes on you. it makes your skin feel too tight, your thoughts too loud.

you hear his footsteps receding as he makes his way to his room, the sound of his movements getting muffled the further away he moves. he doesn’t shut the door behind him, instead, getting in bed and letting himself be lulled into a sleep with the sound of your own movements in the kitchen. and it feels unreal.

jake is half certain that he would wake up and realise that this had all just been a fever dream, that he had indeed been hallucinating your figure, tat he had conjured up your voice from the depths of his memory, that the frown on your pretty face had been his karma – even in his dreams, you were upset at him. and for a while he tries to stay awake, fighting his heavy eyes and the soreness in his limbs and the weight of the blanket over his frame.

you hear the soft creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets. it’s a quiet reminder that jake is still there. that he’s still so close, even though you’ve tried to keep your distance. he’s not the one who’s avoiding you anymore. you are. and every moment you spend not looking at him, not addressing what’s hanging between you, it feels like a crack getting wider.

a distant groan from the bedroom snaps you out of your thoughts. jake. his voice, thick with the fever, is a reminder of how everything is spinning out of control. you pause for a moment, eyes flicking towards the hallway, your heart tightening in your chest.

you didn’t call him when you were sick. you didn’t need to. you couldn’t. but right now, you’re here. you’re standing in his kitchen, pretending you’re not trembling with every second that passes, pretending you’re not dying to check on him. to feel something, anything, other than this cold distance you’ve forced between you both.

but you simply dissociate. your movements grow more mechanical as you tidy up, but you know that you're running from something. running from the truth, from the flood of emotions that threaten to break the fragile dam you've built. the truth is, you’ve been avoiding him for so long – maybe longer than you even realized – but the cracks are showing now, and it's making everything harder than it needs to be.

you try not to think about the past, the things you’ve buried, but it’s impossible. because here you are, again. taking care of him. watching him. being drawn to him despite everything that should keep you apart.

the silence stretches, only the sound of water and cutlery keeping you company. if you strain your ears, you could probably hear the laboured breaths in the bedroom.

the glass in your hand feels heavier now, like it’s a vessel for everything you’ve kept inside. you’re holding it with too much force, fingers tight around it, but you don’t want to let go. you’re afraid that if you do, the dam will break. that all the words, all the thoughts you’ve buried so deep, will flood out and you won’t be able to stop them.

two.

somewhere in the middle of a restless sleep and the sense of a lingering presence, jake finds himself being shaken awake.

there’s a gentle pressure on his arm, squeezing his skin comfortingly and coaxing his eyes to flutter open. his head feels lighter this time around, weighed down by a damp cloth that feels like a balm across his skin, but its the hand around his arm that he really zeroes in on the moment he’s up.

so you hadn’t been a fever dream after all. that means you had been upset at him in reality. well, that’s a concern for later. all he registers is that you hadn’t left. yet.

“hey,” your voice is tentative, just like your fingers curling around his arm as if you’re afraid you’re going to startle him back into consciousness, “you should get up and take a shower, i ran you some hot water”

your voice, it’s so quiet and sweet. your fingers graze against his skin when you remove the towel off his and run your fingers across the long strands of hair across his forehead – he shivers. your forehead puckers into a frown, palm flattening against his head again. a small sigh escapes his lips, the feeling so welcome, he lets his eyes fall shut again, but you move your hand again and all jake feels is the emptiness lying heavy against his skin.

jake blinks slowly, the sleep still clouding his vision as he processes your words, the absence of your touch a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. he swallows hard, pushing himself up with effort, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to him.

the cool air from the window brushes against his damp skin, and he can hear the soft rustling of the room as you move around, no longer hovering. you’ve given him space, and yet, he feels more crowded than ever by the silence between you two. the quiet hum of the room is deafening.

his hands reach for the towel you’d left behind, the fabric still warm from the contact with his skin. he presses it to his forehead again, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks about how this small gesture – this simple act of care – might have been enough if he hadn’t messed it all up.

when he shuffles into the bathroom, you're already there, standing at an awkward angle away from the showerhead as you twist and turn the knobs, one hand under the water to test the temperature.

“just a sec, it’s a bit too hot right now,” you barely glance at him as you continue with his ministrations. and jake? he’s honestly still too tired to want to read into your actions but that doesn’t mean his chest doesn’t twist in a weird way.

once you’ve determined the right temperature of the water, you move towards jake who’s leaning with his head against the bathroom tiles. the room itself is tiny, a two-by-two metre cubicle that feels too crowded with the both of you inside. jake sniffles, raising his arms in a pathetic attempt to take his jacket off but he’s obviously unsuccessful.

you don’t even spare a reaction, naturally moving to help him, maneuvering one arm out of his jacket, then the other. and it’s with this same instinct that your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt too, ready to pull it over his head but you stop at the very last second, almost abruptly, it gives you a whiplash.

instantly your eyes meet his. he’s already looking at you and unfortunately you can read his emotions all too well.

the shower runs in the background, steam curling up into the air, and you both stand there for a moment, hesitating. part of jake wants to stay lost in the haze of exhaustion, to let you take the call and help him take his shirt off. but another part – the part that knows you woldn’t dare unless he pushed you – wants to step forward with his arms stretched out, telling you to take it off for him.

jake swallows again, this time louder, his throat dry. he could let you take over, could surrender to the care you’re offering, let you guide him through the motions. it would be easy to let go, but there’s something about the way you’re looking at him – something raw and real – that makes him second-guess.

“i… i can do it,” jake says hoarsely, his voice quiet and rough, like it hasn’t been used properly in too long. his hands hover, reaching up toward his shirt but faltering at the last second. you see him pause, the conflict in his eyes, and for a split second, he wishes he could pretend it was just the exhaustion talking. but it's not. it’s more than that.

you stand there, frozen, hand still poised just inches from his chest, the tension between you two becoming almost suffocating. but despite the silence, there’s an unspoken understanding that lingers between you, a fragile thread that hasn’t snapped yet.

finally, you take a step back, releasing a quiet breath as you straighten up. you glance down for a moment, biting your lip, then look back at him with a mixture of resolve and something softer. "you should... you should take care of it yourself," you say, your voice a little strained, as though you're holding something back.

jake wants to argue, to tell you it's fine, to just let him lean into whatever you've been offering. but instead, he stays quiet, his gaze not leaving yours. he takes the final step toward the shirt, the fabric slipping off easily, but for some reason, the act feels heavier now. the weight of the decision, the weight of what it means to ask for help or not.

your eyes avert on their own, catching but a momentary peek of his naked skin. this shouldn’t be that weird, you shouldn’t be this flustered. you’ve seen him like this before, hell you’ve seen and done much more than this before, but that was then. this is now – you’re taking care of your sick ex who you’re just friends with.

you wish there was a guidebook for this sort of situation.

you swallow hard and try to keep your voice steady when you speak. "i’ll get you something to eat after," you say, your voice almost too soft, barely reaching him over the water.

there’s a pause. a beat that feels like it could stretch on forever.

"yeah," jake murmurs, his voice low and tired. "thanks."

you can’t quite tell if he means it, if it’s just the exhaustion talking, or if it’s something more. you don’t ask. the weight of his answer is enough. he’s waiting for you to leave before he can get into the shower.

almost against your will, your gaze flickers to him – just a quick look, a fleeting glance. and it’s enough to leave you breathless for a second. his back is to you, but you can see the way his shoulders tense, the curve of his spine, the way condensation already starts setting, dampening his skin with a thin layer of mist from the shower.

you wish you could stay; it's a thought that startles you and embarrasses you. but it's also a thought that sobers you up in an instant, startling you out of your reverie and making your feet finally move. the door shuts behind you with a soft thud, but you don’t hear the soft click of the lock turning.

the moment the door clicks shut, you press your back against it, letting out a breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding. your hands are trembling slightly, and you quickly clasp them together, squeezing them tight to keep the unease from showing. you force yourself to breathe, to steady the racing thoughts in your head.

you’re just friends now. that’s what you promised, that’s what you agreed on. but why does everything about this feel so far from simple?

the faint sound of the shower running leaks through the thin walls. a knot tightens in your stomach. you press your palms against the door, the coolness of the wood grounding you for a second. this is supposed to be temporary, you remind yourself. just a few more hours, a couple of days at most, and you’ll both go back to your separate lives. you can’t afford to let yourself slip back into this space. not now.

jake stands still in the shower, the hot water cascading over him, though it does little to wash away the frustration building inside. his thoughts race faster than the droplets falling from the showerhead, each one a sharp reminder of how easy it was to slip back into this. the moment you stepped into the apartment, everything shifted. even though you'd kept your distance, it didn’t take much for him to feel the pull again.

he shuts his eyes tighter, pushing the water away, wishing it could drown out the thoughts swirling in his head. why? why was it so easy to let you back in? how did you always know the right thing to do?

then again, he had always blindly believed you back when you were together, trusting your decisions like they were the bible itself. maybe that had been his downfall in a way, when he had reluctantly but respectfully agreed to the breakup. thinking about it now, you were wrong. you had been so wrong, and he had resented you for it. he had resented himself for believing you just because he was in love with you and he realised not much had changed, because he had let you fool him again by making him promise to be just friends with him. even after a whole year of repenting, resolving and regretting, it had been that easy for you to crumble him in your hands – all because he still loves you.

and he thinks that is reason enough to let himself be wavered by you – your imploring eyes, your worried lips, the frown on your face, the plea in your voice – he’d give in to you and your demands any day and every day.

but he doesn’t think he wants to. right now, standing under the warm water you had run for him, it enraged him a little how he had just stood there letting you do your thing while he waited. no, in fact, its not the waiting that set him off, he would wait for you for however long you made him, it was the way you had such an easy say in his life. how you could just do something, and he wouldn’t question it.

why should we remain friends?

he should have asked you that rather than agreeing along with you. you had given him no logical reason, but he had sensed the emotionally turbulent place it had come from, so he had left it at that. but now he wants to know. now he wants to know why you should remain just friends? why would you be here taking care of him when he’s sick? do you not still love him?

your voice from earlier lingers in his ears: i’ll get you something to eat after. the way you said it was soft, almost like a promise. but he can’t help but hear the unspoken words between the lines. it wasn’t just about food. you were offering something more, but you were hiding it behind the guise of something mundane. you were offering care, but you were also offering distance.

jake grips the edge of the shower, knuckles white as he exhales sharply. the water no longer feels comforting. it’s just another distraction. another way for him to bury his feelings.

"god," he mutters to no one, his voice barely above a whisper. "why do you still do this to me?"

he’s angry. angry at the situation, angry at himself for still caring, for still wanting you in ways he shouldn't. and yet, underneath the anger, there's an ache – a yearning that refuses to be ignored. he wants to reach out, to pull you back, to make you see that he still matters. that they both still matter.

but instead, he grits his teeth, trying to keep the heat of his frustration contained. no more waiting, he thinks. no more pretending.

when the water runs cold, he steps out of the shower, his body shivering slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the chill creeping under his skin. he pulls a towel around his waist and stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror. for a second, he barely recognizes the man in the glass. the person he used to be – the one who thought everything would just fall into place after the breakup, the one who convinced himself they could both move on – feels like a stranger.

but he’s done pretending now.

jake pulls open the bathroom door and steps into the hallway, the soft hum of the apartment the only sound. he doesn’t have a plan, but he knows one thing for sure: he’s not going to let this go without asking the questions that have been haunting him. not anymore.

you’re sitting on the couch, your knees tucked under your chin, a blanket draped over your lap. you’re only half paying attention to the television, head peeking up every so often to check the pot of soup boiling over the stove. the sight almost makes him turn back. almost makes him halt in his steps and rethink what he’s about to do. does he really want to break this moment?

i mean, he could retreat now, disappear into the quiet of his thoughts, and then return to let you serve him the warm cup of soup. he could play it off, pretending not to read too much into it, maybe even use the moment to ask about your time in japan. you'd tell him about how much you loved it, carefully sidestepping any mention of the loneliness you’d carried with you, dodging his prying questions with practiced ease. after that, you'd clean up again, hand him the fever-reducing pills, and tuck him into bed. he’d wake up feeling better, and you’d finally leave. and when you did, things would go back to what they were before. just friends. just the way it had always been.

and then you’ll keep being ‘just friends’.

but he doesn’t. instead, he walks towards you, his footsteps steady despite the whirlwind inside him. his naked torso feeling the brunt of his actions as the cool breeze pricks his skin.

"you’re not going anywhere, are you?" the question slips out before he can stop it, his voice rough. he’s barely even aware of the way his heart pounds in his chest.

you look up at him, surprise flickering across your face, but it doesn’t last long. you meet his gaze, steady, cautious, before they trail along the path of his body – his naked body, save for the towel around his waist. what the fuck.

"jake," you start, but your voice falters, unsure of how to navigate this new situation, “i’m right here, so can you please go put something on, you’re gonna get sick again if y–”

but he’s not going to let you hold back. not anymore.

"no," he interrupts softly. "i need to know, right now. why are we still pretending?"

three.

the room holds its breath, the tension almost tangible in the quiet after jake’s question. for a moment, neither of you speaks. your eyes flicker between him and the door, as if you could somehow slip out of this without answering. but you know you can’t. not anymore. not with the weight of his question hanging between you.

he’s let you convince him to put on clothes for the moment, but he refuses the bowl of soup you set in front of him.

“answer me y/n, i’m not eating anything until you answer my questions tonight.”

you can already feel a headache creeping up your neck. you sit on the other end of the couch, burying your head in your hands and letting out a weary sigh. jake had picked the worst time to be his stubborn self again.

you clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation, but your voice feels small, fragile. “jake… i – i don’t know what you want me to say.” you stand up slowly, hands still gripping the blanket around you, though the warmth of it feels distant now. “you’re sick. you should just rest.”

but jake doesn’t look sick. not in the way he did when you first found him, feverish and weak, barely able to sit up. he sits across you now, your bodies separated by just a few feet. there’s a fire in his eyes, something raw and insistent that makes it hard to breathe.

“you’re avoiding the question,” he says, his voice low but firm. “why are we still pretending? why are you really here?”

“where is this coming from? i thought you were fine with me being here–”

“yeah, i was sick and barely in any condition to argue with you.”

“oh. oh, so now that you’re feeling better you think you can–”

“i can what?” jake’s voice is still raspy, but it's firm. it rattles you. jake has always been the more emotional one in your relationship whereas you took the reign of being the logical counterpart. yet now, you can’t find yourself coming up with anything close to a logical explanation.

you hesitate, the words swirling in your mind but never quite making it past your lips. his question cuts through everything you’ve been holding back, and you feel exposed, raw. this isn’t the same dynamic anymore. jake’s eyes bore into yours, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, and you can’t look away.

“i – i don’t know what you want from me,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “i thought... i thought we were just getting through this. i’m here because i care about you, jake. i always have.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step forward, his presence looming over you. his gaze doesn’t soften; it only grows more intense, more insistent.

“no,” he says quietly. “you’re here because you can’t let go of whatever we were, but you're too scared to admit it. you’re scared of what happens next, scared of how things might change if we stop pretending.”

the words hit harder than you expect. you recoil slightly, trying to maintain your composure, but the tension in the room feels suffocating, like you’re drowning in the weight of your own fear. you can feel your pulse in your throat, each beat hammering against your chest.

“i’m not pretending,” you murmur, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow. “i’m... i’m just trying to make sure you're okay.”

jake doesn’t let you off the hook. “and what about you? what are you doing, huh? what about what you need?” his voice cracks just a little at the end, the vulnerability slipping through. you’ve never heard him sound like this before, and it shakes you to your core. the certainty in his eyes falters for just a second, but when he speaks again, it’s like he’s trying to bury it. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t be the one who’s always waiting for you to come back, for you to decide if i’m worth it.”

you flinch. his words strike deeper than any physical blow could. he’s right, in a way you’ve been refusing to face him. you’ve been holding him at arm’s length, never fully letting him back in, always waiting for something – anything – that would make it easier to walk away without feeling like you’re suffocating. but jake’s not giving you that luxury anymore.

“what the hell are you even saying jake,” your temper rises now, you’re not sure if its the way jake deems the way you regard him or whether it's the truth of everything he is hitting you with all of a sudden, “you are worth everything i have ever put my life upon, don’t go around making me the bad guy. i have never deemed you any less than what you deserve, and you’ve always deserved the best.”

these words are unfiltered and sound almost childish in your ears. gone is the grace with which you pride yourself in forming sentences, now everything you’re saying sounds like some third grade rendition of a love letter. you burn in embarrassment and anger, because in the end, jake has reduced you to this state.

but jake doesn’t regard it as such, if anything, he’s gotten you to finally talk.

“what are you afraid of?”

you look at him, your throat tight, and suddenly, it feels like everything is crashing down. it’s always been easier to lie, to hide behind excuses, behind the safety of distance. but with jake right in front of you, his question still lingering – for the first time, you can’t push it away. you can’t hide from it anymore.

“what am i afraid of?” you repeat the words softly, like a question to yourself. but deep down, you already know the answer, and it terrifies you.

“i’m afraid of what happens when we stop pretending,” you confess, voice cracking. you can’t look at him as you say it – can’t bear to meet his eyes, because everything you’ve been burying under the surface comes spilling out in the form of this one fragile truth. “i’m afraid that if we really look at this... at us, there won’t be anything left to hold on to.”

jake’s silence is deafening. you risk a glance at him, only to find him staring at you with something close to heartbreak in his gaze. his lips press together, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but then his chest rises and falls with a sharp breath, like he’s swallowing everything he feels.

“you think... you think that if we let go, we’ll be nothing?” his voice is quieter now, almost lost. but there’s still that fire in it, just softer. “is that what you really believe, y/n? that everything we had means nothing if it’s not perfect?”

you wish you could say something, anything, to make this easier – to make him understand. but it’s all coming out now, too much and too fast.

“i don’t know what i’m doing, jake.” the words tumble out, helplessly, just like the tears that start rolling down your cheeks, “i... i don’t know how to stop being afraid that we’ll just break again. that i’ll break, and i’ll hurt you, and then there won’t be any coming back from it.”

you hesitate, taking a shaky breath, and the real reason – one that’s been buried so deep for so long – slips out before you can stop it. “i was so scared of losing you, jake. but i realized that if i kept holding onto you like that maybe i’d end up suffocating you.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and you watch his expression shift. you don’t know if he understands completely, but something flickers in his eyes. you think about the time you walked away, the way you chose to close off instead of facing the fear of losing him to your own need for control. the thing you were so afraid of – the thing that led to your breakup.

“the thing is,” you continue, voice cracking, “i wanted us to be this perfect thing, but i couldn’t let go of the part of me that was terrified. i kept pushing you away. and then... when we finally did break up, i thought i was saving us both from more hurt. but all i was really doing was hurting you.”

jake’s hand inches towards you, afraid that you would pull away before he could reach you. when his fingers finally find yours across the couch, he holds on firmly. you don’t pull away.

“i thought you just didn’t need me anymore. that you were pushing me out, choosing to shut me out because you didn’t want to deal with the mess of everything we were.”

he looks at you, and it’s like his eyes are pleading for you to see it. “but i was just trying to be there. for you. i tried everything i could, y/n. you wouldn’t let me in. every time i pushed, you pulled back. and in the end, i felt like i was nothing but a burden to you. that was why i stepped back...because i thought it was what you wanted. i thought i wasn’t enough.”

the truth of his words settles like a weight in your chest, heavy and sharp. the weight of his hand on top of yours feels burdensome, but then his fingers start caressing your skin, thumbing circles across the soft flesh of your wrist. and then you realize: all that time, while you were protecting yourself from the pain of losing him, you were pushing him into a corner, suffocating him with your need for control. and it destroyed the connection you had – your walls went up, and his came down.

“you thought you weren’t enough?” you whisper, the tears keep rolling, “i’m sorry. i was so scared... scared that if i let you too close, i’d lose myself in you. i needed to keep control, jake. but i never wanted to push you away like that. and i... i didn’t see how badly i was hurting you until it was too late.”

jake now turns to you entirely. all his yearning oozes out of him desperately, maybe it’s because you’ve finally had this talk, but he can feel the tiredness returning in his limbs, finally relieved. he expects you to completely push him away, but he reaches out regardless and maneuvers you with gentle hands across his lap.

“if you know now that you hurt me, take responsibility for it.” he says, letting you ease yourself in his hold. you’re hesitant at first, but with every stroke of his fingers across your cheeks, you settle down and let him wipe your tears away.

he buries his face against the crook of your neck and it's a feeling you don’t realise you’ve missed. the sigh that tumbles out your lips is just a testimony of you finally giving in to this feeling.

“jake,” your voice is a silent whisper, “you’re still sick, you shouldn’t be–”

but whatever it is that you think jake shouldn’t be doing is suddenly a thought flung right to the back of your mind when his lips meet yours in a silent plea. just the soft touch of his chapped skin against yours. it ends as abruptly as it starts.

“fuck,” he curses, slightly out of breath even though he hadn’t done much, “you’re right, i’m sick, i shouldn’t be kissing you–”

oh but who cares. it’s just a mild fever, so what if you fall sick too?

you’re pressing your lips against him too, shutting him up with a kiss that he surrenders himself into despite his own protest against his sickness. because you’re here, in his arms, kissing him like that's all you’ve wanted to do. and for once, jake doesn’t complain, because you’ve never kissed him like this before. you've never shown him just how starved you are for him. and he understands this feeling, he’s felt this way for you forever, but he’s also slightly dumbfounded at the way you hold him tight and kiss him breathless.

he feels dizzy again, but not for anything in the world is he going to stop you right now. he simply latches on to you tighter, pulling you impossibly close and moves his lips with yours, letting you bruise his own.

you both finally pull away, breathless, eyes searching the other like you’ve been lost in the dark for too long. the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that’s been holding you both apart, is still there, but now there’s something else. a sense of clarity, an understanding that feels so fragile, like the first light breaking through a storm.

jake presses his forehead to yours, a soft laugh escaping him as he steadies his breath. “god, i’ve missed you like this. i’ve missed us.” his voice is low, raw with emotion, and you feel that familiar pull in your chest again – the one you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to convince yourself isn’t real. but it is. it always has been.

you pull back slightly, still tangled in his arms, your heart racing. “jake, i... i don’t know how to fix all the damage i’ve done. i don’t even know if i deserve to ask for another chance... after everything.”

his eyes soften, his thumb gently brushing over your lips like he's memorizing the way they feel against his skin. “y/n,” he says, his voice steady and sure now, “you don’t have to fix anything all at once. we don’t have to pretend like everything’s perfect, because it’s not. but i’m willing to try again, if you are.”

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of everything still hanging between you, but it feels like the first step. it feels like a chance to rebuild, even if it’s not easy, even if it takes time. he’s offering you the space to breathe, to come to him when you’re ready, but with no expectation that you have it all figured out.

“i’m scared, jake,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i’m scared i’ll push you away again. that i’ll hurt you again.”

he shakes his head, a small, reassuring smile playing at his lips. “you won’t. not if we face it together.”

you feel a strange sense of calm settle over you, like a weight lifting off your shoulders, even though the future is still uncertain. but for the first time in a long time, it’s not so terrifying. maybe because you’re not facing it alone.

“can we... just take it slow?” you whisper, your fingers curling into his shirt. “can we rebuild this, piece by piece? i don’t want to rush it.”

jake smiles, despite the sudden dull thudding in his head.

“you’re asking for slow after you just kissed me like that?”

you know he’s teasing you, you feel the warmth flush your cheeks but before you can reprimand him, his hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you in for another gentle kiss; this time slower, deeper, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. when he pulls away, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you more than words ever could.

“slow’s fine with me,” he murmurs. “we’ll do it at our own pace. whatever it takes.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck; it feels like home.

“thank you,” you whisper, even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for yet. for understanding? for being patient? for loving you despite everything?

you don’t know. but you’re grateful.

“i’ll make it right, jake,” you say, your voice muffled against his skin. “i’ll find a way to make it right.”

and for the first time, you truly believe it.

epilogue.

a week later, you’re sprawled on the couch, tissues scattered around you, feeling miserable. jake walks in, grinning, holding soup and medicine.

“you really went for it, huh?” he teases, setting the soup down. “kissed me, and now you’re sick.”

you groan. “you didn’t have to kiss me back so passionately.”

jake laughs. “what can i say? i had to make up for lost time.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “well, it’s your fault. i was fine until you—"

“don’t even try to blame me,” he cuts in, sitting beside you. “we both know you loved it.”

before you can retort, jay pops his head out from your kitchen, shaking his head. “you two seriously couldn’t wait a week to not get sick?”

you throw a pillow at him. “shut up, jay.”

he grins. “i’m just saying, you couldn’t have waited at least a week, or at least till he got better? are you guys animals, did you have to make out right then?”

you groan and pull the blanket tighter around yourself. “jay, please, you’re killing me.”

jake chuckles, clearly amused by jay’s teasing. “i’m sure it was worth it.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “it better have been. you’re both out of commission now. y/n’s got the cold, and i’m stuck being the responsible one. like i don’t have enough to deal with.”

you glance at jake, still leaning into him for comfort, and say in your best innocent voice, “you could always leave, jay. let us suffer in peace.”

jay gives you a mock glare. “oh, i see how it is. i come over to check on you, and now i’m the bad guy.”

jake smirks, clearly enjoying the banter. “you’re lucky we didn’t need you to play nurse. we’ve got it covered.”

jay rolls his eyes dramatically, then turns to leave. “fine. but if you two are going to be in here swapping germs and cuddling like an old married couple, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before he can disappear completely, you call out after him. “hey, jay?”

he pauses at the door.

“next time, bring actual medicine. not just your sarcasm.”

jay grins, tossing a playful wink over his shoulder. “can’t help it, y/n. it’s what i do best.”

with that, he’s gone, and the silence between you and jake is comfortable, warm. you look up at him, giving him a half-smile.

“i guess it’s just us then?”

jake kisses your forehead gently. “just us.”

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen jake imagines #jake sim imagines #jake enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen angst #jake sim x reader #jake sim angst #my writings

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