#anyone else feel like when you draw one of these idiots you have to draw the rest of them

[justmeexistinghere]

W H E R E S H A D O W S M E E T

pt.13 Butterfly

*⁀➷Masterlist

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5 - pt.6 - pt.7 - pt.8 - pt.9 - pt.10 - pt.11 - pt.12 - pt.13 - pt.14

Summary: The late-night encounter draws you and Seongje together, shadows and unspoken truths flickering between you. Beneath their casual words, something quietly stirs— hidden longing, and the possibility of change hanging in the night air.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> Geum Seongje x fem!reader (about to be) -> Warnings: swearing/strong language, emotional distress, intense interpersonal conflict and tension, mention of violence and blood, smoking (hopefully I didn't forget anything) -> all characters are portrayed as being of legal age -> Wordcount: 2.238 -> 📝English isn’t my first language & this is my first series — thank you for your patience ♡

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

For a long moment, you just stare at Seongje—the way smoke curls from his lips and his eyes flicker between shadow and something else that’s too hard to name. His finger tapping at the cigarette, ash dancing in the air on its way to the ground, right under his control. Damn, it makes you angry at how good he looks at it, as if he practiced it in front of a mirror.

But you just look at him like an idiot, while a sting coming from your raw knuckles slightly sneaks its way to your attention, but not enough to actually be felt deeply. He is too present. In your thoughts, the smell of the air and most annoyingly, he made his way to your body—uncontrolled heartbeat, a small flush on your cheeks, and your foot nervously tapping the floor. He has some kind of spell on you. Obvious. Will you admit it? Yeah—no. Not your style. If anyone asks, blame it on the weather. Or the fight.

You’ve been there before. Different street, but same sharp feeling building in your chest. Last time it ended in a fiery kiss, this time you will surely prevent it. Not because it was bad, but rather because it’s trouble, and you definitely already have enough of that. 

You didn’t see him for a while, but you kept asking yourself how it would be to see him again. At every thought, you were trying to hide the glimpse of hope, running into him spontaneously, seeing him, touching him. But you had to convince yourself that it was better like that, less chaos, less pain. That’s how you came to your decision. You could be the girl with boundary issues (the healthy kind)—but, no, boring. Ten out of ten for impulse control.

But he’s here now. You even went to him when you could’ve just left. You keep the distance you had, avoiding something you don’t want to admit. Your thoughts blur, unsteady, like the smoke curling from his cigarette drifts around you, distracting and intoxicating.

You want to say something. Need to say something. The silence is too heavy to breathe steadily, making you catch for a breath.

He flicks the ash again, draws you in with nothing but silence and the smallest tilt of his head. His voice is lower than you remember, almost careful. “Why did you come back? Just to look for me?”

More weight. Great. It’s now pressing down on your voice, making it hard to form a word. Aish, get yourself together, y/n!

You clench your fist, pain blooming, reminding you of the fight, of why things should stay simple. But honestly!? Nothing about him is simple.

After a moment, you find your voice. “I got the confirmation I wanted. I should go now.” You try to end the conversation before it even begins—like ripping off a bandage in one swift motion, ready to forget it was ever there.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even have his typical smirk.

“What did you get confirmed?” he drops his cigarette, stepping on it, which leads him to get a little closer to you.

You catch your breath, wanting to leave without an answer, but the turmoil in you won’t let you go. “Every time we do this, it ends the same. Blood, bruises, and me wishing things were different.”

He lets your words settle. For a second, you almost think he might laugh—throw something back, like he always does. But not tonight. He just stays there silent, eyes mustering you as if there’s something that doesn't belong there, like some greens between your teeth— hopefully it’s not that.

His gaze drops to your hand, the one still curled into a fist. “That's supposed to be a warning?” His voice is even, just a little rough around the edges. “Or an excuse?”

Your eyes follow the direction of his. Right, the sting you tried to ignore. Your raw knuckles bleed even more after the pressure of forming a fist. Before you can answer, Seongje steps even closer, followed by a calm “Let me see that.”

You hesitate, eyes flicker between his face and the wounds. What’s he playing now? Stitch up first, then tear down, huh? But you hold out your hand anyway. (anything else would be boring, huh)

Carefully, his fingers brush over the worst cuts before he pulls a clean cloth from his jacket pocket—a crumpled piece of fabric, not quite a proper bandage, but enough. First aid Seongje style, not that you would complain. Who knows how many of his wounds were treated with that? A sudden smile begins to form on your lips, but before you can actually call it one, you snap it out.

The gentle press against your knuckles makes you look at him, his touch firm yet—disturbingly—tender. For a second, you almost want to call the look in his eyes ‘soft,’ but come on. You know better.

But a small relief flickers through the chaos inside you. Will you buy the act? Is it one? Surely.

No way you’re falling for this. Not again. Last time he acted like he cared, you woke up to a totally different reality. It’s not real. It never was. He’s Seongje—the unreadable, unfeeling psycho who toys with his victims before the final knockout.

With a harsh move, pull your hand back, heart pounding—not from pain, but from confusion. “What is this? Another game? Is it fun? Do you get off on messing with me?” Your voice was sharp, defensive.

Seongje freezes for a moment, his dark eyes locking onto you with a quiet intensity that almost unsettles you. The softness you thought you sensed before is suddenly replaced by a look you’ve never seen from him. Is he hurt? Surprised? Angry? Whatever it is, the air between you freezes—time seems to stop for a moment.

Have... your words actually hurt him? That can’t be—but what if they did? How? You shouldn’t care.

Before you can dwell on it any longer, he breaks the silence with a cynical, almost diabolical laugh—the kind that sends a cold shiver down your spine.

When his performance ends, he grins at you with a smile that feels all too familiar at first glance. But looking closer, it’s just a mask. His eyes don’t match the expression his lips are trying to show you.

"If you think that, why did you come back? You could've just left, right? I didn't drag you here, even if that would've been some kind of dramatic show act." His voice falters under the weight of his words.

You don’t want to admit that you came back because of him, because you wanted to see his face once again after he just left you behind with nothing. Just for him, suddenly helping you and your friends. You don't believe it was an act of kindness.

You look for the answer in his eyes, without success. “I don’t know, Seongje. Maybe I was just bored, seeking trouble. You being the best choice for that, I guess.” The words sound bitter, hoping he will let it slide, while inside your heartbeat pounds too loud to think straight.

“You aren’t bored, y/n. I know that.” He sounds direct—almost too clearly—the tension in his shoulders show how much this conversation costs him.

Your hands clenched into fists once again, feeling the slight pain helps you think clear, at least as much as it takes to open your mouth once again. “Fine, maybe there was something else, but— “

Could you stop looking at me like that, stop coming closer, and most of all, stop making me think about things I shouldn’t want?

You struggle to keep going, running out of words. Could be a new character trait. You only manage to take a step back, while your gaze drops to the floor— just to see his steps follow yours.

“But what?” A sharp, demanding question.

Mr. know-it-all, if it is that easy, I would let you know first. Maybe you should know you are the problem. Right. You drop the act, you look right at him again, you shoulders tense, almost hurting, but words spilling out with a desperate edge.

“Fuck Seongje, maybe you tell me! You’re the one always acting like you know better.”

For a brief moment, a flicker of surprise can be found in his eyes, followed by something yearning. Probably for you to finally break, give in, and spill whatever is on your mind. He pauses, tilting his head teasingly, waiting for you to take the initiative, challenges you with his appearance alone—and dammit, it works. Too well…

“What do you wanna hear? That I came back because I immediately knew it was you? That my mind always went back to you after you decided to go into incognito mode for the past days, right after you left me in that alley. After the kiss? That fucking kiss that created even bigger chaos since it made me wanna see you again? Is it that? If yes, congratulations, you won. I’ll admit defeat. You can go tell your friends that you won the bet. Will you let me go now? I'm tired.”

Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you swallow hard, the rush of emotion tightening in your throat, while your eyes glisten—just on the edge of tears. You bite the inside of your lower lip. No way you will cry here and now. He just draws in a long breath, exhaling into the cool night air. You’re caught between relief and regret, strength and surrender, standing there like a fragile warzone—unyielding in spirit, yet undeniably shaken beneath. Seongje finally seems to get his shit together again. Your words must’ve cut through him.

“I didn’t stay cause I thought of you as a game. I stopped playing long ago. I stayed with you since it’s the only time I feel like something matters. I hate it. But I would hate it even more if something had happened to you. And fuck, I never felt something like that.” He is calm, almost too quiet at the end.

With a frustrated “Aish,” Seongje turns away, suddenly breaking the closeness he had pushed so persistently. You expect to cool down for a second, but the warmth blossoming on your cheeks makes him feel even closer than before.

To your surprise, his eyes avoid yours as he stands with his back turned, nervously scratching at the back of his neck — a habit you also noticed after the kiss. He genuinely seems nervous. Unexpected, but kinda… cute. You touch your cheeks, softly patting them, hoping to hide the flush before he sees it. Sigh.

You hear him take a shaky breath before turning back toward you.

“Yahhh, pretty face,” he grins, tilting his head. “Did that make you blush?”

His breath is uneven, though — clear as day.

You toss a stray lock of hair back with a playful flick, a sharp “tzz” slipping out as you do.

“In your dreams. It's probably just the cold night air,” you shoot at him.

He raises an eyebrow, obviously amused. “Yeah? The cold, huh? You ever thought of taking up acting?”

You huff—a half-laugh, half-defensive—wanting desperately for all of this to feel lighter than it is.

“I mean… you pretty much just proposed to me, right?” you tease, glancing at him. “Who wouldn’t blush at that? Figured someone has to support your performance as the female lead. Would be embarrassing if I didn’t play along.”

He blinks, momentarily surprised by your mix of wit and honesty. A real, easy grin breaks through his nerves.

“I knew you liked the spotlight,” he mutters, his thumb brushing your knuckles now—no more playful mockery, just a quiet connection.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the tangled emotions building inside you. “Enough. I need to go.” With that, you take a step back, ready to turn around and leave him standing there without further explanation.

But before you can, you feel his grip tighten around your wrist. His thumb draws a gentle circle on your skin, grounding you, sending your heart stuttering before it thunders in your chest.

“You'll just leave like that, princess?”

You gently take his hand, loosening his grip but not letting go just yet. Your fingers linger, entangling with his for a moment.

 “Why not? That’s what we do, right? Trade lines, disappear, pretend it means nothing.”

His voice is softer now. “Pretend, huh?” he pauses shortly, “You mean it?”

You hesitate, not sure if what you’re about to say is a good idea—then force a crooked smile. “Yeah.”

And with that, you finally let go, leaving him behind as you catch—just for a second—a real smile breaking across his features, as his lighter's flame comes close to the cigarette in his mouth.

For the first time, you let the butterfly trapped in its cocoon flutter free inside your chest—awkward, wild, and undeniably alive. It’s messy and imperfect, but it’s real.

You know this won’t be simple. Not with him. But right now, you choose to live with that uncertainty. To feel the weight of it and still take a step forward. No risk, no fun, huh?

And for once, the mess of being with Seongje doesn’t scare you.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

to be continued...

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5 - pt.6 - pt.7 - pt.8 - pt.9 - pt.10 - pt.11 - pt.12 - pt.13 - pt.14

picture generated with AI

Taglist @slovesyouuu @quaff-le-science @4ria790 @dripoftheseus @m3xiezt

[heavyshrimp]

a flower for you <3

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont. two

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[inkydelusions]

think you can do it better? - 2.5k

summary: some members of the team learn about your boyfriend, and it breaks spencer’s heart. luckily for his, he’s an asshole, which means he gets a second chance to fix the one mistake he regrets the most. c.warning: fem!bau! reader. mentions of cheating (not spencer, don't worry). he does behave like an idiot in here tho. but then he fixes it so it's okay. it gets a bit intense at the end, but i wouldn’t go as far as to call it steamy or smutty (some heavy kissing and spencer being a hot nerd). a/n: i'm pretty sure this is the first time i write about reader and spencer kissing, which is funny that it took me this long. anyway, enjoy!!

hope you like it <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

you throw your phone across the table with an exasperated sigh, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“woah, okay,” morgan is the first one to react. “what’s wrong, princess?”

what’s wrong is that you had a terrible fight with your boyfriend a couple of hours ago, right before heading out for drinks with some of your team. since then, you’ve been trying to reach him, desperate to talk and fix things, but he’s been ignoring you. like the man-child you’re starting to realize he really is.

“it’s nothing,” you say, taking a long gulp from your drink. morgan whistles as the line of liquor in your glass gets lower and lower until it’s completely empty. emily raises her eyebrows, equal parts impressed and concerned.

“really?” she asks. “because the way you inhaled that drink makes it seem like it’s definitely something.”

you sigh again, your eyes drifting from hers to morgan’s, then finally to spencer’s. when they invited you out tonight, you didn’t exactly imagine opening up about your trainwreck of a relationship, especially not in front of spencer.

as much as you value his friendship, he’s the last person you want to discuss this with. not after what happened the last time you two had a heart-to-heart.

“come on, kid,” morgan presses. “you know you can trust us.”

of course you do. you trust these people with your life, every single day.

sighing, you finally admit, “it’s my boyfriend.”

spencer knows better than anyone the power words can hold. that awareness has helped him solve some of the best cases of his career. but he did not expect three simple words to hit him so hard. as per usual, he’s staring at your mouth as you speak, you he sees it perfectly, in slow motion even: the way your lips purse together when you say my, their round shape and the scrape of your teeth against your lower lip as you follow up with the word boyfriend.

how can one word carry so much weight? he feels it slam into his chest, shoulders sinking under the impact.

“what?” emily sputters, nearly choking on her beer.

“since when do you have a boyfriend?” morgan asks.

“six months. a friend introduced us at her birthday party.”

“how the hell did you keep it from us that long?” morgan asks. “we must be some of the worst profilers in history.”

you smile at that. “you’re not. i’m just very good at keeping my personal life… well, personal.”

spencer could only stare, wondering how the hell he’d managed to miss the signs. he had noticed you had started paying more attention to your phone in the past few months, but he only assumed that, since you had changed to a more modern model, you had been absorbed by technology like everyone else around him. you had started wearing more makeup, and, overall, you now payed more attention to your personal image. thinking about you doing all of that for another man makes a new kind of feeling bubble up inside his chest, one he’s not proud of.

“so, what’s wrong? stormy day in paradise?” morgan bumps his shoulder against yours from where he’s seating right next to you on the booth.

you trace a finger through the small puddle of condensation emily’s glass left on the table, biting your lip, feeling three sets of eyes on you.

“i think i want to break up with him,” you admit.

“well shit,” emily mutters. “we just found out about this guy and we already get to hate him. best day of my life.”

“it’s just…”

you think about the constant miscommunications. the petty fights that never get resolved because he always shuts down. the silent treatment, the emotional immaturity. and then there’s the whole other started that started today’s fight.

“i think he’s cheating on me,” you say, eyes glued to the table.

“that fucker…” emily murmurs.

you don’t see it, but spencer’s eyebrows are tightly furrowed, you don’t see it, but spencer’s jaw clenches. he’s biting back a storm of words. 

how—and excuse his language, but—how the fuck could anyone think or even dare to look at someone else while being with you? you were the most stunning, drop-dead gorgeous person he’d ever met. on top of that you are smart and funny and loving, and you care for those you love in a way that most people would die to be cared for. spencer genuinely can’t wrap his mind around it.

“how do you know?” asks morgan.

“he’s been avoiding me for weeks. i thought it was because he was mad i had to leave for los angeles…”

“he gets mad at you for doing your job?” emily cuts in. “honey, you need to get the hell out of there.”

“ i know. i know. then,” you continue, “the other day, i caught him speaking on the phone with someone. i’ll admit i was shamelessly eavesdropping.”

“as you should.” morgan nods.

“he was using that soft voice i thought was just for me. and he said something about how he ‘couldn’t wait to spend more time together.’”

as you speak, your voice falters, and your expression dims. now, spencer has never been a violent man. he gets angry, sure, but he’s never been one to let out that fury out in the form of violence. but as he watches your shoulders slump, the way you’re picking at your nails to keep from crying, he can only think about finding the guy that’s made you feel like this and punch him in the face. he knows it’d probably physically hurt him more than the other man, but, hey, it’d make him feel great on the inside.

morgan says it first: “i should kill the guy.”

“i say we do it,” emily agrees.

you sniff, attempting a smile. it doesn’t really work.

“i don’t know why it affects me this much. i’m not even sure i love him,” you admit, throwing your hands in the air.

that makes spencer’s heart stutter.

“good. that’s good,” emily says, reaching across the table to take your hand. spencer silently curses himself for not doing it first. “do you know what you’re going to do now?”

you shake your head.

“you’re gonna pick up that phone, call the asshole, and end it. no explanations. just, hi, hello, we’re done. click.”

“or tell him he’s terrible in bed and you’re tired of faking it,” morgan offers.

“you’ve heard that one before?” emily teases, raising an eyebrow.

“oh, baby, never in my life. when they scream my name, they mean it.”

“ew, too much information, morgan. jesus.”

“you started it!” laughing, he turns to you. “but seriously, end it. don’t give him the chance to twist it around on you.”

without a word, spencer pushes your phone across the table. when you pick it up, your eyes find his.

“what do you think?” you ask. “should i do it?”

should you break up with the miserable excuse of a guy who lied, cheated, and made you feel this miserable? absofuckinglutely.

“he doesn’t deserve you,” is all he says.

you stare at him, nibbling your lower lip. flashbacks of a quiet night almost a year ago come back to you. him, staring at the dark horizon over a white fence, not daring to look in your direction. you, trying to make him look at you, to say something, anything, and getting nothing but silence and pain in return.

“okay. i’ll do it.” you rise from your seat, gripping your phone tightly in your hands. “i’ll be back in a minute.”

the three of them watch you slip through the crowd, out the door, and onto the sidewalk. from their booth, they can see you pacing outside, phone to your ear. your frown deepens. your cheeks flush. and then you turn away, shoulders shaking, head hanging.

“that’s your cue, lover boy,” morgan says, nudging spencer under the table.

“what? what do you mean?”

“you know? for a genius, you can be incredibly dense sometimes,” emily chimes in, finishing her beer. “you really think we haven’t noticed the way you two glance at each other, how you were gripping the table this whole time to keep yourself from reaching for her hand?”

it’s in moments like these that he hates that some of his closest friends are just as good as picking on small details as he is. spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“i messed up, guys,” he says, tone dripping regret.

“what do you mean?” emily asks.

“a year ago, when we were away, working on a case in tampa, we… we had a moment.”

emily’s eyebrows shoot up. “define moment.”

“it was late at night. it’d been a rough day for me, i’d been dealing with a terrible headache all day, and i was very tired…”

“spencer, what happened between you two?” morgan cuts him off, leaning over the table.

“i’m gettin to it. i couldn’t sleep that night, so i was wandering through the hotel and i found a quiet, comfortable common area in a terrace. i sat down and just… i was just enjoying the peace.”

“reid, we really appreciate the immersive narrative but i want to know what happened between you two.” emily urges him to get to the point once again and spencer can only sigh.

“she told me she loved me.”

emily almost chokes on her own saliva, and morgan’s jaw in mere inches from hitting the table. spencer plays with his glass, turning it around and around and around, the almost-melted ice cubes clinking against the glass.

“please tell me you said it back,” emily whispers, eyes focus on you through the wide window at the front of the bar.

the silence answers for him.

“you idiot,” morgan says flatly.

spencer swallows hard. “i-i couldn’t. it wasn’t that i didn’t. i did. i do. but i wasn’t okay.”

he hadn’t been in the right state of mind at the time. and he wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he had dragged you down with him.

“i told her we couldn’t be together. that it went across the rules, and that it would be extremely inappropriate.” he drops his head, banging his forehead against the table with a groan. “i ruined it.”

and then three months after that you went to your friend’s birthday party. and a week later you started wearing perfume and high heels, and doing your hair in a way that made him salivate at the mere sight of you. all the while, you were dating another man. 

“well, it seems like they’re not together anymore.” emily points in your direction again.

you’re standing beneath the streetlights, no phone in sight. you’re looking up at the sky, cheeks tear-streaked. however, there’s a smile on your lips.

“if you don’t move your ass and go out there right now, kid…” morgan warns, and spencer doesn’t need to be told twice.

he bolts out the door, weaving through the crowd. it’s chilly outside, but he doesn’t feel it, really. maybe it’s the adrenaline, but right now he can only feel the furious beating of his heart, the prickly sensation in the palms of his hands as he walks a straight line towards you.

you feel him before you see him. when you lower your eyes from the dark sky to his face he notices the redness around them, the dry trails of tears down your cheeks. but spencer is surprised to not find a single trace of sadness or heartbreak in your face.

“did you do it?” he asks, breathless.

you simply nod, taking a step forward. spencer can’t take his eyes off you, your beautiful eyes, your mouth. those lips… god.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers when you’re in front of him, bodies so close he doubts he can breathe without you feeling it against your own chest.

“for what?”

“for having giving you a reason to end up with a cheating asshole who could never see what a truly wonderful person you are even if they paid him,” he says, eyes still fixed on your lips. he sees exactly how one of the corners tilts up slightly.

a smile plays on your lips. “you think you could do better?”

“i could. i will. if you let me.”

“oh, but i already did. and your answer was no. something about it being too… inappropriate?”

he sighs, taking a step back. or at least trying to. grab his shirt collar and pull him in, clashing your lips together. spencer immediately melts, letting out a soft grunt. you had imagined yourself kissing spencer reid many, many times. more than you will ever admit to. but never in a million years would you have imagined him being such a good kisser.

his hands hold tight onto your waist, pulling you into him until your body is completely pressed against his; chest to chest, hips to hips.

he mutters your name against your lips like a prayer, hand cupping your cheek. spencer drops one last chaste kiss on your lips before pulling back, resting his forehead against yours.

“i can’t believe we could’ve been doing this for months now,” he whispers.

“we have some catching up to do,” you say, nodding along. spencer huffs a laugh.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters after a couple of seconds, his eyes closed. “for making you think i didn’t love you.”

“i never thought you didn’t love me, spencer.” this time, it’s you cupping his cheeks, making him look at you. “but i knew you must have had a good reason to reject me, to want to keep your distance. that’s why i didn’t push you. and that’s why i kept mr. asshole a secret. i knew it would hurt you.”

unable to hold back, spencer leans in again, kissing you. this time it’s fiercer. more desperate. he knows you two have an audience, and that both emily and morgan will bring this whole episode up later, but right now he just needs to kiss you senseless. and judging by the ragged sigh you let out against his lips, it’s working.

“how are we going to tell the team? and hotch?” you ask between kisses, giggling when spencer groans at the mention of your boss.

he pauses, looking you dead in the eye, “honestly? i don’t care. and i’d really appreciate it if you didn’t think about our boss when i’m kissing you.”

“i wasn’t thinking about him. i was thinking about how inappropriate this is, and how we really need to start planning our kissing breaks for when we’re in the office.”

oh, spencer liked the sound of that. he could already see it in his mind. an excel spreadsheet with color-coded boxes marking time slots and locations… yeah, he’ll get right on it the moment he gets home.

“you’re already working on it, aren’t you?” you ask, tracing his jawline with the tip of your fingers. he merely hums, smiling. “god, i can’t believe i’m in love with a nerd.”

“it’s me who can’t really believe it, babe. trust me.”

thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

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[mokulule]

Dead on MAYn - Day 2

Trope | Identity Shenanigans Word | Hoodwinked Situation | Danny works at the Watchtower & meets Red Hood there. Dialogue | "Cool glowing swords, mind if I borrow them for a minute?"

Summary: There's something on the Watchtower posing as a human and Jason is the only one who knows.

It had been just a little hacking, a little bit of information retrieval, not like Red Hood was doing terrible crimes on the Watchtower. Still, he’d rather be in and out without anyone the wiser. He could only loop the cameras for so long without anyone noticing.

Could Jason have just asked for this information?

Sure. But that would require actually talking to Bruce, and since that was scheduled for… preferably never, this was the next best option. Of course the potential for actually getting sent to jail as the wanted criminal that he was, if he was caught, was a definite drawback to this plan. It would set back his timeline a day or two while he escaped and he really couldn’t afford that.

Of course no reason to count your chickens until they hatched, and unless they hatched Wonder Woman, Jason was reasonably sure he could still avoid capture by most of the other super friends.

Footsteps were approaching from further ahead the bending hallway. Quickly Jason looked around and finding no other choice he squeezed into the space between two vertical pipes in an open service hallway. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when some obscure blue and yellow costumed hero walked by without even glancing towards the open service hallway.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

Jason jumped, turned around, and grabbed the suddenly appeared person by covering his mouth then he pushed him against the wall with the other arm across his chest. Where the fuck did he come from?! As Jason waited for his heart to migrate back into his chest from his throat, he noted the guy’s blue coveralls and tool belt and at least knew what the guy was doing in the open service hallway.

Jason was an idiot he should have expected someone to be in here, why else would it be open?

Odd, Jason thought, there was a complete lack of struggle. The man just watched Jason with calm eyes from over Jason’s gloved hand. It was that more than anything, because he didn’t look like someone who would scream, that made Jason readily remove his hand when the guy reached up to pull it away.

“At least buy a guy dinner first, Red,” he smirked and leaned his head back casually, drawing attention to the line of his throat and the dib between his collar bones, visible because the coveralls were slightly unzipped.

It took a moment for Jason to comprehend the words and what direction his thoughts had been going, then he let go as if burned, taking a step away.

Smiling in satisfaction the guy straightened his coveralls and took a step away from the wall.

“So whose side are you on these days, Red? Do I need to sound the alarm?”

Jason narrowed his eyes from beneath the helmet. What was up with this guy? Somehow, inexplicably, it felt best not to lie. “My own side.”

“Hmmm,” the guy seemed to consider for a moment then finally nodded. “Very well, follow me.”

He started walking further down the service hall. After a few steps he turned his head slightly. “Are you coming?”

Jason hesitated. All sorts of alarm bells were ringing in his head, but still he found his feet moving forward into what felt like the bowels of the space station. He felt at once disconnected and grounded in every doomed step. The low orange lights that lit their twisting mechanical path in regular intervals and their shadows dancing as if alive across pipes, cables and consoles didn’t help the feeling that Jason was being led to the underworld.

There had been a number of branches in the path, places where Jason could have taken the chance to run, but hadn’t.

It was stupid following an unknown, every ounce of his training rebelled, because it was sure to be a trap. But there was something in Jason, something primal, that felt absolutely terrified of pissing of whatever the fuck that maintenance worker actually was behind the too sharp smile. A smile that was flashed at him every now and then when he checked whether Red Hood was still following.

They went down two ladders and squeezed through some pipes before finally they seemed to have reached their destination. The being knelt down and opened a previously unseen hatch in the floor letting in the artificial sunlight the main areas used like a beam in the darkness. Jason half expected the being to dissolve in the light, but he was not so lucky. Dread squeezed Jason’s heart when he stuck his head down into the room and then seemingly waved to someone below.

This was the moment the trap would spring.

Time stretched until finally the being straightened with a too wide grin lit from underneath.

“Alright coast is clear time for you to go.”

“What?” Jason asked weakly.

“In you go, this is the Zeta Bay.” He explained patiently.

“You’re letting me go?” At this point Jason wasn’t sure if he’d expected to be handed over to the Justice League or eaten. At this point it didn’t matter.

“Mmmhmm,” he hummed agreeably, “now get a move on, I’ve got work to do.”

Right, Jason thought weakly. He stuck his head down and confirmed this was indeed the Zeta Bay. He hurried down what was apparently a ceiling panel. He was just about to take a step towards one of the zeta tubes when the voice halted him.

“Though, Red-”

Jason’s breath hitched when he looked up to see two glowing green Lazarus eyes staring back at him from within the darkness.

“-don’t let me catch you uninvited here again.”

And that was Jason’s cue to skedaddle. He was never setting foot on the fucking Watchtower again.

Oo o oO
 Six months later Jason was on the fucking Watchtower again.

He stepped out of the Zeta Tube with dread curling in his stomach. He did not sign up for this.

So he was vaguely aware of how “all bats on deck” had started to include the Red Hood. He’d been there. He’d been part of the whole process: the arguments, the concessions, the tearful confessions and father-son moments which he tried his best to ignore happened, but they were… good? Things were overall semi-okay.

But the part where his brain hit a bit of a snag, was when all bats on deck meant Red Hood (still very wanted criminal) on the Watchtower deck.

So what if there was an alien invasion? Red Hood could protect Gotham from Gotham if aliens decided to try their luck. What part of micromanaging Crime Alley screamed world saving to Bruce? In fact it would have been better if he’d stayed back, because surely some assholes (Jason could think of at least three) would take advantage of the distraction of an alien invasion and move in on Crime Alley.

Yet, here Red Hood was, on the Watchtower, gaining odd looks even amongst the hurrying heroes as they passed them. In fact it was probably only Red Robin’s presence by his side that prevented him from being accosted - because he was, as previously established, a wanted criminal, one with a rather bloody and explosive reputation to boot.

You would think putting the guy known for blowing shit up onto your very expensive space station would be a bad call.

But no, Bruce trusted him. Not only that, he trusted him to watch Tim’s back and Jason hated how choked up that made him feel. So he was doing it, okay? Bruce better fucking appreciate it.

He cautiously scanned his surroundings, as he followed Tim, watchful for any heroes that might consider Red Hood more of a threat than the ongoing invasion and more importantly signs of certain maintenance workers from the abyss.

Of course Jason’s luck wasn’t to last. Just before the door into the Watchtower command central he was there, innocently perched on a ladder with a light panel open above him, seemingly changing an actual lightbulb - as if he was just some guy working there. And sure in the light he looked harmless in the light blue coveralls with the top part tied around his waist revealing a black t-shirt that hung a bit loose on his slight build. He looked deceptively human with the tousled black hair and the little smudge of oil across his nose, but the way his gaze zeroed in on Jason like a predator smelling blood was anything but.

Surreptitiously Jason moved so Tim was between him and the thing.

“So what’s that guy’s deal?”

“Who?” Red Robin glanced at Red Hood before following his line of sight. “Danny?”

Danny… what a deceptively ordinary name. He supposed that was fitting for something posing as human.

Tim looked at him with an absolutely bewildered look on his face and told him lowly. “Danny has worked in maintenance for a couple of years. He has a degree in mechanical engineering, honestly he might be a bit overqualified. Why are you asking? You can’t be surprised we employ maintenance workers.” He narrowed his eyes.

‘Danny’ met Jason’s eyes from over Tim’s head. He smiled and winked at Jason sending a chill down his spine, before turning back around to close the now functioning light panel. Jason mentally shook himself out of it.

“Just wondering with the invasion and all, why there’s a civilian on the Watchtower,” he covered smoothly, but not smoothly enough by the way Tim kept glancing at him. He swiped the door panel and they entered the control room.

“All the maintenance workers carry stun guns and know how to use them. There’s also panic rooms and escape pods available.”

The doors closed behind them and Jason breathed a quiet sigh of relief to have the metal between him and Danny.

Now maybe they could get to work stopping this invasion so Jason could get back to Gotham, and most importantly off of this stupid space station.

Oo o oO

Jason did his best to stay off the Watchtower, he really did, but events conspired against him. He couldn’t even share his concerns because everyone else was convinced Danny was a completely ordinary and nice guy - even Bruce, mr Paranoid himself. Yes, Jason had checked the personnel files, even the locked ones: Danny was listed as human, born to human parents. No meta gene. Everything perfectly ordinary in a way that set Jason’s teeth grinding by how wrong it was.

It was maddening.

Every moment he was forced onto the Watchtower was a waiting game, because every time without fail Danny would be there. Either doing innocuous maintenance or as ominous green pinpricks from the shadows. Stalking him. Hunting him. Waiting for him to slip up, to come here ‘uninvited’.

But Jason was careful, and Danny would just have to go hungry.

Oo o oO

It was bound to happen, Jason thought as he limped as fast as his leg would take him into a narrow alley. You could only go so long without killing anyone before they realized you’d stopped sending that kind of message, that the old mail service had shut down and they realized you’d gone over to e-mail or whatever newfangled thing was supposed to work in this metaphor. The blood loss was not helping Jason’s faculties at the moment.

The point was… there was a point somewhere…

“Over here! Bitch is leading us straight to him.”

Jason looked down at the ground and the splatters that glistened in the lamplight. Not good, he had to-

“Hey-“

The sound came from behind him. Jason reacted on instinct, spinning around and pushing the assailant against the wall, an arm across their chest and gun pulled and aimed at their face, which- the rest of Jason’s blood promptly drained out of his face.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Red,” Danny said, and gently moved Jason’s gun down to his side.

“What are you doing here?” No no no. He should be on the Watchtower, not here. Whatever he was shouldn’t be allowed to move locations!

“I live here?”

“What?” He whispered not understanding one bit.

“Apartment, third floor,” Danny pointed upwards somewhere behind Jason. He still couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

Danny looked to the mouth of the alley then down at Jason’s leg.

“You’re hurt.”

Jason shook his head. It wasn’t a denial that he was hurt, he was very aware, but it was a no he didn’t want whatever that sentence lead to, but he also knew he was powerless to fight it-

He was on a couch, looking up at a crack in the plaster ceiling. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. His leg felt strangely cold and numb, like death creeping up on him from there, encroaching bit by bit. Maybe he should be alarmed, but his head felt like it was encased in fuzz.

“You with me again Red? You passed out there for a bit.”

Jason tilted his head. Danny was standing a few feet away holding a nondescript duffel bag, behind him an open doorway lead to a bathroom. He frowned, the lights from there were too bright and his gaze slid back to Danny. He didn’t even have the energy to feel scared right now.

Huh, Danny’s eyes were blue, he could have sworn they were green. They were also much closer than they had been just a moment ago. There was something important Jason was supposed to remember. Something had happened to get him here. It was dangerous to stay put-

“Woah- no.” Hands pushed at his shoulders. “Red, you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Jason gave up. Lying down was clearly better.

“Were you drugged too?” The voice wondered from far away.

Was he drugged?

Jason didn’t know. He didn’t remember.

Oo o oO

Jason woke up to sunlight streaming in from a window. The first, most apparent thing was that this was not his apartment. Secondly his right leg throbbed, and he was rather groggy.

His helmet stared back at him from the low coffee table. Alarmed, he sat up. The soft blanket he’d been covered by slid down to reveal he was undressed except for his underwear. The pull on his skin when he frowned revealed that his domino was at least still in place. He cast around and his heart about stopped when his gaze landed on Danny-

But after a moment of nothing happening and his brain taking in the way the slight man slept - crossways on a plush armchair, limbs akimbo, mouth open and neck at an angle that was gonna be uncomfortable when he woke - he could breathe again. In the sunlight he looked so human it felt almost silly to have been afraid. It was irrational, but Jason would allow the relief it gave him as long as Danny was asleep.

Next to the couch was an open duffel full of first aid supplies and a trash bag filled mainly with bloodied gauze squares and packaging. His hand went to his thigh and the two bandages adhering there - entrance and exit wound in his quadriceps, no wonder his thigh throbbed. Curious he pulled a corner of the innermost bandage so see a few neat stitches holding his skin together. He patted the bandage back in place, it wasn’t quite sticking as well as before, but it’d hold alright.

It was worrying that he didn’t remember how he’d been shot. Or how Danny, the creature from the Watchtower, was involved. Though currently the evidence pointed towards him having had a helpful disposition this time.

Jason bit back a groan as he swung his legs off the couch. Helpful disposition or not, Jason was not sticking around a moment longer than he had to.

Unfortunately the moment Jason touched the wooden floors Danny startled awake falling off the chair with a thump and an ooph. He sat up, clearly disoriented, his hair was a mess that stuck up on one side and he looked cute in the way a ruffled kitten looked. It was an absolutely crazy thought when Jason was caught on the edge of bolting in fear. The opposing feelings had hysteria bubbling up and he snorted in his attempt to hold back helpless laughter.

Danny blinked owlishly at him, eyes big and blue.

Blue, the thought repeated in Jason’s brain. Not glowing. Not green.

“Oh, you’re awake. That’s good. You’ve gotta be hungry.” Danny picked himself off the floor.

Jason watched him carefully as he stood and walked over to the kitchen area. When he sent Jason a hesitant smile over his shoulder it was perfectly ordinary in width. There were no alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head, no sense of other.

Jason’s heart beat hard and fast in his chest. He felt like he was going crazy. How was this possible?

No! Jason had definitely seen what he’d seen on the Watchtower! He wasn’t crazy, but it was hard to believe his memories when Danny puttered about his kitchen, standing on tippy toes to reach something in one of the cupboards. He looked about as threatening as the kitten Jason’s brain had compared him to. His loose t-shirt and fuzzy washed out pajama pants with smiling stars only added to that.

He looked exactly the ordinary guy everyone thought him to be. Except he had seemingly brought a vigilante home for medical attention, but then again he did work on the Watchtower, so obviously not completely ordinary.

“Hope you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“What?” Jason shook himself out of his thoughts.

“Cause melted cheese sandwich is about the most exciting thing I can offer?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“’S fine.”

Could there be two of them? Or the creature on the Watchtower just occasionally took Danny’s shape? Or the creature was extremely adept at pretending to be human. Maybe they shared a body? Maybe Danny was unknowingly possessed? There were too many options and Jason knew too little.

He rubbed his head, trying to remember, what happened yesterday, but aside from going patrolling it was one big blank space.

“What happened yesterday?”

“Hmm? Oh I found you in the alley between my building and the next.” He vaguely waved in the direction of the windows to the right. “You were kinda out of it? Not to mention bleeding and there was a bunch of goons after you. So I brought you up.”

Jason frowned. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved. They could have followed you.”

Danny glanced back with a small bemused smile. “That was my choice.”

They drifted into silence after that as Jason pondered. He supposed it was rather silly to worry about Danny’s safety, but since right now he was questioning everything he thought he knew, he wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“Why Crime Alley? Do they not pay you a decent wage?”

Danny glanced at him, another small smile stretching his lips and winked. “Wage is fine. I just happen to like Crime Alley’s vigilante best.”

Jason felt heat in his cheeks at that and was glad Danny was turned back around to face his grilled cheese project. There was no way that was the real reason, right? He thought back to how some of the first words Danny had said to him was to buy him dinner first. Had Danny been actually flirting with him? Was he flirting now? Jason felt deeply unsettled, not because the advance was unwanted but rather because somehow it wasn’t? Despite him still being half terrified.

“Here we go.” Danny snapped him out of his thoughts, setting down a steaming grilled cheese sandwich on the coffee table and slinging himself back into the armchair with his own plate.

Jason steeled himself. He was only going to get answers if he asked, and if it got him eaten? Well, at least he’d know.

“Are you possessed?”

Danny who’d just taken a bite spluttered and coughed, dry bread clearly going down the wrong pipe- and then, when his face was turning alarmingly red and Jason was considering if he needed to go over there and perform the Heimlich, Danny reached into his chest and plucked out the offending half-chewed bread with a relieved wheeze. He grimaced at the mass in his hands before leaving on his plate. Another reflexive cough shook his frame as he looked at Jason.

“I’m sorry? Possessed?” He asked hoarsely, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Jason crossed his arms.

“Well you’re something! You just reached a hand inside yourself and you- on the Watchtower-“ And Jason couldn’t even begin to describe the events on the Watchtower.

Danny looked at him dumbfounded.

“Oh…” Another cough turned into laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought for sure-“ He spoke in between laughter. “I really haven’t been nice, have I?”

Jason stared levelly at Danny in his best impression of Bruce, conveying wordlessly how that was not an explanation at all. Danny eventually sobered.

“I thought you could sense what I am, so I kinda allowed my instincts a bit more free rein than I usually do.”

“I sensed you were something.” Jason grumbled, “and that still doesn’t explain what you are?”

When Jason met Danny’s eyes they glowed green and his smile was too sharp. He stilled.

“If you don’t know what I am, do you even know what you are?”

There was swoop in his stomach and terror clutched his rapidly beating heart. Danny’s nostrils flared as he breathed in deep, scenting like a predator looking for prey, except he already had Jason in his sights.

Then, just as abruptly the pressure let up, and Danny who’d somehow left his chair floated back into it to slump boneless across the armrests, head tilted back, barring his throat.

“You can do whatever you want with me Red, you are so fucking delicious.”

Jason felt terrible heat in his face and chest and mortifyingly down south at the shift in mood. Danny, from the way he eyed Jason out the side of half lidded eyes, somehow knew, which only made it worse.

“You still have not answered my question.”

Danny sighed. “I’m a half-ghost. More specifically the ghost half is a protective spirit, so while to the human part of me the Watchtower is my workplace that pays the bills, to the ghostly part it’s my haunt.”

Jason frowned. Half Ghost? “I’m not sure that explains anything.”

“It means, that you should be very glad I already knew and liked you that time you broke into the Watchtower. It’s easier to leave humans and whatever aliens there might be to the Justice League, though I will admit to having traumatized some invaders here and there, but supernatural threats like yourself? Generally don’t make it out alive, unless they realize fast enough what mistake they made, like there was this pale child looking sorceror with a cat once? He was very quick to make his escape.”

Danny was clearly just rambling now. Maybe Jason should feel afraid now that he knew he was right, that Danny really was a terrifying creature that definitely would have killed, maybe even eaten him, but mostly he felt relieved it wasn’t all in his head and it was clear to him now that Danny didn’t actually want to kill him. He was all bark and no bite- or maybe actually probably a lot of biting, but no tearing chunks out of him.

Suddenly he realized how hungry he was and he grabbed the cooled off melted cheese sandwich and took a bite. It didn’t even matter that it was cold, cause Jason was ravenous. He swallowed a bite, as he pondered out loud, “So how come you’re tolerating me here in your home?”

Danny sent him a baffled look. “For one, I brought you here. Secondly this is your haunt.”

“My haunt?”

Danny frowned. “I don’t know exactly where you fall on the scale of ghostliness, but it may be less than I assumed if you really don’t know.” At Jason’s continued silence, Danny elaborated, “you have the whole Crime Alley area quite thoroughly claimed as yours. Anyone with even a small sense for the supernatural would know.”

“Then how come I’ve not felt the urge to evict you violently.”

“Because you protect everyone who just wants to life here in peace,” Danny smiled softly.

Jason was stumped, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the words.

Danny looked up at the ceiling. “I like my mischief and I will admit I have delighted in messing with you. But for someone like me, whose core thrums with the need to protect my haunt, whose every sense is tuned towards potential invaders when I am in my haunt, to be able to leave that behind when I clock out, to be able to go home, to a little place not my haunt, not my responsibility, where I can actually relax? Be human?”

He looked back over a Jason, blue eyes slightly glistening. “I told you, you were my favorite vigilante.”

Jason really didn’t know what to say to that, it felt like so much more than what the words themselves meant. His own throat felt tight.

Danny chuckled self-consciously and finally sat up, quickly wiping his eyes. “Well, that was more than I really expected to reveal of myself, but since you didn’t know, well, I owed you an explanation for the terrorizing.”

But what about the flirting? Jason found he really wanted to know about that, but his tongue felt tied. It didn’t feel right to bring up after that.

The somber mood followed them through the rest of their long gone cold grilled cheese sandwiches, through Jason redressing in his surprisingly clean suit and a wordless goodbye.

Oo o oO

The next time Jason was on the Watchtower, he didn’t see Danny at all. Didn’t even sense him. He didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know why he felt so bereft. He should be happy right? To for once not to leave the Watchtower terrified for his life? But he wasn’t.

He was so fucking messed up.

He knew where Danny lived. He could always go there.

He didn’t.

He had no clue what he even wanted from Danny!

Oo o oO

This was not good.

In fact things had pretty much gone to shit.

He barely managed to combine another dodge and deflection to avoid another swipe of that cursed flaming sword. Something that big should not be allowed to move so fucking fast. Jason panted and sweat ran down his face. He’d lost his helmet some time during the fight.

He dodged again. Gritting his teeth as he using the All Blades to propel himself over the flaming sword.

“Any ETA on that solution.” He yelled over the roaring flames. It was hard to breathe and even harder to fight.

The comm in his ear crackled, obviously not appreciating the heat, it was a wonder it was even still working. “They’re working on it. Hood you have to retreat if-“

“Like Hell, I will,” Jason snarled back, this knock-off balrog was not reaching Gotham. It was not reaching the line of fire fighters holding the flames back. Not while Jason still stood.

It was however not looking good. While Jason had managed to score hits, mainly early in the fight - the thing bled fucking lava. His only real chance was to stall. If this had been the only one Jason would have gladly left it to Bruce’s super friends, but it wasn’t. The Justice League, everyone, was stretched thin as multiple rifts had opened all over the place letting these creatures into their world and it didn’t matter if they beat the creatures back in the rifts, they couldn’t exactly leave their spots until the rifts were closed.

It was little comfort that the perpetrators had met their end as the first victims of their folly.

Jason only barely got his blades up and crossed above him and the sword went down in an overhanded strike. Immediately Jason knew it was a mistake, and it would cost him. He should have tried to dodge, instead the sword hit the All-Blades with an explosion of sparks. Jason yelled in pain as the force of it brought him to his knees.

“Jason!” Bruce yelled and it was only because it was right in his ear he could hear anything over the ringing. He rolled to the side instantly, ignoring the way he couldn’t feel his arms. The flaming sword came down gouging into the ground where he was a fraction of a second ago.

The knowledge came over him with sudden clarity, clear and calm, inevitable; he wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge the next strike. He still tried, because Jason would always fight to the last, but his limbs were too slow, too sluggish, the sword was already coming towards him.

He braced himself.

A pillar of ice shot up before him, the sword cleaved down, but stopped a feet above his head where it stuck. The beast roared in anger and pulled. Dumbfounded, Jason stared at the sputtering blade that had been mean to cleave him in half.

“Cool glowing swords, mind if I borrow them?”

Suddenly Danny was folded around his kneeling form, arms reaching out and fingers circling around each of the All-Blades. The blades powered by his soul. Jason gasped at the rush of energy it gave him. It shouldn’t be possible. Danny shouldn’t be able to pluck the blades out of his hands. Much less be able to wield them.

But wield them he did. He beat the beast back with a kick that broke the pillar. The beast never really had a chance, between the blades and the ice Danny could summon that clearly pained the beast, it really was a terrible matchup.

Jason felt like he should feel violated, those blades were made from his soul. And yet all he felt was protected, safe, loved. It was quite possible he was delirious or high. At least the blistering heat from the fires was going down with all the ice Danny had thrown around.

Before Jason knew it, it was over. Danny may or may not have eaten the Balrog, Jason wasn’t entirely clear on the details, or why Danny’s hair had been white at some point, it was really all very confusing.

Gingerly, Jason got to his feet. His entire body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and yet there was still that strange buzzing energy under his skin. He slowly made his way towards Danny.

Danny, who was studying the glowing red rift in space time, tilted his head considering. Then moving the blades carefully so both were in his right hand, he reached out with his left hand as if feeling for something, then with a sharp counter-clock motion, the rift was gone.

Huh.

Danny turned back around and smiled sheepishly. “Oh hey, Red. I’m sorry about grabbing your swords like that-“

And it didn’t really matter what Danny was going to say. Jason grabbed his head and crashed their lips together. A small wounded noise escaped Danny’s throat and then he was kissing Jason back with fervor. And when Danny dropped the blades to let them dissolve to dig his own desperate fingers into Jason’s matted hair, it didn’t matter that he lost that all encompassing feeling of love and protection, because he knew how Danny felt, and he finally knew what to do with all his own confused feelings.

They broke apart to breathe, foreheads leaning on each other, eyes meeting though it was hard to focus this close.

“Couldn’t you have shown up a bit sooner?” Jason panted.

“I was visiting some friends… they don’t exactly live around here.” From the slightly shifty glance Danny gave to the side, it was probably a good bet that 'not around here', meant another plane of existence. what the fuck was Jason’s life?

“I’m just-“ Danny’s fingers tightened in Jason’s hair momentarily, “so glad I didn’t get here a second later.”

Jason grinned toothily, and he probably looked terrible goofy, but he didn’t care, it was just he and Danny here. “So am I.”

The comm crackled, and Bruce’s voice asked almost hesitantly, “What’s your status, Hood?”

Oh right, not completely alone. But Bruce thankfully didn’t have visuals.

“Ah.” Jason straightened, and promptly grabbed one of Danny’s hands when they tried to leave him, earning a little surprised smile from Danny. Urgh, creatures from the abyss had no right to be this cute.

“We’re okay, I’m okay. Situation is dealt with here.”

There was a relieved sigh from the other end, and Jason did not envy the old man his role as a coordinator of their efforts-

“Oh!” Jason suddenly realized. “Danny can close the rifts.”

“Danny?” Bruce’s simple question was overlaid with Tim chiming in with disbelief.

He shared a glance with Danny, who gave him a grin full of mischief.

“Yeah, Danny from Maintenance.”

-

And that's that, hope you enjoyed :D I certainly had fun writing this. Tell me what your thought if you have the time?

[pucksandpower]

Thick Thighs Save Lives

Day 15 → Thigh Riding 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

“You okay?” Max’s voice cuts through your haze, pulling you back to reality. You blink twice, realizing you’ve been staring — no, more like ogling — at the man standing in front of you.

You cough, trying to play it off. “What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You’re not convincing anyone, least of all yourself.

Max tilts his head, concern flickering in those blue eyes. “You sure?” His Dutch accent is thicker when he’s confused, or worried. Right now, you think it’s both. “You look … distracted.”

Distracted. That’s an understatement. But what are you supposed to say? Sorry, babe, I overheard some fans talking about your thighs, and now I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to-

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you shake your head too quickly, like that’ll fix the mess in your brain. “Just … hungry, maybe,” you mumble, though you know hunger isn’t exactly what’s going on.

Max gives you a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “Hungry?” He repeats, not buying it for a second. You can tell by the way his lips twitch into that small, knowing smirk of his.

“Yeah, hungry,” you lie again, pulling at the sleeves of your jacket like it’s suddenly too tight, or too hot, or both. “Long day, y’know?” You hope the vague excuse will get him to drop it. You’re begging the universe for mercy at this point.

But Max isn’t one to let things slide, especially when it comes to you. He steps closer, and now, all you can think about is the fact that the fans weren’t wrong. His thighs really are massive — like, practically sculpted by the gods or something.

You can’t stop your eyes from flicking down for half a second. You catch yourself just in time, but Max catches you too.

“You’re acting weird,” he says, and there’s a teasing lilt in his voice now. He’s grinning, and you hate that he’s grinning, because it means he knows something’s up. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you blurt out. Too fast. Way too fast. You force a smile, trying to steer the conversation somewhere — anywhere — else. “I’m just, uh, thinking about … qualifying! Yeah, qualifying. How’s the car?”

Max’s grin softens into something more genuine, like he’s willing to play along for now. “The car’s good. Feels fast. We’ll see.” He shrugs, his eyes still studying you, probably wondering what the hell is actually going on in that head of yours.

“That’s good,” you say, nodding like an idiot. “That’s great. Fast is great.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “What’s really going on? You never look this … distracted.”

You swallow hard, heat rising to your face. Damn it, he’s not going to let this go. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with something, anything, that sounds remotely believable. “I told you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m just hungry.”

“Uh-huh,” Max says, clearly not convinced. He crosses his arms over his chest, which only draws your attention back to his entire … well, everything. You try not to look, but your eyes have a mind of their own.

For a second, you’re sure he’s going to press further, but then someone calls his name from across the paddock. It’s one of the engineers, probably needing him back before qualifying starts. Max looks over his shoulder and gives a nod before turning back to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, still watching you carefully, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make any sense. “But we’re talking about this later.”

You nod, thankful that the conversation is ending before you dig yourself into a deeper hole. “Yeah, sure, later.”

Max looks at you for a second longer, his eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s thinking, really thinking. Then he gives you a quick smile, one of those small, private ones that’s just for you. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice soft but insistent.

“I will,” you reply, managing to sound more normal than you feel. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning to walk away, and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes, without your permission, drift downward again. His back is to you now, his long strides taking him toward the garage, and it’s impossible not to notice the way his legs move.

His thighs — God, those thighs — are straining against the fabric of his race suit. It’s like every muscle is defined, every step making them flex in a way that you’re suddenly very, very aware of.

And it’s not just the size. It’s the power behind them, the way you know he’s spent years building that kind of strength, how it’s the kind of thing you only really notice when you’re close to him, or, in your case, when you’ve been thinking about it all day because some fans pointed it out, and now it’s all you can think about.

You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound. Your heart is racing, and your palms are starting to sweat, and all you can focus on is the way his legs look as he moves further away from you.

You should be ashamed of yourself. You are ashamed of yourself. This is ridiculous, and yet …

Max stops halfway to the garage and glances back over his shoulder, probably to check if you’re still watching. You quickly snap your gaze upward, hoping he doesn’t catch you staring again. But it’s too late — there’s that grin on his face, the one that says he knows exactly what’s going on.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, managing a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie again. “I’m fine.”

Max shakes his head, clearly not buying it, but he doesn’t press any further. He gives you one last look before heading back toward the garage, and as he disappears inside, you let out a long breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You’re still staring at the spot where he disappeared, and without even thinking about it, you run your tongue over your bottom lip.

You can’t help it. You’re salivating.

You’re only human, after all, and some temptations are impossible to resist.

***

The hotel room is quiet, except for the sound of the zipper on Max’s backpack as he tosses it aside. It’s late, the race adrenaline slowly wearing off, but you’re both still buzzing with energy. Max is already getting undressed, down to just his Red Bull t-shirt and those jeans that hug his body like a second skin.

You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, hands fumbling with the buttons of your own shirt, your mind somewhere far away. Or maybe not that far. Maybe your mind is right where it’s been for the past thirty-two hours — on him. Specifically, on those damn thighs.

Max turns his back to you for a moment, pulling his shirt over his head, and when he faces you again, you’re frozen, mid-button, staring. His thighs strain against his jeans, the fabric pulled taut around them as he shifts his weight.

You know you should keep undressing, keep moving, but you can’t. All thoughts leave your mind, replaced with the memory of the way they looked under his race suit, the way they flexed as he walked, the way-

“You’re staring again.”

His voice is low, teasing, and it snaps you out of your trance. You blink, cheeks burning, and quickly look away, but it’s too late. Max has already caught you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he moves closer.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” He’s standing right in front of you now, his eyes searching yours, but he already knows. Of course he does. The way he’s grinning tells you that much. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”

You swallow hard, trying to find some way out of this, some excuse, but nothing comes. He’s so close, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin, and all you can think about are those jeans, how tight they are around his legs, how-

Max reaches out, gently tipping your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. “You can tell me,” he says, his voice soft now, almost coaxing. “What’s got you all flustered, hmm?”

You can’t look away. He’s too close, too knowing, and suddenly, you feel like you’re caught in a trap. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. What are you supposed to say? That his thighs are all you’ve been able to think about? That the way they look in his jeans is driving you crazy?

Max’s eyes flicker down, and you know he’s noticed where your gaze keeps drifting. His smirk deepens, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped, taking on a huskier tone. “Ah. I see.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He knows. Of course he knows. You feel your heart start to race, and suddenly, the room feels too small, too hot.

Max steps even closer, his hand sliding from your chin to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He murmurs, his eyes dark and intent, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “I would’ve taken care of you sooner.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep some semblance of composure, but it’s no use. Max is looking at you like he knows exactly what you need, and worse — he’s right. He moves his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow, unable to resist.

When you reach the edge of the bed, Max sits, his legs spread slightly apart, and you’re left standing there, feeling like the world’s worst combination of flustered and exposed. He’s still in his jeans, the denim pulled tight over his thighs, and your eyes are immediately drawn to them again. You don’t even try to hide it this time.

Max chuckles, low and deep. “Come here,” he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet whisper.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up. You step between his legs, heart pounding in your chest, and Max’s hands find your hips, pulling you down until you’re straddling his thigh. The moment you make contact, your breath hitches, your body reacting to the firm pressure beneath you.

��See?” Max murmurs, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch gentle but insistent. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You can’t answer, can’t find the words. All you can do is nod, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as you shift on his thigh. The friction is immediate, electric, sending a shockwave through your body. You gasp, and Max’s grip tightens.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands guide your hips, slow at first, drawing out the movement, letting you feel every inch of him beneath you. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against you, the friction unlike anything you’ve felt before. It’s overwhelming, almost too much, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you want, what you need.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and hungry as you move against him, your breaths coming faster, more ragged. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly how to drive you crazy, and he’s taking his time, savoring every second of it.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. At my legs. You couldn’t stop, could you?”

You shake your head, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. The heat between your legs is building, and every time you shift, every time you drag yourself over the firm muscle of his thigh, it sends a pulse of pleasure through you.

Max grins, his hands tightening on your waist, guiding you faster now, urging you on. “I knew it,” he says, his voice low and full of satisfaction. “You just needed this. You needed me.”

You moan softly, your head falling forward against his shoulder as the pressure builds, your body practically trembling from the intensity of it. Max’s grip on you never wavers, his hands controlling the rhythm, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you cry out softly, your hips bucking against his thigh as the pleasure overtakes you. Max holds you steady, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you as wave after wave of sensation crashes over you.

When it’s over, you’re left breathless, slumped against him, your body trembling in the aftermath. Max’s hands slide up and down your back, soothing, gentle, as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of warmth. “You did so well.”

You don’t have the energy to respond, your head still spinning from the intensity of it all. But then, as the haze begins to clear, you feel something — wetness — on the denim covering his thigh. You pull back slightly, your face flushing with embarrassment as you realize what you’ve done.

Max just chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice full of mischief. “I don’t mind.”

You bury your face in his chest, mortified, but Max’s arms come around you, holding you close, his laugh rumbling through his body.

“I told you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “I know exactly what you need.”

***

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the hotel suite. You stir in bed, slowly coming to consciousness, a vague sense of discomfort pulling you from sleep.

For a moment, you’re content to stay buried under the sheets, your body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction from the night before. But then the feeling sharpens — a tenderness, right between your legs. You shift, and the soreness becomes more pronounced.

Your eyes snap open. Oh.

The friction from last night, the way you rode Max’s thigh with reckless abandon, comes back to you in vivid, heated flashes. You groan, face half-buried in the pillow, not from embarrassment this time but from the distinct ache you feel in your most sensitive spot. Your poor bundle of nerves, now sore, throbs slightly when you shift your legs.

You turn your head to glance at Max. He’s already awake, leaning back against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone, his hair still a mess from sleep. He looks over at you when he notices you stirring, his mouth curling into a soft smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep. You shift under the covers again, wincing as the soreness flares once more. You press your legs together instinctively, hoping it will somehow dull the ache.

Max’s brow furrows. “You alright?”

You pause for a second, debating how much you actually want to admit. But the soreness isn’t something you can brush off, not when every slight movement reminds you of it. You let out a small sigh and tilt your head to look at him.

“I’m … sore,” you admit, biting your lip. “Really sore.”

Max’s lips twitch, a hint of amusement lighting his eyes. “Sore where?”

You give him a look, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed. “You know where,” you grumble.

He chuckles softly, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “I might need a little more detail. I’m a driver, not a mind reader.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it’s mixed with a groan as you shift your hips again. “You know,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “There.”

Max raises an eyebrow, still amused, but then his expression softens with concern. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly, wanting to reassure him. “It’s not that. I guess I just … overdid it. Denim can be rough.”

Max nods, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Wait here,” he says, sliding out of bed with the ease of someone who’s used to early mornings and late nights in uncomfortable places. You watch as he rummages through his luggage on the floor, tossing aside various items before pulling out a small tube of ointment.

“What’s that?” You ask, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Max returns to the bed, sitting on the edge. “This? It’s some kind of cream I used for a cut I had a while back.” He holds up the tube for you to see, the words on it clearly medicinal. “I think it might help.”

You hesitate, unsure. The idea of Max applying anything down there is both intimate and a little embarrassing. But the soreness is getting worse, and the thought of relief is too tempting to ignore.

“You trust me?” Max asks softly, his eyes locking with yours.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I do.”

Max smiles at that, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before squeezing a small amount of the ointment onto his fingers. “Let’s take care of you, then.”

You shift slightly on the bed, opening your legs a little to give him room. Your breath hitches as he moves closer, his touch gentle and careful. His hand slips beneath the covers, fingers finding the tender spot with a sensitivity that makes you melt.

“You sure this is okay?” He murmurs, his gaze flicking to yours for reassurance.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, though the feel of his fingers, even in this innocent context, has your pulse racing.

Max is slow, deliberate, applying the ointment with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His touch is cool at first, but then the warmth from his skin mixes with the soothing sensation of the ointment, and your body starts to relax. The ache begins to ebb away, replaced by a gentle, comforting warmth.

“Better?” He asks after a few moments, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You can only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension leaves your body. But it’s not just the relief from the soreness that’s making you feel this way. It’s the way Max is touching you — careful, considerate, and yet undeniably intimate. You hadn’t expected something as simple as this to feel so … intense.

Max’s fingers continue their slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, though his voice is huskier now, like he knows stopping isn’t something you’re going to ask for.

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a little more firmly, the friction now bordering on something else entirely. The tenderness is still there, but now, so is something deeper, something stirring inside you that you can’t ignore.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He doesn’t respond with words, just a small smile as his thumb grazes over your clit, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He’s not trying to push you, not really, but his touch is becoming more deliberate, more focused.

And you’re unraveling.

The gentle pressure of his fingers, the slow circles he’s tracing, the way he’s watching you so intently — it’s all too much, and yet not enough at the same time. You shift your hips, instinctively seeking more, and Max’s eyes darken as he registers your need.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the same spot again, drawing another gasp from you. “Does it feel good?”

You nod, unable to find the words. Your body is responding without permission, a slow burn building in your core, the ache from earlier completely forgotten now. It’s been replaced by something else — something hot and electric, coursing through you with every touch.

Max leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

You can barely think straight, let alone articulate what you need, but you manage a breathless, “More.”

His fingers move with more purpose now, pressing harder, rubbing in just the right way that makes your body arch toward him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the pleasure mixing with the relief, and you feel like you’re coming undone in his hands.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and intense, clearly enjoying the way you’re responding to him. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just let go.”

And you do. You let go of the last bit of restraint you’ve been holding onto, your body trembling as the tension builds higher and higher. Max’s hand never falters, his touch steady, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re breathing faster now, your heart racing in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading through your body like wildfire. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you need it, need him.

“Max,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as the pleasure surges through you. “I’m-”

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb pressing down just right, and it’s all it takes to send you spiraling.

Your body clenches, the release crashing over you in waves as you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand. Max holds you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling, your body spent and your mind blissfully blank.

When it’s over, you collapse against the pillows, panting, your heart still pounding in your chest. Max pulls his hand away, careful and gentle, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You manage a weak smile, still catching your breath. “Better. Much better.”

[lazy-ahh]

Lazy-ahh, first, your brain his huge and wrinkly for all the writing you’ve shared with us! You’re easily one of my fav Invincible writers! 🛐🛐🛐 Second, bless you for giving us more male reader in this desolate fandom 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Third, I had a request I’ve been thinking about and having a tough time deciding which Mark I wanted. I HC that Viltrumites can purr! Can we get something about male reader witnessing main Mark purr for the first time because of him? And reader’s completely weak for how cute it is. 🥺

THE SOUNDS HE MAKES (ARE ONLY FOR YOU)

pairing mark grayson x male reader

mark grayson purrs. it’s a secret only you know—something between a biological quirk and a love language, vibrating against your skin every time you touch him just right. and god, do you love finding new ways to draw it out of him.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you never expected to fall for someone like mark grayson. loud, optimistic, annoyingly persistent—everything you usually couldn’t stand. the first time you met him, he was all wide-eyed enthusiasm, rambling about superheroes like it was the most important thing in the world. you’d scoffed, called him an idiot under your breath, but he just grinned like you’d handed him a damn trophy. it pissed you off. or at least, that’s what you thought you felt.

but then he kept showing up—in the hallways at school, at the shitty diner you worked at, even outside your apartment like some lost puppy. and no matter how much you snapped at him, he never left. just stood there, smiling like you weren’t being a complete asshole, until one day, you realized you were looking for him too.

now, a year deep into dating the idiot, and somehow, you hadn’t strangled him yet. (though not for lack of trying.)

it was a lazy afternoon, the two of you sprawled across his bed, your head resting on his chest as he rambled about some comic book shit. you weren’t really listening, more focused on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. you traced idle patterns along his ribs, just to feel him shiver, and smirked when his voice hitched mid-sentence.

"you’re not even paying attention, are you?" mark huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.

"nope," you admitted, dragging your nails lightly down his side just to watch him squirm.

he laughed, breathless, and caught your wrist—not to stop you, just to lace his fingers through yours. "you’re such a dick."

"you love it," you muttered, half expecting him to roll his eyes or shove you off like anyone else would. but mark just squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your chest tighten.

"yeah," he said, soft and stupidly sincere. "i do."

your pulse jumped. you weren’t used to this—being wanted, being loved, especially not by someone who looked at you like you hung the damn stars. it made you feel exposed, raw in a way that should’ve sent you running. but then mark smiled, all crooked and fond, and you couldn’t help but curl closer, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide the way your own lips betrayed you.

that’s when you felt it—a low, rumbling vibration against your ear, so deep you almost missed it.

you stiffened. "the hell was that?"

mark blinked down at you, confused. "what was what?"

"that—that noise. did you just—" you cut yourself off as it happened again, the sound unmistakable this time. a deep, content purr, resonating from his chest.

your eyes narrowed, fingers stilling against his ribs as you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. the sound was unmistakable now—a deep, rhythmic hum vibrating through his chest, warm and alive under your cheek. it shouldn’t have been possible, but then again, neither was half the shit mark could do.

"are you fucking purring?" you demanded, voice rough with disbelief.

mark’s face flushed instantly, his stupidly long lashes fluttering as he avoided your gaze. "i—uh. maybe?" his voice cracked, and the purr stuttered for a second before doubling in intensity, like his traitorous body was daring you to tease him.

your chest did something embarrassing—tightening, then melting all at once. it was disgustingly cute. like finding out a wolf could wag its tail. here was this idiot who could level buildings with his fists, who talked shit in the middle of fights like it was a damn comedy routine, and he was purring because of you. because you’d scratched his scalp like some kind of overgrown housecat.

you should've mocked him. should've rolled your eyes so hard they'd get stuck, called him a pathetic excuse for an alien warrior—but your traitorous fingers were already moving, sliding through those soft dark curls like they had a mind of their own. your nails scraped gently against his scalp, barely there but enough to make his breath catch, and god help you, you needed to hear that deep, rumbling purr again like you needed your next breath.

"maybe?" you deadpanned, propping yourself up on one elbow to give him your best unimpressed glare, even as your free hand stayed tangled in his hair like you were afraid he'd float away. the way his pupils dilated when you tugged just slightly made your stomach do stupid flips. "since when do you purr? you some kinda fucked up space cat?"

he groaned like you were personally torturing him, covering his face with those big hands that could crush steel but always touched you like you were made of glass. "since always, okay?" his voice came out muffled, embarrassed. "it's a viltrumite thing. i can't help it when i'm—" he cut himself off abruptly, but the tips of his ears burned crimson.

your heartbeat kicked up at what he wasn't saying. when he was what? happy? content? completely fucking gone for you? you stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, the faint tremor in his fingers where they covered his flushed face. then, because you were weak and he was yours, you flopped back down onto his chest with enough force to knock the air out of a normal person, pressing your ear firmly against the warm skin over his heart. you needed that sound like a drowning man needed air.

mark yelped, his whole body tensing beneath you. "what're you—?"

"shut up," you muttered, listening intently for that telltale vibration. the purring had stopped, and that just wouldn't do. your fingers trailed down his side, tracing the defined muscles there with deliberate slowness, lips pursing in poorly concealed anticipation when he squirmed under your touch. "do it again." your voice came out rougher than you intended, almost pleading, and fuck if that didn't make your face heat up. but you'd burn the world down to hear that sound again, to know you were the one who drew it out of him.

"i'm not a damn cat," he grumbled, voice already going thick and syrupy as your fingers found their way back to his hair. the protest died in his throat the moment your nails scraped gently along his scalp, that deep vibration starting up again—quieter this time, like a distant thunderstorm rolling in, hesitant like he was afraid you'd pull away.

something in your chest cracked open like dawn breaking. it was stupid. ridiculous, even. but god, it was cute in a way that made your ribs ache—this invincible boy who could punch through mountains melting under your touch, reduced to nothing but warm skin and rumbling contentment. the sound wrapped around you like sunlight through curtains, golden and impossible to ignore.

"huh," you said, voice softer than you'd ever admit, the word barely more than an exhale against his collarbone. "didn't know you could do that." didn't know you trusted me enough to let me hear it, you didn't add.

mark peeked down at you through his lashes, still pink-faced like a sunrise. "you're not gonna make fun of me?" he asked, but the way he leaned into your touch betrayed how much he already knew the answer.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes with all the theatricality you could muster. "oh, i'm gonna make fun of you forever." but your traitorous fingers kept moving through his curls, slow and reverent, and the purr grew louder, vibrating through you like a live wire, like the hum of power lines after a storm, like something alive and electric settling deep in your bones.

you hated how much you loved it. hated how your stupid heart turned traitor, flipping like a dying fish in your chest, how your blood sang in your veins like it had finally remembered what happiness tasted like. so of course you buried your face in the warm expanse of his chest, hiding the way your lips curved into a smile too tender for either of you to acknowledge, pressing closer until you could feel that purr in your teeth, in your soul, in all the broken places you'd never admit existed.

"freak," you mumbled into his skin, but there was no bite to it—just honey-thick fondness dripping from every syllable, so obvious even you couldn't pretend otherwise. your fingers tightened in his hair just to hear that purr stutter, just to feel him shiver against you, and fuck if that didn't make your chest burn brighter than any sun.

mark's laugh vibrated through you before you even heard it, that stupid, sunshine-bright sound that always made your chest feel too tight. his arms wrapped around you like living seatbelts, pulling until every inch of you was pressed against him—your nose buried in the crook of his neck, your knees slotting between his like puzzle pieces finally clicking together. when you tilted your head up to glare halfheartedly, his expression did something devastating; his eyes crinkled at the corners, his stupidly soft lips curving into a smile so warm it could've powered a small city. he looked at you like you'd hung the damn moon, like you were christmas morning and the last slice of pizza and every good thing rolled into one.

"yeah, yeah," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead that made your traitorous heart stutter. his purr kicked up another notch, thrumming through your ribcage until you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat matching its rhythm. "love you too, asshole."

and if you stayed like that for hours—mark's fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine, your hands fisted in the back of his shirt like you were afraid he'd disappear, his purr a constant, comforting rumble beneath your ear—well. no one had to know how easily he turned you into putty in his hands.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it became your best-kept obsession—cataloging every way to coax those rumbling purrs from mark's chest. the sharp intake of breath when your fingers found that spot just behind his ear, the way his lashes would tremble against his flushed cheeks when you scratched lightly down the nape of his neck. you'd discovered he was embarrassingly responsive to the smallest affections—your lips brushing his temple, your palm resting warm against the small of his back, even just breathing his name into the space between his shoulder blades in that private tone you never used with anyone else. each time, your ribs would ache with something too big to name, this glowing, golden feeling like you'd struck treasure no one else knew existed. and mark? he'd go pliant against you every single time, his purrs thrumming through your skin like a second heartbeat, his entire body thrumming with quiet joy just because it was you.

tonight, you waited until he was half-asleep against you, his head heavy on your chest as some old movie played forgotten in the background. you started slow—fingertips tracing meaningless patterns along his shoulder, feeling the way his breathing deepened. then, with deliberate care, you carded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew drove him crazy.

mark made this soft, punched-out noise against your collarbone, his body going lax against yours. "mmph...cheater," he mumbled, but he was already nuzzling closer, his arms tightening around your waist.

"shhh," you murmured, smiling against the crown of his head as that familiar rumble started up, quiet at first then growing stronger as you kept petting him. his purrs reverberated through your chest, syncing up with your heartbeat in a way that made something tender and aching swell in your throat.

"feels good?" you asked, already knowing the answer from the way he'd practically turned to putty in your arms.

mark tilted his head up just enough to press a sleepy kiss to your jaw, his lips warm and slightly chapped from where he’d been biting them earlier. “cause it’s you,” he slurred, voice thick with drowsy affection, like those three words held the entire universe inside them. and maybe they did—because with every purr, every content sigh, he was telling you without words what you already knew: he was yours, completely and utterly, in every way that mattered.

you couldn’t help it—your fingers tightened in his hair, tilting his face up to yours, and then your mouth was on his, slow and deep and burning. mark made a muffled sound against your lips, half-surprise, half-pleasure, before melting into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it all night. his purr kicked up instantly, vibrating against your chest as his hands slid under your shirt, palms warm and rough against your skin.

the kiss turned messy fast—mark biting at your lower lip just hard enough to make you groan, your tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that had him arching into you. his purrs grew louder, more frantic, every drag of his fingers down your spine pulling another broken sound from your throat. you could feel the way his body trembled under your touch, the way his breath hitched when you nipped at his collarbone, his hips jerking against yours in a silent plea for more.

"fuck," he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, his pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and glistening. his purr was a constant, needy rumble now, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. "you—you can’t just—"

you cut him off with another searing kiss, swallowing his whimper, your teeth scraping over his pulse point just to hear him fall apart all over again. his breath hitches, sharp and wet against your lips, his fingers twisting desperately in your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you don’t let up—your tongue swipes over the bite mark, soothing the sting just to draw another broken sound from him, and fuck, you could live off this, the way his body arches into yours like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together.

his skin is fever-hot under your palms as you slide them down his sides, mapping every shuddering breath, every twitch of muscle. when your thumbs brush the sensitive dip of his hips, he makes this noise—half gasp, half sob—his back bowing off the mattress as his purr stutters into a ragged, staticky vibration. you can feel it, the way his control splinters under your touch, his usual confident swagger reduced to trembling thighs and fluttering lashes. you still can't fucking believe you didn't notice such an important thing about mark earlier. he must have used all his strength to suppress the sounds he made to hide this from you for so long. no more hiding, you say.

"look at you," you murmur against his jaw, your voice gravel-rough with want. your fingers trail up his stomach, tracing the outline of each defined muscle like you’re memorizing him for the apocalypse. "all this just ‘cause i touch you?"

mark’s cheeks flush darker, his lips parted around uneven breaths. he tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck, but you catch his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. his pupils are blown wide, his irises barely visible rings of brown, and his expression is so ruined it makes your chest ache.

"s’not fair," he whines, his voice cracking as your hand skates lower, fingertips teasing the waistband of his sweats. his hips jerk up instinctively, chasing friction, but you hold him down with your free arm, pinning him with your weight. the way he goes pliant under you, his body surrendering before his pride does, sends a vicious thrill down your spine.

"tell me," you demand, nipping at his earlobe. "tell me who does this to you."

his breath comes in ragged, stuttering gasps—each one hotter than the last against your lips, trembling like the rest of him as he arches into your touch. his fingers scramble at your shoulders, blunt nails digging crescent moons into your skin, clinging like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. when your palm grinds down firm between his legs, he breaks for you, his purr shattering into a high, desperate whine that punches straight through your ribcage. "you," he chokes out, voice wrecked already, thighs shaking where they bracket yours. "only you, fuck—please—"

and god, you’ll never get tired of this—of how the great invincible mark grayson comes completely undone beneath you, reduced to a trembling, pleading mess with nothing but your hands and your name falling like a prayer from his kiss-swollen lips. you swallow his next broken sound with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, licking into him slow and deep, savoring the way his breath hitches when you curl your fingers just so. his hips jerk up against your palm, chasing the friction, and the noise he makes—a punched-out, trembling moan—goes straight to your gut, white-hot and possessive.

you worship him like this: with your teeth dragging along his pulse point just to feel his purr stutter, with your free hand sliding up his chest to thumb over a peaked nipple, reveling in the way his back bows off the bed. "look at you," you murmur against his jaw, voice rough with awe. "so fucking perfect for me." his answering whimper is devastating—a broken, punched-out sound that vibrates against your throat where his face is buried.

his entire body flushes darker, that sun-kissed skin blooming a heated red from his collarbones all the way up to the tips of his ears, like you’ve lit him up from the inside. when you finally wrap your fingers around him, his hips jerk up into your grip, desperate and uncoordinated, his cock hot and heavy against your palm, the velvety skin stretched taut over thick veins. you stroke him slow and firm, twisting your wrist just the way you know he likes on the upstroke, and the wetness beading at his head smears slick over your fingers, making every drag smoother, messier. his breath comes in ragged gasps against your shoulder, his blunt nails digging half-moons into your biceps as he tries to ground himself, his thighs trembling where they bracket yours. the precome leaks steadily now, sticky and warm, and you can feel the way his stomach muscles clench under your free hand when you swipe your thumb over the swollen head, spreading the wetness in slow circles just to hear him sob your name.

"f-fuck—" mark’s fingers knot in your hair, tugging sharp enough to make your scalp sting, his hips jerking up into your grip like he’s trying to fuck into the tight heat of your fist. his purr is shattered now—glitching in his throat, a staticky, uneven thrum that breaks every time his breath hitches. you can feel the vibrations where your mouth is latched onto his nipple, your tongue swirling rough over the stiff peak before you bite down just to hear him wail, his back bowing off the sheets.

his chest heaves under your palm, sweat-slick and burning hot, every muscle in his abdomen fluttering as he teeters on the edge. you don’t let up—sucking another bruise into the delicate skin under his collarbone, licking a stripe up his throat to swallow the desperate, punched-out noises he’s making. his pulse rabbits against your lips, wild and frantic, and when you scrape your teeth over it, he sobs, his cock twitching violently in your grip.

“gonna—fuck, please—” his voice cracks, raw and wrecked, his thighs trembling where they cage your hips. you can taste the salt on his skin where your tongue drags over his nipple again, can feel the way his stomach tenses under your palm like he’s trying to hold back. his lashes are wet, his lips swollen from biting them, and when you press your forehead to his, his breath fans hot and uneven over your mouth.

your fingers tighten just enough to make him whimper, the slick twist of your wrist deliberate, perfect, and mark breaks. his back arches off the sheets, a choked, ragged cry tearing from his throat as he spills hot over your knuckles, his purr stuttering into a gasp so shattered it hurts to hear. you don’t let go—not when his hips jerk helplessly, not when his thighs clamp around your hand like he’s trying to keep you there forever, not even when his entire body locks up before collapsing, spent and trembling, into the mattress.

you kiss him through it, soft and reverent, swallowing every broken noise he makes—the hitched whines, the shuddering exhales, the way his lips move against yours like he’s still trying to say your name. his skin is fever-hot under your palms, his chest heaving as you stroke his hipbone with your clean hand, soothing now, gentling him through the aftershocks that still wrack his frame.

and god, you’re aching, your own hard-on straining against your boxers, but you barely notice—too busy memorizing the way mark’s wet lashes stick to his flushed cheeks, the way his pulse stutters under your lips when you press them to his throat, the way his fingers clutch weakly at your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. you won’t. you can’t. not when he looks like this—wrecked and beautiful and yours, his usual boundless energy reduced to this boneless, panting mess beneath you.

"look at you," you murmur, thumb brushing the tear clinging to his lash line. your voice is rougher than you mean it to be, thick with something too close to worship. "took it so fucking well, baby."

mark makes this soft, punched-out noise—half protest, half plea—as his body goes lax beneath you, but his purr stutters back to life anyway, faint at first like a dying engine trying to turn over. then it grows, uneven but persistent, vibrating through your sternum where your chest presses flush against his. you can feel it in your teeth, in the hollow of your throat, this quiet, physical proof of his contentment radiating through you like sunlight through closed eyelids.

when he finally slumps back into the sheets, his muscles melting into liquid warmth beneath your hands, his purr shifts into something deeper—smoother, like honey poured over gravel. it thrums against your skin as he nuzzles clumsily into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point in a drowsy, open-mouthed kiss. "love you," he slurs, the words thick and syrupy with exhaustion, his arms looping around your waist to drag you down atop him with surprising strength for someone who just came apart under your touch.

and fuck, if that doesn’t hit you like a freight train—the way he clings to you even now, his fingers splaying possessively over the small of your back, his purr kicking up another notch when you settle between his thighs. his heartbeat thrums against yours, rapid but steadying, and you realize with a jolt that this—the weight of him under you, the salt-sweet taste of his skin where your lips press absentmindedly to his shoulder, the way his breath evens out against your temple—feels more like victory than anything else ever has.

3.9k words full of mark purring and reader being obsessed. honestly, if i were in reader's shoes i would've done the same thing- and sorry y'all i was in a freaky goofy mood when i wrote that second half LOLOL! thank you so much to the anon who requested this! literally screamed when i read this in my askbox, cause this is one of my guilty pleasures(?)/headcanons for mark LOL. also hell yeah male reader solidarity—we out here surviving the wasteland one soft mark grayson one-shot at a time 💀

[chloe-petrichors]

cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea. 

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.  

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty. 

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy. 

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

[livinginshambles]

I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: A cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

Probably part one of two again.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Discrimination issues, themes of bullying. Regulus is our friend. James is an idiot, but we knew that already. Sirius sucks.

Masterlist. Part two. Part three

--------------------------------

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory. That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you close your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what your sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments. A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard. “Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eye roll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step. “10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you pettily decided.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” With a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner. He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl, crying on a bench under the tree appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams. Credits to Professor McGonagall, who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Thank you, I’ve been dreaming about this for the past two days.

You frowned at yourself, unsure why you would disclose such information, but figured no one would be able to trace this back to you anyway.

James blinked at the response he got, mouth open in surprise. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. It must simply be a spell of some sort after all. He stared at the sad drawing and the sentence, and then he made up his mind, writing back.

It must be lonely for that girl to cry by herself under the weeping willow.

Your eyes followed the words that formed in a trance.

If she ever feels lonely again, she can always pour her heart out on this parchment. I’ll be the mighty guardian wizard that will make all her worries magically disappear.

A grateful smile made its way up your face and when you scribbled back a response, James couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maybe she will.

You doodled a wizard sitting on the bench next to the crying girl, a consoling hand stretched out.

That's how you became James’ best kept secret. He learned that you were indeed a student at Hogwarts, but that you felt lonely. That you enjoyed butterbeer, but never got to enjoy it on a Hogsmeade outing with friends, because you rarely had any. He learned that you felt inferior to your siblings and a disappointment to your parents. He noticed how you would draw a circle as the dot on your ‘i’ and learned, when he asked, that you did that because you had once seen Professor McGonagall do that when you were in your first year, and had practiced mimicking her handwriting, should it ever come in handy.

In return, he had told you that he felt pressured by the reputation that he had to maintain. He loved Quidditch and absolutely despised Ancient Runes, to which you had replied, “who doesn’t?”. He told you that he had illegally learned to become an Animagus, a stag, and that he wasn’t sure yet what the future would hold for him. He even revealed to you that he desperately wants to protect his friends and sometimes had nightmares, which usually resulted in a sneak around the castle at midnight. When you had asked him if he’d ever been caught, he responded with, “never”, and had explained to you that he had an invisibility cloak.

Two months passed and before you knew it, you were explaining Transfiguration through the enchanted parchment. You did conclude from this that your pen pal was most likely in a year or two higher than yourself but decided not to comment on it. James on the other hand, was under the assumption that you must be from his year, as you managed to help him study for his exams.

But now, it was almost 12 o’clock midnight, and James chewed his lip while he looked at the parchment. He hesitated for a moment. Then he decided to ask you the one question he had been yearning to know the answer to.

Who are you?

You looked at the paper sadly, and sighed.

You’d be disappointed.

I understand if you don’t want to reveal yourself. But know that I could never be disappointed by you, Willow.

James sighed when you didn’t answer anymore. He waved away the light that emitted from the tip of his wand and took his glasses off. He went to put the parchment under his pillow as usual, when he saw the scribbling movement that he’d gotten so accustomed to.

He scrambled to grab his wand to shed light on the paper but accidentally nudged them off the nightstand and onto the floor, where it rolled under his bed. James’ eyes flickered back to the paper in his hand, and he managed to catch the first letter of your name as it was written in capital letters.

But your cursive handwriting, the dark and lack of glasses made it impossible to read the rest of your name. When he finally reached his wand and put on his glasses, he heard the clock strike twelve and he cursed as he grasped the parchment tightly, hurried ‘lumos’ and saw that the parchment had reset itself to a blank page again, just as every night at 12 o’clock at midnight.

Wait, please! I didn’t catch it before it erased itself. Please write it again?

You let out a sigh in relief after you had internally bashed your head against a wall.

No, it was stupid of me. I’m glad you didn’t see it.

You leaned back into your armchair with a racing heart. You couldn’t believe you had done that.

“Regulus,” you acknowledged as you pulled the chair back to sit next to him in the library. “Y/N,” Regulus quietly responded without looking up from his book, and if you didn’t know any better, his straight face would indicate annoyance. Luckily, you did know better.

“You smile any brighter, the sorting hat will transfer you to Hufflepuff, you know,” you teased him.

His face distorted in a grimace and without missing a beat, he replied, “do kill me before such a thing occurs.” You shook your head and finally sat down. Then you pursed your lips in thought.

“You know how I’ve been working all summer to earn galleons?”

“No.”

“Well I did.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I rented a small flat,” you blurted out. Regulus finally looked up at you, surprise almost evident on his face. Then again, you didn’t have the most amazing home situation either. You often opted to stay behind at Hogwarts for the holidays. It is how you two had befriended each other, especially ever since Sirius left him to his own devices at home. Parents, it was a trauma bonding thing.

“Congratulations,” he nodded, his voice trailed off as he tried to see how this would concern him.

“So I thought you might want to stay with me over the Christmas holidays? Your mother doesn’t hate me, so I thought it might be possible. Gives you a chance to get out once in a while.” You tentatively brought up the sensitive subject.

“And what makes you think living with you will be any more bearable than living in my own mansion?” Regulus snarkily remarked.

You squinted your eyes at him in a scowl. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice don’t you think?”

“Do I have to pay rent?”

“Depends on whether or not the answer impacts your decision.”

“So not then.”

You huffed.

“Fine, I suppose I could join you in your small flat.”

“Merlin, don’t go doing me any favors Reg, I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

Regulus shook his head in amusement.

Satisfied with your rather successful attempt to invite him over, you got up. The chair you sat on screeched loudly as it was being pushed back. You could feel the librarian’s furious eyes on your back and rolled your eyes at her as you made your way to the door. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” you waved your hand in the air and exited the room.

You made it approximately two steps when you spotted your sisters again. “Of course you would cause a disturbance in the library,” Marla spat at you. You raised your eyebrows but remained unimpressed.

“I see you’ve got your buddies to back you up now?” you commented and tilted your chin slightly upwards. Your eyes flickered to your other sister, their closest friends, and the marauders.

For a moment, you considered walking away, but there was just something about that twitching lip of your sister that had you irked.

You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you and your sister. You leaned in slightly and then, “Boo.”

It took your other sister, Alyssa about one second to have her wand pulled out and pointed at your throat.

James watched the interaction with a small frown on his face. He didn’t really speak with the fellow Gryffindor twins, but their friends and Lily were friends, so the marauders had joined them on their way towards the courtyard.

His mind flickered to a conversation he had had with ‘Willow’ about her sisters, and he wondered if you felt the same sadness and inferiority as his pen pal. And with that in mind, he pulled Alyssa back by her robe with one harm, the other lowering her raised wand.

“Let’s not,” he shrugged, when she raised her brows in question at him.

“She clearly threatened my sister,” Alyssa defended.

You scoffed at that. “I said ‘boo’. That’s hardly a threat,” you rolled your eyes and glanced at James who tried to offer you something that resembled a smile.

Was he mocking you? “Fancy yourself a hero, don’t you, Potter.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” he raised his hands in defense.

“Cause you’re such a good soul,” you sarcastically remarked.

“Yeah, actually. At least better than you. That hostility is so uncalled for,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, and you shot him a glare. “Right, better than me. Let me ask the two-dozen tormented Slytherin students you’ve bullied this past year. Bet Snape will buy your self-proclaimed ‘kindness’.”

You were already walking away when Sirius opened his mouth to call something out to you, but James kicked his shins in attempt to shut him up. Your words resonated in his mind.

Maybe he was a twat.

Am I a twat?

What the bloody hell are you on about?

Someone called me a twat today. Now that wasn’t necessarily true, but the implications were there.

Did you deserve it?

Sort of.

Sort of?

I mean, I am only an asshole to people who are assholes themselves and deserve it. But I guess that makes me an asshole too.

You hesitated for a moment and decided to write your opinion on the matter.

Maybe you being an asshole to people makes them assholes. And then it becomes a vicious circle. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that bogger.

You reckon?

Wouldn’t have written it down if I didn’t.

On a brighter note, do you have a date for the Yule ball after the exams?

If you’re asking me out, I already promised my friend that we’d go together.

Oh right. But would you save me a dance? Maybe at midnight under the main crystal chandelier?

James bit his lip again in suspense. The Yule ball is a masked ball anyways, if you don’t want to reveal yourself.

Midnight, main crystal chandelier. You decided to leave it at that. Besides. You could enchant the mask a little extra, so you’d be even more unrecognizable. You wondered who would be behind the kind words of the parchment.

It felt strange to you. Really looking forward to something to the point you could feel jitters in your stomach in anticipation. But it was having a certain effect on you that even the younger Black couldn’t help but miss.

Regulus squinted his eyes and moved his jaw in thought. When he had had enough, he pulled you aside.

“Out with it.”

You deflated. You knew that he knew what he was talking about, so you shrugged. “Someone asked me to save a dance next week,” you mumbled.

“And you want to?” Regulus’ tone shifted to an incredulous one.

“I found an enchanted parchment in the room of requirements and it’s connected. I’ve been using it to have conversations with a mystery person.”

It felt great to be able to share this with your friend and you leaned against the wall behind you. “So yeah.” You finished the confession with an awkward hand gesture.

Regulus took a moment to register what you said. And then, as if it was the most normal thing ever, he responded with, “I see. And you have no idea who?”

You let yourself slide down the wall and tiredly put your head on your propped up knees. “Probably a Gryffindor.”

Regulus started laughing. You snapped your head up and scowled at him, not that he was used to anything else from you.

“As long as it’s not a mudbl-“

You kicked his legs and made him lose his balance. You shot him a warning glance. “You know my opinion on that.”

Regulus sighed. You had once confided in him about your home situation, including that time when you had overheard your parents argue when you came home for the first time after having been sorted into Slytherin. Your father had addressed the matter as soon as you walked through the door.

“You’re no daughter of mine.” He had said with disapproval in his voice. It wasn’t meant as a figurative insult. It was a statement. Your father believed that you could simply not biologically be his daughter. The words had you avert your eyes to the floor in shame.

“My entire bloodline has been sorted into Gryffindor.” He had looked at your mother. “Your family does have Slytherins. She’s most likely the result of your affair with that muggle a decade ago. It is possible.” And just like that, he had practically disowned you.

“Okay,” Regulus relented. “We’ll see who it is next week.”

James was nervously looking around, standing partnerless in the middle of the dancefloor. He had long forgone the mask that he had chosen because it prevented him from using his glasses. He looked at the great clock just above the table with drinks and pulled a hand through his hair.

It was time, so where were you? Hopefully you hadn’t chickened out yet because he was absolutely dying to meet you.

There was just something about you. It sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt since Lily. He’d look forward to your messages all the time. Every morning, he practically jumped up in anticipation and excitement as he reached under his pillow to read your ‘good morning’ message for the day. A smile would pass his lips each time.

James was ripped from his thoughts when a hand was placed on his shoulder blade. It tapped twice. He stopped breathing for a moment before turning around. And then the breath was knocked out of both of you completely.

For two different reasons.

James stared in awe at you. You wore a white and silver dress, covered in diamonds. A delicate white mask covered the upper part of your face, and he stared intently at your eyes, but somehow, he still couldn’t pinpoint who you were.

He could see all of your features clearly, but as if he was in a dream, he somehow couldn’t piece everything together to identify you. A charm, he realized. He was disappointed but shook it off. If you felt insecure, then he wouldn’t push it.

James’ face broke out in a grin, and he stepped forward. He couldn’t help but reach out to your face. But you took a step back. His hand fell and he frowned at your reaction, suddenly scared. He wasn’t wearing a mask after all. Compared to you, he was completely vulnerable.

Before he could say anything, you cut him to it. “No,” you hoarsely managed. “This was a mistake.” You turned around and escaped from the center of the dancefloor. James chased you.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry!” He called out after you.

You slowed your pace when you reached the corner next to the staircase. Then you shook your head with a sight, and you pinched your nose. James could see your furrowed brows.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. But my intention wasn’t to dance with James Potter. It was a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”

James shook his head in his turn. “Don’t say that,” his eyes pleaded. “So you know who I am. Am I..” He hesitated. “Am I that bad? I don’t know if you’ve heard any rumors about me, or what made you have a bad impression of me, but I’m the one you’ve been talking to for the past months.” He looked at you desperately. “Give me a chance, please. I only ask for a dance.”

Your eyes flickered over his sad face. You knew James from all the pranks that he did, mostly committed towards your house. You knew him from the banters you had with him, and from crying students that you undid hexes for. You knew him from pushing him out of the way as he purposely blocked your path to throw insults at you.

But you also knew the boy from the enchanted paper. The one who listened to all your worries. Who offered advice and indulged into your hopes and dreams for the future. You knew the boy who confided in you all his deepest secrets and own insecurities. Who made your day and cheered you up with his jokes and positivity.

“I can give you a dance,” you caved, and you offered him your hand, which he scrambled to hold.

James was a fairly decent dance partner, you soon discovered as he guided you with grace. “So I suppose you dance often?”

“I just practiced a lot,” he sheepishly admitted. “I had to impress you somehow, you know. Someone like you had to be crazy out of my league after all.”

Your lips twitched. “I think you’ve got it all backwards, Potter.”

“You know you can call me James, right?”

“Well, James,” you enunciated his name. It felt weird on your tongue. You had only ever spoken his last name in contempt. “I’m not very liked by more than half the students of this castle.” You motioned towards your mask. “Hence the enchantment,” you added halfheartedly.

“You don’t have to tell me who you are,” James immediately assured you, and you did relax at his words. “I’m just really happy that you’re real.”

You let out a laugh. “Why would I not be real?”

“I don’t know,” James whined. “Maybe I was just talking to really sentient paper or something?”

His answer only made you laugh more. James’ grin only spread wider.

“Whoever you are, I wouldn’t judge you,” James added quietly. You watched him silently as you swayed around the room.

“That’d be a first,” you joked sadly, remembering your own family.

“What can I say, I’m just different,” James cheekily winked and then twirled you around.

“We’ll see about that, James. You have the rest of the night to convince me.”

The dance ended and you curtsied to each other, out of breath. “But you’ll have to excuse me while I go find a bench because my feet are killing me. These heels are no joke,” you groaned in pain and sort of started to limp your way back.

James quickly came to support you and held your waist as he escorted you back to the side of the room. When you discovered that there were not in fact any benches, you sat down on the first few steps of the staircase. He raised his eyebrows when you kicked off your heels and saw that the entire slipper was made of glass.

“I transfigured those shoes myself, you know,” you proudly stated. James looked at it in disbelief. “This can carry a human weight?”

“Yeah, it took a lot of different enchantments and attempts,” you admitted.

James’ disbelief changed to awe. He took a seat next to you and you two started chatting about random things. You looked at James’ profile as he talked about Quidditch and felt soft towards him. Maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all.

The two of you were deep into a conversation when you were interrupted .

“Who is this, Prongs?” Sirius curiously stepped forward and shook your hand. You couldn’t help but grimace at him.

You politely nodded and explained the situation, but even though you engaged into a civil, nonchalant conversation, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the presence of James’ friends.

“Anyways,” Sirius leans in towards James. “Did you see Snape over there?” He nodded his head towards Snape, and you squinted your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“You’re not thinking of doing anything to him, are you,” you sharply asked. Both James and Sirius were taken aback by your new tone.

“Nothing harmful,” Sirius laughed, but it faded when you simply raised your eyebrows at him. Sirius looked towards James for help. James hesitated. He had been reluctant to indulge Sirius’ ideas ever since his conversation with you about being a twat. But Sirius was his friend.

“We’re just having a bit of fun,” James tried to explain. “We’re just joking around, besides, he’s in Slytherin, so definitely a blood supremacist.” Your face fell at his words.

You watched his features contort in disgust and suddenly you were eleven again, and all you could see was your sisters disgusted face.

By the time you had snapped out of it, Sirius was already making his way towards Snape. James had gotten up and his head flickered between you and his friend.

You got up as well.

“I really thought you’d be different, James.” You scoffed to yourself. “You really had me convinced there for a moment. But I understand that you’re really just a bully after all, blinded by prejudice. You really are a twat.”

James’ heart dropped at hearing you say those words. He felt ashamed and shook his head pleadingly as he searched for words. But the thing is, you couldn’t care less, because you were hurt too. So you turned around and fled up the stairs as fast as you could, just in case he would come after you.

“Hey Prongs, you coming or not?” Sirius called out. James looked back at Sirius as he contemplated his next move. He mouthed ‘no’, and then tried to run after you. But by the time he reached the hallway that you had disappeared to, you were nowhere in sight.

In denial, James ran towards the moving staircases and looked up, in hopes to find you there.

Had he looked down, maybe he would have caught the last shimmer of reflection of the diamonds on your dress.

James refused to give up, however and he started to knock on the paintings, hoping that they could tell him where you went. He just had to apologize.

A symphony of protests and yelling echoed within the hall. “Quiet you!” “Have you no respect for the sleeping?” “I will complain to Filch about this, young man!” “Leave us alone!”

When the voices resided, most portraits were empty, their contents having escaped elsewhere.

Defeated, James groaned and hit his head with his fists. “You stupid git!” he yelled out in frustration at himself. James slouched down to sit on the stairs. Then he reached for the parchment and a pen in the inner pocket of his jacket and started scrambling something down.

“Please answer,” he whispered. He almost had to laugh at how pathetic he must look.

You sat on your bed after having made your way to the Slytherin dorms.

I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that. I’m stupid and I ruined everything. Please let me make it up to you. I enjoy being with you, I don’t want you to think of me like this.

 Like I said before, this was clearly a mistake.

James read your words over and over again and he buried his face in his hands in shame. He stayed there for a long while and by the time he returned to the room, the party was over, and people had started returning to bed. On the left side of the staircase were your enchanted glass slippers precisely where you’d kicked the off and left them.

Preview of part two

Part two

Taglist:

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@charlie-weasley-is-underrated @dreamingofmarauders @moonyslibrary98 @wildernessflora @hollandweather @queerqueenlynn @locklyebrainrot @thisrandombitch @grac3aph3lion @earfquak3 @venomsvl @middle-of-the-earth @shrekscrustybudassy @bettytaylorversion @littlepoisonmushroom @faumpje @iloveutwice @katelebate @moonysupremacy01 @marina468 @fangirl-kimora @bellesowl @badasswlthafatass @sjprongs @armydrcamers @its-a-ittle-bit-cold @ireallywannasleep127 @sayukoi @jsjcue @cashtons-wife @idllyastuff @severegiantjudgefriend @ivy-34 @moonyunebi @caspianobsessed @kquil @moonys-luvr @mindflay3r @nokkoongie

[charmed-quill]

Maybe it was Then// J.P x Reader

author's note at end.

Summary: James Potter didn’t mean to fall for her —it just sort of happened. Maybe it started back in third year when she dominated a Quidditch match as Ravenclaw’s reserve Beater, or maybe it was all the quiet moments she spent in the Gryffindor common room, smiling shyly when her eyes met his. Either way, Sirius knows, Lily knows, everyone knows… except James.

Word count: 3.3k

He wasn’t exactly sure when it had started.

Probably somewhere between the Charms classes he’d shared with her since first year—when she’d accidentally set her quill on fire trying to master a Switching Spell and had laughed so hard she nearly cried—and that Gryffindor party she’d somehow snuck into, hair a little too neat for someone who claimed she wasn’t “really a party person.”

Somewhere between then and now, James Potter had fallen for Y/N.

And it had crept up on him slowly, like the way sunlight fills a room without you noticing until it’s suddenly everywhere.

She was on the other side of the common room now, framed by the flickering firelight and the soft, lazy glow of enchanted candles floating near the ceiling. She was dancing with Lily Evans to Dancing Queen, which Mary Macdonald had all but threatened Sirius’s life to let her play. The two girls twirled in the centre of the room, skirts spinning like petals caught in a breeze.

James felt an odd warmth crawl up his neck as he watched her.

Her long-sleeved shirt clung and flowed all at once, the fabric loose and airy, sleeves trailing like ribbons as she spun Lily around. His gaze flickered—just for a second—to the knot at the centre of her chest where the two halves of her top met, then darted lower to where the patterned fabric of her skirt matched perfectly, cinched with a belt that had a tiny daisy buckle winking in the light. Her white boots, polished but a little scuffed from wear, hit just below her knees.

She looked—Merlin help him—she looked hot. But more than that. She looked alive. Carefree. Like she belonged in that moment more than anyone else.

Her hair was down, loose and unrestrained, something he’d only seen maybe three times in the seven years he’d known her. It framed her face in soft waves that brushed against her shoulders when she laughed—a laugh he could feel even across the crowded room. It bubbled up bright and unselfconscious, louder than the music for him, though no one else seemed to notice.

And he found himself smiling. Just… smiling. Like an idiot.

“What are you staring at?”

James startled hard enough to nearly spill his drink. He tore his gaze from Y/N’s face—her flushed cheeks, her gleaming eyes—and turned sharply to see Sirius grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary.

“Nothing,” James muttered, a little too quickly.

Sirius leaned forward, squinting at his best mate with that wolfish curiosity he reserved for moments of mischief. He shifted his head beside James’s and followed the same line of sight.

“Evans?” he guessed, downing the last of his Firewhisky in one long gulp. “I thought you were over her.”

James made a sound—half scoff, half sigh—and took a sip of his lukewarm drink, if only to have something to do with his hands.

“I am over her,” he said, quieter this time. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him—they had already wandered back.

Sirius frowned slightly, his sharp, angular features screwing up in mild confusion. His grey eyes flicked toward the girls again. Lily, Mary, Marlene… and then—

It took him a second. Then his mouth curved into the kind of slow, dangerous smile that always preceded trouble.

“Y/N!” he shouted, far too loud, the name cutting through the music like a curse.

James panicked. He slapped his hand over Sirius’s mouth, eyes wide, heart thudding so hard he was sure it was audible.

“Shut up,” he hissed, his whisper still frantic enough to draw a few curious glances.

Sirius’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. He leaned back slightly, this time dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

“Y/N?”

James groaned and rolled his eyes skyward. He could already feel the flush creeping up his ears. Merlin, why was he even friends with Sirius Black?

It was obvious Sirius was drunk. But even a drunk Sirius was dangerously observant. Perhaps spilling his secrets at a Gryffindor Quidditch party hadn’t been his brightest idea.

“When did this happen?” Sirius asked, his grin wicked, his tone more amused than judgmental.

James exhaled slowly.

That was a great question.

When had it started?

It could’ve been third year.

That might’ve been the start of it.

She’d just made reserve Beater for Ravenclaw—a position she’d laughed off, claiming she’d never actually have to play. But then came that match, the one etched in his memory clearer than most Gryffindor victories.

The sun hung high and golden over the pitch, the light reflecting off broomsticks and casting long shadows across the vibrant green. From the stands, the crowd was a restless sea of colour—scarlet and blue waving in ripples, the noise a constant thrum of anticipation.

James watched from his broom as the team captains shook hands at the centre of the field. The whistle blew, shrill and sharp, and the game burst into motion.

Within minutes, Gryffindor had the crowd roaring. Three goals in the first ten minutes—clean, easy, the kind of game that made you feel invincible.

Things only got better from there.

Ravenclaw was unprepared, disjointed. They played like they hadn’t even practised. And then—

It happened.

An hour in, Gryffindor was ahead by sixty points, and Ravenclaw’s starting Beater had taken a nasty hit, tumbling clean off his broom. A medic team whisked him away.

And she came in.

Y/N.

James remembered the way her hair caught the sunlight as she flew out onto the pitch, broom clutched tight, her expression calm and determined in a way that made his chest feel oddly tight.

And then everything changed.

As soon as she entered the match, it was like facing a different team. Ravenclaw sharpened into something fierce, precise. Every time a Gryffindor Chaser touched the Quaffle, a Bludger was already barreling toward them. And it wasn’t just mindless force—no, she played smart. Redirecting Bludgers with a twist of her wrist so clean it looked effortless. She moved like she could see the game five steps ahead of everyone else.

And Merlin, it worked.

It was chaos. Gryffindor couldn’t keep the Quaffle for more than a handful of seconds. Their formation broke down. Even their Keeper was rattled. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw players seemed untouchable—like the Bludgers themselves refused to strike them.

She was fantastic. Absolutely brilliant.

Even though Gryffindor’s Seeker managed to catch the Snitch, it didn’t matter. Ravenclaw still took the match by a landslide on points.

Needless to say, she wasn’t a reserve after that. She became the Beater everyone dreaded facing.

Maybe it had been then. Maybe that was the moment something unspoken settled in his chest—an ember waiting to catch.

Or maybe it was fourth year, when she and Lily Evans became inseparable.

Suddenly, Y/N was everywhere.

She’d made a home in the Gryffindor common room without even trying. Any time James walked in, she was there, lounging on one of the squishy sofas by the fire, warming a piece of toast on a stick like she owned the place. Or she’d be curled in the corner chair, her quill scratching furiously over parchment as she pored over some essay full of complicated Arithmancy theories that made James’s head ache just looking at it.

Maybe it was the proximity. The way her presence felt so natural, like she belonged. Maybe it was the shy, fleeting smiles she’d give him when their eyes accidentally met. Or how she just… fit with his friends, laughing easily with Sirius, even managing to get a smirk out of Remus on his grumpiest days.

Maybe it was that.

Or maybe it was today.

Today, when Ravenclaw lost the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor.

James knew how hard she’d worked for this match. He’d seen the Ravenclaw Quidditch schedule pinned in the library and noticed how she practically lived on the pitch in the weeks leading up to the game. He’d even caught glimpses of her in the library, hunched over play diagrams and tactical notes long after everyone else had gone to bed.

And when it ended—when Gryffindor’s Seeker caught the Snitch and the Gryffindor team lifted him onto their shoulders in a blur of scarlet and gold—she was devastated.

He saw it in the way she threw her broom down, her shoulders stiff, her jaw set tight. She didn’t look at anyone as she strode ahead of her team, retreating to the changing room.

For a fleeting moment, James thought—if it hadn’t been Gryffindor they were playing, maybe he would’ve felt bad. Maybe tomorrow morning, when the euphoria of the win faded, he would feel bad.

But then—

She caught him on his way up to the castle.

She was already changed out of her Ravenclaw robes, back in her neat uniform, her broom perfectly polished and balanced over her shoulder. She looked fresh-faced, like she hadn’t just fought tooth and nail for a Cup and lost it.

“Hey, James,” she said.

He stopped in his tracks and turned.

Behind her, Lily, Mary, and Marlene were a few steps away, trailing along like a little chorus of mischief. Marlene was still in her Gryffindor robes, and all three wore the same amused, conspiratorial look, like they were waiting for something.

“Uh,” she hesitated for a beat, then smiled—small, soft, almost shy. “You guys did well out there today.”

The girls behind her giggled. A sharp, high-pitched little sound that made James feel vaguely like he was on display.

“Uh—thanks,” he stammered, and for some reason, it came out awkward, rougher than he intended. “You… you did great as well.”

And there it was—her smile widened, just slightly, before she turned on her heel and ran back to her friends.

They dissolved into manic giggles, whispering furiously to one another, and for the life of him, James couldn’t stop watching her retreat.

He didn’t even know why.

Maybe it had been then.

Or maybe—maybe it had been all along.

“Sometime between third year and now,” James admitted, his voice quieter than usual, almost begrudging.

Sirius blinked, then grinned slowly and sharply, like a cat spotting prey. “Wow. So this is, like… super serious.” He paused dramatically, his lips twitching before he couldn’t help himself. “Actually—Super Sirius.”

He burst into laughter at his stupid joke, clutching the edge of the table for balance.

James just stared at him flatly.

“Merlin’s sake,” James muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you’re insufferable.”

They sat in a rare pause, the muffled thrum of music and party chatter filling the space between them.

“You should ask her out,” Sirius finally said, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he’d just handed James some kind of groundbreaking revelation.

James let out a sharp scoff, rolling his eyes and tipping back the last of his drink. It was warm now, the mystery punch from the refreshments table tasting faintly of Firewhisky and regret.

“I would,” he said after a beat, “but I just don’t think she’s into me.”

Sirius tilted his head, his grin fading slightly into confusion. “C’mon, Jamie, you’re a total catch. What makes you think she’s not into you?”

James flinched at the nickname—Jamie. It only ever came out when his friends were either drunk, teasing him, or deliberately trying to get under his skin. In Sirius’s case, it was always all three.

But the question lingered.

What made him so sure she wasn’t into him?

James’s mind drifted, unbidden, to a handful of moments over the years—tiny instances that had carved themselves into the corners of his memory for no reason other than how uncomfortable they’d made him feel.

There was the time he’d tried to be her Charms partner, sitting beside her with what he’d thought was a friendly grin, only for her to barely speak the entire class. Instead, she scribbled her thoughts onto parchment and slid it toward him without looking up, like even eye contact was too much.

Or the time in Transfiguration when she’d traded seats with Mary Macdonald—traded seats—just so she wouldn’t have to sit beside him.

And then there was the Quidditch practice. He’d hung around after Gryffindor’s session, hoping to catch her coming out of the Ravenclaw changing rooms, maybe talk to her about the upcoming Cup match. He’d waited. And waited. And when her team finally emerged, laughing and chatting, she was nowhere to be seen. She’d slipped out the back to avoid him.

James exhaled heavily, shaking his head.

He didn’t know why. Didn’t know if it was something he’d done—or something she’d heard. But the conclusion always came back the same.

“Y/N L/N doesn’t like me,” he said finally, the words heavier than he wanted them to be.

“She just… doesn’t like me the way I like her.”

He brushed Sirius off with a shrug and turned toward the refreshments table, pouring himself another cup of whatever potion of alcohol and fruit juice the upper years had concocted.

Sirius scoffed behind him.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” he said, casual, almost sing-song.

James froze, his fingers tightening slightly around the ladle. Slowly, he turned to look at his friend.

“What does that mean?” James asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Sirius was smirking now, the kind of smirk that spelled trouble. He shook his head dramatically, his long black hair bouncing into his face before he flicked it back with a practised toss.

“No can do,” Sirius said lightly, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy by Evans.”

James blinked. “You—what? You heard something from Lily?”

Sirius reached for one of the smaller Firewhisky glasses on the table and downed it in one smooth motion. His face scrunched up for half a second as it burned down his throat, but he recovered quickly.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “We were talking the other day. About her massive crush on you.”

James’s heart tripped over itself. “Lily has a crush on me?” he asked, almost reflexively.

Sirius blinked at him like he was the stupidest person alive, then shook his head again.

“No, you prat—Y/N’s massive crush on you.” He reached for another shot, pouring it with slow precision. “But I promised Evans I wouldn’t tell you.”

James’s brain stalled. “You’re—you’re joking.”

“Nope.” Sirius tossed back the second shot and let out a soft ahh as it hit. “Apparently, she’s super shy about this kind of thing. Doesn’t want us making fun of her or anything.”

James just stood there. Gobsmacked.

This whole time.

This whole bloody time, she’d liked him back—and it took a drunk Sirius Black to tell him.

“So…” James started slowly, almost afraid of the answer. “If I go ask her out now, she’s not gonna, like, yell at me?”

Sirius laughed, loud and unrestrained, leaning back on the table for support.

“Mate,” Sirius began, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, “from what Evans told me, all you’d have to do is say please, and she’d be under you in a second.”

James choked on his drink.

“SIRIUS!” he hissed, his face turning crimson.

Sirius only grinned wider, clearly delighted with himself.

“Shouldn’t you be annoying Moony or something?” James asked, his tone just a little too sharp, an attempt to deflect Sirius’s relentless grin and the way it was making his nerves buzz.

Sirius lit up instantly, his smile wide and wolfish. “Oh, yeah. Haven’t seen him in fifteen minutes—he’s probably worried sick,” he said with mock seriousness before sauntering off with a lazy wave.

James watched his friend bounce away, leaving him with a half-finished drink and a pounding heart.

He downed the liquor in one go. It burned all the way down, but he welcomed the sting—anything to give him courage. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he headed toward the cluster of girls gathered near the fire.

Mary was the first to notice. She arched a brow, smirking as she nudged Lily. Lily leaned in, whispering something to Marlene, who turned with a spark in her eye to Dorcas, who then leaned toward Y/N.

She turned just in time, her expression shifting into a wide, startled grin.

James felt his pulse jump. She always did that—smiled with her whole face, eyes soft and bright, cheeks warming just slightly. And it always made his chest feel too tight.

“Hey, ladies,” he said, forcing every bit of his practised confidence into his voice. He could feel their eyes on him, like he was stepping into a trap they’d all set and were waiting for him to trigger. “Mind if I steal Y/N for a moment?”

The group immediately dissolved into giggles. Lily bit her lip like she was trying not to laugh outright. Marlene, of course, didn’t even try to hide her grin. Before leaving, she leaned down and whispered something in Y/N’s ear.

Whatever it was, Y/N gasped softly, scandal written all over her face. She swatted Marlene’s arm, shaking her head as the other girl just smirked knowingly and sauntered off.

James didn’t catch the words, but judging by the way Y/N’s eyes darted anywhere but at him and how her cheeks had turned crimson, he had a good guess.

He turned his attention fully to her. She was already red-faced, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, and avoiding his gaze like it were dangerous.

Merlin, she was beautiful when she was nervous.

“So…” James started, his voice dropping softer than he meant. “Sirius said he was talking to Lily the other day.”

Her head snapped up just a fraction, and her blush deepened, if that was even possible. She made a tiny sound—half groan, half laugh—and immediately covered her face with her hands.

“Oh god,” she muttered into her palms, her voice muffled. “What did he tell you?”

James’s composure wavered instantly. He took a quick step closer, hands raised slightly in reassurance. “Nothing bad,” he hurried to say. “Well—I guess it depends on your definition of bad.” He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

She still hadn’t moved her hands.

Her shoulders were hunched, her posture small, like she was trying to disappear into herself. He couldn’t tell if she was mortified… or just shy. And somehow, that made his heart race even faster.

He was losing his grip on the fake cool, the easy confidence he’d always used like a shield.

“Do you—” James’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to go on a date?”

The words slipped out quicker than he planned, almost breathless.

She froze, hands still over her face. Slowly, finally, she dropped them and looked up at him.

“Right now?” she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion, her lips parting just slightly.

James swallowed. Her eyes on him were softer than he expected, curious, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steadier this time. He managed a small, hopeful grin. “Why not?”

Before she could talk herself out of it, before he could, James reached forward. His fingers brushed hers, featherlight at first, then more certain as he laced his hand with hers.

Her skin was warm against his.

He didn’t let himself overthink. He just gently tugged her toward the portrait hole, leading her out of the common room.

Behind them, the girls erupted into delighted shrieks and whoops, the kind that made Y/N groan under her breath.

She quickened her pace slightly to fall into step with him, her shoulder brushing his. Their hands stayed connected, neither of them pulling away.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice quieter now, the initial confusion melting into something softer.

James glanced down at her, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the thundering in his chest.

“Just trust me,” he said.

a/n: Another fic from my archive that I did up a bit. This is also posted on AO3, but I orphaned the fic bc I gave my friend that account lol. But this is bigger and better.

[yuwritesstuff]

Headcanons about Satoru as a Girl Dad 🌺✨

He cried the first time he held her. Not in front of anyone else — he was joking and cocky and obnoxious at the hospital, trying to hide all the worries. But when it was just the three of you and she curled her tiny fingers around his pinky, he broke. Quietly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he cradled her and smiled happily. He had the whole world in his arms, given to him by his loved one.

She’s the only one (except her mom, of course) who can boss him around. “Daddy, sit.” And he does. “Daddy, today I choose what you’re gonna wear!” And these are the most mismatched pieces of his wardrobe, an absurd combination. But he puts these on and goes to meet with the higher-ups. “Daddy, put me on your shoulders!” And the world becomes even more interesting for her from the perspective of his height.

He’s obsessed with her laugh. He’ll spend hours doing the dumbest things just to hear it — ridiculous dances, jokes, and parodies. That sound is his favorite in the world. It means she’s safe. She’s happy. She’s so real, his little sweet baby. He hopes that this will be one of the things she’ll remember best from her childhood. That laughing is always allowed, even for adults.

She’s just as sharp as him — and it terrifies him. One time, she tricked him into giving her dessert before dinner. A four-year-old. He was both horrified and deeply, deeply honored. “She’s definitely my kid,” he said, wiping away a proud tear. But of course, he often falls for her tricks just because he likes to spoil her.

He teaches her how to stand up for herself. From day one, he tells her: “You don’t have to shrink for anyone. You don’t owe the world softness unless you choose to give it.” And she listens. She learns. It’s like a protective mantra that he whispers to her as she falls asleep, hoping that these words will stay with her and she will realize its meaning later.

He has zero resistance to her tears. If she starts crying, his whole world stops. No jokes. Just soft panic and immediate scooping up. “Who do I have to fight?” he whispers. “What made my baby cry?” His heart is aching, and he’s ready to do anything to make her feel better. It’s hard for him to say “no” if it’s tears of demand, so she’s already spoiled by him from a very young age.

He sees her mother in her constantly. Sometimes he quietly watches her, observes her gestures and behavior, and sees you in her. Mom’s features are intertwined with dad’s, and it strikes him to the core — this is a little person made of both of you. You soulmated so hard that you created another heart, a cute little friend for both of you. She’s everything.

Oh, but she definitely has his temper too. She once looked up at him mid-lecture and said, “Is this gonna be long? I have blocks to build.” He nearly exploded with laughter. “Siblings? What are the pros and cons of that?” she wonders seriously when you ask if she wants a brother or a sister. “If they’re as cool as me... hmm, I’ll think about it!” she sticks out her tongue and giggles. His little smartass.

He keeps her drawings in his wallet. Folded, worn, cherished. Even when he’s across the world on duty, her crayon versions of the three of you remind him why he fights. When he comes back from work, they draw together, and his own drawings are no better than a child’s spontaneous doodle, but she praises him so sincerely that he melts.

They have wild inside jokes no one understands. Even you, her mother. It drives you crazy sometimes because they act like real idiots. But they’re your favorite idiots. Like synchronized “dramatic faints” at the breakfast table. Or gossiping about you quietly with a sly smile on their faces. Or their secret handshake that takes 40 seconds (you counted). Sometimes they just treat life like a game they’re winning together.

She shares his love for sweets. He buys her all kinds of goodies and treats her with the best desserts in the city, on weekends he pampers her with custom-made sweets from a pastry shop. So when it’s time to visit the dentist, you send him with her to the doctor as a lesson. He taught her to brush her teeth well. It’s nobody’s fault she has a sweet tooth like him!

He loves to put her to bed. He reads her fairy tales and tells her funny stories, assures her that there are no monsters under the bed and checks it several times if she’s scared. “Your daddy is the strongest monster fighter!” he winks. And when she falls asleep, he kisses her on the forehead and just lies next to her for a while before going to his beloved wife to make another such cutie pie.

He talks to her like an equal — always. He doesn’t baby her thoughts or shield her from the truth. He explains the world gently but with honesty. She asks hard questions. He never lies. It’s not easy when she realizes what a complicated world she lives in. Every time something inside him breaks when she gets a little more mature. But he knows that this is part of the journey too.

He’s incredibly protective, but in stealthy ways. He won’t be the loudest dad at school (surprisingly). Instead, he’ll silently ward off anyone who makes her uncomfortable — a quiet glare, a sudden presence. Nothing gets past him. He doesn’t want to get into things that she has to experience on her own, but he also doesn’t want to be on the sidelines if something hurts her.

He’s terrified of failing her. Beneath the jokes and playfulness, he carries a deep fear — that the world will hurt her the way it hurt him. So he watches closely, listens deeply, holds tighter when she sleeps. He knows that there will definitely be challenges and pain in life, but while she is so young, he will protect her and her childhood with all his best. She will have a different, better life.

He tells her every day: “You’re loved. Always.” Not just “I love you” — but “you are loved”. By him. By her mom. By the universe itself. He wants her to know it, feel it, believe it in her bones. Despite all the hardships, there is so much beauty in the world, and it’s a true miracle that we are all here, so fragile and eager for love and validation. He deeply realizes it when he becomes a father. And he wants her to feel it too.

He dreams of seeing who she’ll become. Whether she becomes a sorcerer or an artist or a chaos gremlin scientist — he’s there. Sometimes he forgets about all his bravado and feels something that he hasn’t felt much before. Fear of leaving this world too soon, not being a present father and partner. He wants to have a future in which he will see his child grow up. Happy, no matter what path she chooses. “This is her story now, and I just wanna be a part of it for as long as possible!” he smiles.

[eveningepiphany]

connection | one direction comfort oneshot

summary: one direction are your best friends and how can you ever tell them thank you for everything.

warnings: not a single one, just feel good comforting one direction. we need it.

a/n: this one is for everyone who needs it.

———

“I’m glad you guys are home”

“Y/N, none of us live anywhere near here.” Louis snorts the second your sappy voice echos in the lounge room. Not one of them lives here, but to you, this is their home

A mug of tea is hot against you palms, the room smells of sweet treats and is light only by warm lamplight.

A sigh cascades from your lungs, your head leant against Harry’s shoulder.

“Let the girl have her moment, Louis.” You hear Zayn chide with a smile on his face as he leans forward from where he’s rested on the couch to grab a cookie.

“This movies made me all sentimental.” You grumble, trying to now suppress the feeling swelling in your chest.

You glance around to the five guys laid in your lounge room. Your five best friends in the whole world.

Highschool is messy for everyone, and your experience was no different. God, if you hadn’t have met all of them, you have no idea how you would’ve ever survived.

Zayn in folded into the corner of your massive couch, despite how much room there is.

Louis the one who’s randomly claimed a spot on the floor, cushion under his ass even though again, there’s more than enough space on the couch.

Liam is sprawled out on your left, legs and arms hanging off the edge. A smile sits on his lips, content and at peace.

Harry is nestled on your right, allowing your head to seek refuge on his shoulder. He’s made sure he’s close enough to Niall to annoy him every couple of minutes.

Niall is cross-legged on the couch, mug of tea in hand, blonde hair tousled from Harry messing it up ten minutes ago for the fun of it.

“You guys are what brings life into this place.” You state, finality in your tone as your eyes avert back to the screen.

“Awww,” Niall coos, Harry whacks him across the head.

“Ouch! Bloody hell was tha’ for, I was being genuine you dolt.” Everyone chuckles, watching his hand come to cover his head.

“Oh, sorry thought ya were being sarcastic.” Harry snickers from beside you, chest vibrating in a familiar way.

“While these two idiots argue, I am appreciating your sentiment, Y/N.” Liam claims from where he lays, flashing a toothy grin at you.

“I just…” wow, are you seriously getting emotional over this? Surely it’s your hormones, or just stress manifesting into big feelings. But you can’t even get the sentence out without the feeling of a lump in your throat.

The sway in your voice draws all five of them to a silence.

They wait patiently for you to say something else.

“You all are my people. Having fun at home is not the same when you’re not all here. And when I go out without you all, I imagine the stupid shit you’d do to make me laugh.”

Bringing the mug in your hand to your lips, you draw a sip of tea into your mouth. Taking comfort in the sweetness.

“My house does not feel like home unless I’m in it with you five. You’re all like my family. I wouldn’t know where to begin tackling my life if I didn’t have you boys showing me how to do it.”

“Y’can’t tackle anything or anyone for shit t’be fair.” Niall remarks, trying to be funny but you can hear the appreciation that floods his tone.

“Shut up, Niall.” Liam shakes his head, smiling.

“Everyday, I thank whatever greater power that bought you guys to me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine a day where I didn’t know you all. And it’s something I hope I never have to live.”

“What im trying to say is thank you. For being my best friends.”

There’s a few seconds of quiet.

You have been like this with them before, usually when you’re about to get your period, when you’re drunk, or had a big thing happen in your life. But right now they all just didn’t expect it.

“No way, Louis are you crying!” Harry laughs, but there’s a soft and vulnerable lilt to his own voice.

“Shut up, ya prick.” He whines, hand cupping over his eyes and dragging down in exasperation.

At a glance, you realise they’re all crying.

“Oh god,” you gasp, guilt plaguing your voice, “sorry I didn’t mean to make everyone so emosh.”

“Emosh.” Liam mocks your choice of word with a soft tease, eyes shiny.

“Yea, girl. I need forewarning before you go dropping all that on me.” Zayn states, finishing the last bite of his cookie.

“We appreciate you more than y’know.” Niall drapes himself over Harry to half embrace you, half squash you.

As anyone would imagine, doesn’t take longer than three seconds for them all to be joining this impromptu group hug.

“Can’t breathe—“ you hissed out. Someone’s knee is digging into your hip, someone just headbutted you, and again, your whole diaphragm is squished.

Yet despite all of this, you’ve never felt so loved. You feel so much of it, almost like it’s imbedded in your bones.

“Don’t care!” Louis remarks, “your fault for dragging us all into your sentimental crap.”

“Thanks for being our best friend too, yknow.” A hum comes from Liam.

The hug doesn’t last too long, but long enough that when you eventually go to bed that night you’ve imprinted it in your memory.

How are there ever going to be words to explain how it feels to have a connection like this. One with people that you don’t see everyday, but that you feel always. It’s proven it can stretch a million miles and still feel the same.

These boys are your lifeline, and nothing in the world could change that.

Oh, how grateful you are.

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

------------

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

------------

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

------------

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

------------

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

------------

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

------------

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

------------

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

🖤🩶🤍

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so it features mentions of killing/ injury/ general violence. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 1,649

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. I hope you all like how this turned out as much as I did. This is my first time writing for Doflamingo so hopefully I got his personality right enough

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One (here) | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen (coming soon)

——————

Your Marine unit’s task had been a simple one, stay hidden and observe. That was it, any criminal activity was to be recorded for physical evidence and reported immediately. No interference at all. Your superior believed that this group of lowlifes were working directly under someone else, someone bigger and they were who they wanted to take down, not a bunch of easily replaced criminals. The only way to completely rid the evil and corruption of the town was to go for the root. That had been the plan and everyone had stuck to it as they had been ordered. That was until one of the newer recruits with a thirst to prove himself decided to be reckless. 

The second there was confirmation that the criminal group had a large stockade of weapons, ammunition and barrels of explosives in the nearby warehouse the idiot acted. They believed if they destroyed such a valuable haul then it would surely draw their target out from the shadows. You and the others who were more experienced of the unit drilled it into his head that it wasn’t a wise decision. Not only could a lot go wrong with potential endangerment to civilians but it was also not part of anyone’s orders. For a moment you thought he listened but as you turned in for the night you didn’t like the look you caught in the cadet’s eyes. 

It was just as well that you couldn’t sleep because it meant you were able to catch the cadet sneaking out of your encampment. Swearing under your breath you grabbed your weapon and pulled on your shoes to hurry after him. If you could get him back to camp without any harm done he could still keep his job. That had been the plan anyway but he’d managed to make use of his head start and snuck into the warehouse before you got there. You slid to a stop outside the warehouse and felt a chill run over your spine despite it being a comfortably warm night. You'd been so focused on catching up that you hadn’t noticed that there was no-one guarding the warehouse. Even for a group of low tier criminals there would be no way they would leave such precious cargo unattended. Panicked you looked towards the warehouse as the faint sound of a match being struck sounded.

In a blink the explosion boomed through the air, your body being thrown back and crashing loudly and painfully through the stacks of crates behind you. Ears ringing and vision swimming you hit the ground and tumbled until the momentum died off leaving you flat on your back and blinking through the pain and choking on the smoke and ash hanging heavily in the air. You managed to roll onto your side and shakily braced your hands onto the cold ground to push yourself up. You winced and gasped sharply at the feeling of your ribs grinding painfully, protesting any movement. Something was either cracked or broken and only now did you feel the wetness of blood against your head spreading against your cheek. 

For a moment you foolishly dared to think it could have been worse but then as you sensed people approach you knew better than to tempt fate. Of course those that had set the trap would make themselves known. One by one your sight took in the figures of those you’d been observing but then sauntering behind at a relaxed pace and amused, wild grin shaping his face was the Warlord Doflamingo. The bright flames burning what remained of the warehouse glinting against his silhouette only made him appear more menacing. In that moment you knew there was no getting out of this alive. The warehouse of weapons was his operation, if he let you live to report to your superiors it could be enough to revoke his protected status as Warlord and that wasn’t an option. 

You knew that nothing could be done. You were outmatched by him and seeing two new individuals lingering behind him told you he had more subordinates lurking. If he'd had enough time to rig the warehouse to explode then chances were he already knew about the rest of your unit too. If he didn’t know then you weren't going to be the one to give them up. Remaining on the ground you reached for your gun, glaring at Doflamingo when his laughter began to fill the space between you. His steps remained leisurely as he continued to advance towards you. Her was the grinning cat and you were the wounded bird, he could take his time and he certainly wasn’t afraid of your silly little pistol. However his smile twitched when you turned the barrel towards your own chest, not his. Now that was curious but boring. 

For the first time that night he put effort into his movements and closed the distance, his large hand closing over yours and disarming you with a simple tug. Frustrated at not even being allowed to go on your terms you glared furiously at the man in front of you. The adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was getting stronger. “I’m not going to tell you anything. Just kill me and be done with it.”

“Oh I don’t need you to tell me anything.” Doflamingo chuckled, playfully spinning the gun on his finger with one hand while this others flexed to let you see the faint glimmer of his strings. “I do need you to do something for me though. You’re going to deal with the rest of your unit and then I’ll kill you. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds awful.” You spat out at him, angered that you’d suspected right and he knew about your unit and also devastated that you couldn’t save them. You knew a small amount about Doflamingo’s abilities from talk at the Marine base but hadn’t witnessed it for yourself. It was just another sickening addition of salt on the wound that you’d be forced to kill your unit, your friends before he would be bored enough to end you with that power. “Can you at least knock me out before you control me to do it?”

Doflamingo chuckled once more, intrigued by your attitude. He'd encountered begging, desperate attempts at buying their life, defiant bluster that they’d never do as he wished, but he couldn't recall someone be so accepting of their fate but still so headstrong. For a second he considered your request but then decided no, he wanted you to be conscious for the fun. With a twitch and arch of his fingers he used his strings to make you his puppet. He rose from his crouched position in front of you and looked down in confusion to see you hadn't moved as he directed. His stretched grin lessened as he moved his hand again, a clear order for you to lift your arm into the arm but it didn’t budge. You were unaffected. 

With laboured breaths you tilted your head up to regard him silently, that fierce look never leaving your hazy, pain-filled stare. You were waiting for him to take control of your body. If he waited any longer you would pass out from your injuries. Now he was in no mood for his tormenting games. Keeping his hand by his side and hidden by the mass of pink feathers he created a new attack, one to slice your throat with enough force to take your head cleanly from your neck. 

You shivered as a sudden wisp of air sped over you and then you flinched to hear the grating of stone. Glancing back you saw the deep gouge cut into the ground behind you, a long but clean line. Unconsciously Doflamingo took a step back from you with your head turned. Something was wrong. His power wasn’t working. Just who were you? What had you done? Anger and a sudden feeling of power being tipped from him he turned sharply and sent his threads at his low ranked underlings, feeling a rush of satisfaction to see their bodies jerk in complete surrender to his Devil Fruit. Wordlessly he commanded them to advance to where the other Marines were, to kill them like you had meant to. “Wh-what are you doing?“

Doflamingo turned and watched you force the power into your heavy limbs, the force of the explosion taking their toll on you. Slowly you pushed into the ground once more to try and make yourself stand but that was the final straw for your body to handle. With a groan, you crumpled onto the ground, unconscious and completely at Doflamingo’s mercy, that was if he actually had any. As Doflamingo continued to stare at you he heard Diamante approach, his elite officer just as confused by what went wrong. “Doffy? What happened?” 

“A complication.” Doflamingo answered, trying once more to attack your defenceless form with your own pistol but the bullet whizzed by you even though his aim was perfect and struck the ground less than inch to the left of your head. He couldn’t risk someone like you being allowed to remain out in the open but deep down he couldn’t give the order to the others to kill you. He told himself that he wouldn’t do that, not until he knew exactly what your strange power was. For all he knew others out there were capable of such feats against his powers too. Until he knew the cause and how to ensure he could deal with it he wasn’t taking any chances. In the distance Doflamingo heard the sound of gunfire and yelling as his men attacked your unit. With a huff he crouched down and lifted you over his shoulder. “Come on, we're going home. Send their picture to Vergo, I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.” 

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[the-bat-writes-imagines]

A Sort of Affection

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Peter Hale x McCall reader

Story Type: Angst, Fluff at the end.

Warnings: Age gap, violence, major character injury, near death experience, Peter is a little ooc, story not totally canon.

Summary: Scott's older sister, who is in her early 20's, is injured during a confrontation with Kali of the Alpha pack. She's human and therefore on the verge of death. Peter, despite his insistance that he is only out for himself, will do anything to help her.

...

You had a feeling you shouldn't have come out here with Peter, but you did it anyway. It was routine. You were trying to find evidence of where Noah and your mother were. Peter was headed to Ms. Blake's apartment to look for clues. You didn't trust him not to immediately act on anything he found without bringing it to the pack first. So you insisted on going with him.

There wasn't much to gather, other than the fact Ms. Blake clearly did not keep any evidence of her druid activities here. Honestly it didn't even seem like she actually even lived here. You should get back to the others and see if they were having better luck.

"Well, I don't think we're going to get much else from this place. Let's go back and meet up with the others?" You look to Peter, honestly expecting an argument. He never wanted to listen to anyone other than himself.

"Agreed."

"Well- wait what?!?" You ask in shock.

"I said, I agree, now let's get out of here." He gestures towards the door. You raised an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress a smirk. "What? I can be agreeable." He replies with mock offense.

"You? Peter Hale? Agreeable?" You shake your head in amusement.

"Yes, I can be very agreeable... as long as the person making the suggestion is not a complete idiot." He shrugs and you snort in amusement.

"So, I guess that means I'm not a complete idiot then?" You ask him as the two of you exit the apartment.

"You? No. Your brother and his friends however..." Peter trails off, feigning shame at the thought. You know him though, and you know there is not an ounce of shame there.

"Stop it." You playfully slap his abdomen with the back of your hand. "They're not idiots, you just think you're smarter than everyone else."

"I don't think that, I know it. Besides you're almost as smart as m-" Peter stops suddenly, just as you exit the building into a nearly empty parking garage. You turn back to him in surprise only to see one of the scariest sights you have ever seen. Peter Hale looking absolutely terrified.

"What is it?" You can hear the shakiness in your own voice.

"Get behind me." Peter steps forward and puts his arm out in front of you. Guiding you to stand behind him. That's when you hear it. The sickening scrape of claws on asphalt. Immediately you feel a shiver down your spine, cold sweat starting to trickle down your back. Kali.

"Well, well, well, look at this. A washed up, former alpha and McCall's pathetic human sister." She says with a sneer. A sadistic grin forming on her face. "Looks like this going to be easy." Peter leans forward into a fighting stance, a growl rumbling in his chest as he transforms. Claws and teeth extending. Kali smiles as she mirrors his stance.

"Y/N, run." Peter growls. You are frozen in fear for a moment before the two of them pounce at one another. As soon as the two collide you finally remember how to work your legs. You sprint as fast as you are able away from the wolves. Your breath immediately starting to become ragged. Damn asthma, never had you been so jealous of Scott no longer having to deal with his.

You make the mistake of looking behind you to see where Peter and Kali were. Only to see Peter on his own, staggering to his feet. Kali was nowhere to be seen.

"NOOO!" Peter roars out as you suddenly feel a hand on your neck. The wind is knocked out of you as you are lifted off your feet. Breath cut off by Kali's hand on your throat. You feel her claws drawing a bit of blood as they press into your skin. You struggle against her grip, but it's useless. She is too strong for you too fight. Peter is running toward the two of you as fast as he can.

"LET HER GO!!" He roars again. Kali cocks her head in intrigue, looking from Peter to you.

"Interesting." She says. Next thing you feel is your body flying through the air as Kali launches you at the wall of the building. You slam into the wall, head cracking against the stone before you crumple onto the ground. Your head is ringing, vision blurred as Peter runs toward you and Kali disappears from your sight.

"Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay?" Peter is frantic, face twisted with concern as he kneels down in front of you. You try to tell him you are fine, but all that comes out is weak groan. Peter takes in the damage done you. Checking the back of your head with his hand. Finding his fingers coated in blood as he pulls them away. Panic strikes him. He sees your eyes struggling to stay open as you try to focus on him.

"Y/N!" Peter shouts again. He pulls your limp body into his lap. That's when he notices your breathing. The shallow gasps as you struggle to catch your breath. Kali threw you against the wall so hard that you broke several ribs and one of them had punctured your lung. Peter didn't know that, but it was clear that the something was very, very wrong and he was terrified.

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to hold on baby. I'm going to call Derek and Scott. Just stay with me." Peter pulls his phone out and calls Derek.

The next few minutes are the longest of Peter's life as he prays the other two wolves get there in time. Holding you, taking as much of your pain away as he can. He is rethinking the whole night trying to see a way that this could have been prevented. Some way that he could have protected you.

"Y/N!" Scott's voice rang out across from across the lot. Peter sighed in relief as he saw Scott and Derek running toward the two of you.

"What the hell happened!!" Scott yells as they approach.

"Kali." Peter growled out, the name laced with rage. "She attacked us. Now, Derek help her!"

"What do mean 'Derek help her'? She needs to go to the hospital!" Interjects Scott.

"No, look at her Scott." Peter nods toward your limp form in his arms. "She's barely conscious and she can't breath! Scott, she's dying!" Peter's voice strains as he tells him.

"You want me to give her the bite?" Derek asks, standing above the three of you.

"The bite!" Scott is immediately terrified. "That can't be her only option."

"It is, Scott!" Peter insists. "She won't make it to the hospital, at least this will give her a chance." He is pleading now.

"He's right Scott." Derek adds. "Listen to her breathing." Scott looks at you, listening to your breath and hears it. You are fading and if they don't act quick, you will die.

"What if she doesn't want this?" Scott asks. Peter nearly looses it at Scott.

"Do you think she'd rather die!!" He shouts at Scott. "At least this will give her a chance. Please." Scott looks up at Derek.

"Do it." He says to Derek who simply nods in response. Derek kneels down next you and takes your arm. His eyes glow red and his fangs extend before he brings them up to your arm. The bite hurts. You groan in pain at the contact, fire lighting up in your veins. Peter takes your hand again easing your pain. All three of the wolves around you hold their breath as they wait for a sign of life.

A moment later and suddenly your breath evens out. There is a collective sigh of relief from all of them. Peter checks the injury to the back of your head.

"She's healing." He says.

"Thank god." Scott replies. "We should get her home."

"We're near my place, I'll take her back there to rest. You two go back to check on the others." Peter says as he stands up with you in his arms.

"I don't thi-"

"Scott, the others need you and she needs rest. I live right down the road. She can stay on my couch and I'll take care of her." Peter cuts Scott off before he protest, but Scott still looks unsure. Peter, in the most on brand move of the night, rolls his eyes. "And I'll make sure she calls you the second she wakes up, okay?"

"Fine." Scott grumbles.

Peter carried you all the way back to his apartment. You were unconscious for most of it. You stirred just enough to note him tucking you into bed and feel him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your last thought confusion over this sudden display of care from a man notorious for not caring about anyone other than himself.

...

The next morning you wake, warm and comfortable in a bed you don't recognize. For some reason you feel safe as you take in your surroundings. That's when you spot Peter, asleep in a chair next to the bed. The previous night starts to come back to you. Joking with Peter, then Kali, then pain and blood. Then your little brother was there and Derek. There was an argument. Then... a bite? That's right, Derek gave you the bite. You can't help yourself from pulling up your sleeve and inspecting the place where he bit you. There is obviously no mark, but you had to look anyway. Having a hard time processing that your whole life had changed last night and there wasn't even a scar to show it. You were so engrossed in your arm you don't notice Peter stirring.

"Are you okay?" He practically whispers. Your head jerks up at the sudden sound. You don't know how to answer him.

"Umm... I think so." Is the best you can manage. Peter stands up and steps toward before stopping himself. A look crossed his face, something you weren't familiar on him. Almost nervous?

"Okay, um, I'll go make some coffee." Peter quickly exits the room. You go to follow him, moving carefully expecting some pain or soreness. As you stand though, you realize you're fine. There's no pain, no sign of your injuries from last night. You need to talk to Peter about last night. There was something different about him last night. Peter was always out for himself. He only helped the pack when it meant saving himself. Yet last night he protected you. He put aside his own safety to care for you. He fought for you.

You quickly find Peter in the kitchen. Pausing for a moment to watch him move around the kitchen.

"Um, Peter are you okay?" You ask him as you lean against the doorframe. He pauses with two mugs in hand to look at you. He scoffs.

"Me? What could be wrong with me? I wasn't the one who got my brain scrambled like an egg last night." He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. You can't help but smile at him, seeing right through the deflection.

"You may not have gotten your brains scrambled last night, but you're acting like they're scrambled this morning." There was a bit of laughter to your tone, but neither of you really was in the mood to appreciate the joke.

"Maybe, but I guess I've got a lot to think about this morning." He responds quietly, almost to himself.

"Like what?" You ask. You take a few small steps further into the room, closer to him.

"You." He firmly places the mugs on the counter, seemingly in frustration. You take a few steps closer again until you're standing next to him.

"What about me?" Peter scoffs ever so lightly at your question. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes before he responds.

"Everything." His head hangs forward now. "Did you know when I first met you, when I first got brought back, I hated you. I saw the way you were with Scott and I knew in my very bones that I hated you. You were everything to Scott that I should have been for Derek. You have been there for him, protecting and loving him since the day he was born. Even after he was turned, you still set out to do everything you could to help him. I was jealous of the person that you were capable of being, the one that I could never seem to be." Peter leans on the counter palms pressed down onto it. He looked forward at the wall, refusing to look at you. You want to ask him what changed but decide it would be better to just let him speak. "Eventually though, that jealousy turned into a kind of admiration. I knew you were better than me and I started to realize that was a good thing. A great thing even. Then somewhere along the way that admiration morphed as well. It turned into a sort of..." Peter swallows hard like the word is difficult for him to say. "affection."

"Affection?" You ask quietly. He nods swallowing again.

"Once I recognized it, I couldn't let it go. Now it's practically all I think about." He runs a hand over his face. "All of sudden I can't help myself from wanting to be around you all of the time. Wanting to make sure that you're safe. Hell, last night when you volunteered to come with me I practically sighed with relief, because if you were with me I would know you were safe. I thought I would be able to protect you. I was clearly very wrong, but I thought I could." You step closer to him, placing your hand over his on the counter. He spreads his fingers so that you can intertwine yours with his before he continues. "I...I'm so sorry Y/N. When Kali went for you I thought my heart was going to rip itself out of my chest in fear. I... I should have stopped her, should have been faster." His head hangs low, eyes on the floor.

"But you did protect me, Peter." You say barely more than a whisper. "You did everything you could to keep her away from me. Then you stayed with me. Took away my pain. Made sure that my brother and Derek got to me in time."

"She should have never laid a hand on you." He responds sternly. "You should never have been hurt to begin with. And last night Scott was right. I made the choice for Derek to give the bite. I took that choice away from you, because I was too selfish to risk letting you go."

"You were right to push for the bite!" You respond in disbelief, causing him to turn to you for the first since you entered the kitchen.

"What?"

"Peter, if you hadn't pushed for the bite I would be dead. I'm not, because of you. I'm alive because of you. Maybe, I wouldn't have asked for this outside of a near death experience, but I'm glad that it happened. I know things are going to just get more complicated now, but at least I have some way to fight back. Some way to protect myself! Peter, if anything I'm grateful!" You plead with him, your other hand on his jaw to make him look at you. "You made me stronger and more importantly you kept me alive. Thank you."

"You're sure that you're okay with this?" He asks, making sure to look you in the eye as you respond.

"I'm sure. I want this and..." you trail off, making him nervous.

"What is it?"

"I...I want you." Peter can't help but let himself smile at that for second, but then his mask comes down. That stupid smirk of his comes out.

"Now there's something for the Beacon Hills' Top Ten Worst Ideas list." He says pulling back a bit.

"I mean it Peter. I've developed my own...sort of affection, for you." You say quietly. He looks at you, rolling his eyes, but he can't quite hide the smile that crosses his face. He is practically giddy hearing it, but he is Peter, so he can't let himself admit it.

"I still don't think that's a very good idea." He says it mockingly, but the tone isn't quite right. There is an undertone of sincerity there that you can hear. When you don't respond to him, he continues. "Everyone would hate it, especially your brother. I think the funny one wouldn't shut up about it for at least a year. Derek would brood over it for months. And Lydia - " You cut off his rant taking both of his hands in yours.

"Peter, I. Don't. Care. Scott and Stiles and Derek and whoever else can complain about it all they want. I still want this, with you."

"You really do mean that, don't you?" Peter stares directly into your eyes and you nod. He finds himself nodding with you before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. It's a gentle kiss at first, but you put your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he can't help himself. He wraps his arms around you and deepens the kiss. You don't want him to stop, but all of a sudden he pulls his head away. Arms not leaving your waist. He's looking at the apartment door, then he turns to you.

"I forgot to make you call your brother and now he's here." Just as Peter finishes his sentence a loud knocking proceeds at the door.

"Y/N!!" Calls your brother's voice from the other side of the door.

"Well, this is going to be fun." You say looking at Peter, still smiling to yourself when you make eye contact with him.