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I want to rewrite Jason’s initial Red Hood arc soooo bad.

First off, Hood is brought on not as a villian but as a vigilante same as Batman. Only he comes in the a message. He declares that Batman is a coward and not fit to protect Gotham.

Batman tries to communicate with him to try and work something out, because so far Hood’s doing good work. So if he just can figure out Hood’s gripe with him, they could team up. Of course Jason says cryptic shit to get under Bruce’s skin. At one point Tim!Robin tries to talk to him, but this seems to strike a nerve. Hood pulls a gun on Robin and threatens him to leave or he will kill him. Tim isn’t even supposed to be talking to Hood alone so he leaves, not wanting to risk a fight.

Batman and Hood are tense around each other, but overall civil. Until Red Hood makes his first kill.

It was a CEO or some higher up in a company. He all but admitted to some terrible crime, but Bruce Wayne was attempting to get him life in prison before he was found dead in his cell. The kill was claimed by Red Hood and he criticizes Batman for allowing a guilty man to potentially be let off the hook via expensive lawyers.

This starts causing some friction between them and Batman starts really investigating Hood. Things are getting heated and more personal with Hood, as he’s started to alluding to knowing Batman’s secret identity. Eventually, it becomes obvious that Red Hood is Jason Todd.

Batman goes to confront him, but Jason decides to make it super dramatic because of course he does. And leads Bruce all around Gotham before settling on a warehouse. There, Joker is tied up, beaten to the brink of death, a bloody crowbar on the ground infront of him. Jason holds a gun to Jokers head, keeping Bruce at a safe distance.

Jason then preforms his monologue. About how he never blamed Bruce for his death, even in his last moments. But how he couldn’t understand how Bruce could let him live. He gestures to Joker. And he could never forgive Bruce for letting another Robin on the streets. Not after what happened to him.

Bruce tries to talk Jason down. At one point he says “come home, son.” Which enrages Jason. He immediately shoots the Joker point blank and turns the gun to Batman.

“Will you forgive me,” He asks, as Joker lies dead on the floor, “Now that you’ve seen your ‘son’ kill without a second thought, abandon your morals when it’s convenient for you? Or will you ship me off to Arkham? Bury me away like the rest of your problems?”

Bruce slowly starts walking forward. Jason’s finger immediately grips the trigger. “Don’t move or I shoot!” He tries to be intimidating, but his voice quivers.

Bruce only stops when the barrel of the gun is pressed to his chest. He knows Jason wouldn’t shoot him. Even if he does, Bruce would understand. Maybe he even deserves it. He slowly brings his hands up to Jason’s helmet. Jason is frozen in shock as Bruce pulls it off gently and drops it to the ground. He cups Jason’s face so gently, even with his thick gloves. He pulls off his own mask, revealing his eye’s brimming with tears. They seem older and more tired than Jason remembers.

“My boy…” Bruce cries. Probably the only tears Jason seen him cry.

And Jason wants nothing more than to fall into Bruce’s arms. Allow himself to be cradled, warm and safe in Bruce’s arms. It only lasts for a moment, until he remembers the hate he has for Bruce. And he hates himself for going soft for just that moment.

He pulls out a smoke bomb from his belt and disappears before Bruce’s very eyes.

Months go past and Hood is mostly quiet, except for the few prevented robberies. Bruce doesn’t actively seek out Jason, or maybe he does idk doesn’t matter just at one point, Jason kills someone and it turns out they were being framed. Bruce knew this and captures the actual suspect and gets him arrested. News spreads about Hood’s kill streak was soured by murdering an innocent man.

A few days later, Jason shows up in the manor. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all. Bruce doesn’t say anything as he pulls him into a hug. Jason cries into his shoulder.

Bruce doesn’t let go.

But tbh I haven’t thought super hard about this. The motivations need to be figured out more. I just kinda like the thought of Jason trying to be morally better than Bruce to teach him a lesson.

[eicspossible]

teen snape defenders actually scare me because we all know snape. you've met him. i've met him. we've all had a snape. that piece of shit who says awful things about your other friends and makes you feel bad for being yourself and tries to control your life and disses everything about you while pretending they care. your "best friend". that's snape and it boggles my mind that there are people who can defend who he was to lily at all.

[eicspossible]

💬𓂃 ࣪˖. texts w/ 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 as your boyfriend .ᐟ

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 — some fluff with our best boy jaybird .ᐟ but through texts

— 💬 a/n: first time doing smau,, as an android user i unfortunately don’t have an app for this but if you guys have any recs let me know !

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓍯𓂃𓈒𓏸⭑˖ ࣪ DIRECTORY .ᐟ

. ... ,,, . ... . ꩜. .ᐟ.ᐟ. 🌷 . . . .

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[eicspossible]

James has a dimple on his right cheek btw

[eicspossible]

can we get possessive james too, please?

Sure, anon! Here's some secret relationship possessiveness (for a good cause)! Consider it a precursor to the jealous Lily fic I wrote earlier.

I'll also post this to my AO3 collection if you rather read it there!

“My contract is for a reserve chaser until next Spring, but the coach says I’m good for the official team as soon as I can.”

“Right,” Lily says, taking a big gulp of her butterbeer. From behind the bar, Rosmerta snickers and shoots her a teasing wink. Having fun?

No, not at all.

The boy who had introduced himself as Corbin Landon continues to corner her at the end of the bar, rattling on in some quidditch speak she doesn’t much understand or care for. Beside him, two empty bottles of butterbeer and a tumbler of firewhiskey sit empty, their influence making his eyes glassy and roaming.

“You said you’re in sixth year, right? What does that make you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Lily frowns, narrowing her eyes. He couldn’t be much older himself—no, he can’t be because she knows for a fact he graduated two years ago as a Hufflepuff. 

“Seventeen,” Lily says in a clipped voice. 

Corbin smiles, his gaze raking down her body to the muggle jumper and skirt she’d thrown on as a fluke. His eyes stall at the short hemline and he seems to do some serious butterbeer-logged mental maths to measure the exact distance he’d find her knickers if he went looking.

“Y’know. I’m in Hogsmeade for the weekend,” he slurs, stepping forward and placing a hand on the side of her waist. “They put us up in the little inn at the end of High Street. If you were interested in some fun, I’m sure the rest of the team would be willing to make room…we could find a nice bottle of Ogden’s and—”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, darling.”

As soon as Corbin’s hand drops from her waist, a more familiar one replaces it. Her head whips around, heart giving that playful swoop she can’t seem to shake no matter how many broom closets they’ve stuffed themselves in in the past month. 

James Potter smiles down at her, a telling eyebrow arching up into his messy hair. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, Alfred over at Spintwitches loves to faff around showing me all the newest models.” 

As natural as gravity itself, James leans down and ghosts his lips against her hairline. It’s not even close to the kind of intimacy they’ve shared with each other in the past twenty four hours, but the fact that it’s in public makes her whole body rattle. 

“Made a new friend then?” 

James juts out a hand towards Corbin, his smile more hostile than anything else. 

“James Potter.”

Corbin looks at James’ hand and follows the arm to the quidditch jersey and captain's badge that gleams on his chest. He reaches for his butterbeer.

“Corbin Landon.”

Around her waist, James fingers wiggle, finding the edge of her jumper and slipping under to press hot into her skin. It should worry her how much it lights up every part of her nervous system—the classic James Potter balancing act between playful, sensual, and safe. 

“Landon…Landon….” James muses, leaning his cheek against the side of Lily’s head. Suddenly, he perks up, the action pressing Lily even deeper into his chest. 

“Oh, that’s right! Corbin Landon! Hufflepuff! You made that dismal shot in the House Cup final a few years back—must have felt like real shit handing the win to Slytherin like that.”

Corbin stiffens, his cheeks going from ruddy to bright red in a matter of seconds. He darts his eyes from Lily back to James, all the sloppy sleaze now missing.

“Yeah well—“ Corbin stutters, debating his next words. 

“You realize your bird’s tromping around like a bloody prick tease?” Corbin spits, face twisting into anger. On her waist, James’ hand tightens but his face remains calm. 

“Can’t imagine you have much of a prick to tease, mate,” James says cooly. “Obviously, since you’re putting moves on Hogwarts’ students. That Cannon’s contract not working on the ladies then?”

It hits both her and Corbin at the same time. He’d been listening. 

Corbin stares at James open-mouthed. After some consideration and sizing up, he mumbles something under his breath and stocks off with his butterbeer, disappearing into the haze of Hogwarts’ students. 

“Sorry about that,” James says once Corbin’s out of sight,  He gives a sort of bashful smile. “I know it’s none of my business but it seemed like an emergency—you really do seem to attract some knobheads don’t you—me included in that, obviously.”

Lily scowls which makes James’ grin grow wider. It doesn’t go unnoticed that his hand remains firm against her skin. 

“Hey Evans?” 

Lily looks up. For the tough, cool guy act he just put on Corbin, the flush on his cheeks makes him look rather meek. 

“Would you…want to have a butterbeer with me? I know you aren’t very keen to take things between us public but—” James’ eyes drop to the hand still around her waist. 

“It feels kinda nice being with you…here.”

Something warm and precious blooms inside Lily’s chest, the room suddenly so much brighter and spacious. Not letting herself think too hard, she stands on her toes and presses a kiss into his cheek. 

“I’d be glad to,” she says, face hovering close to his. When her lips graze the shell of his ear, the hand against her waist gives a squeeze. 

“But remind me to properly thank you later,” she says, skirting her lips lightly over the side of his neck. She feels him shiver, a soft oh wafting from his open mouth.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate in public no matter the circumstances.”

[eicspossible]

Drawing request for @guess1mjustheren0w of sirius walking in on jily

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I found this on Pinterest (sadly it didn't said who the artist was) but hello??? I'm foaming at the mouth, I NEED to ride him lmao

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SABRINA CARPENTER performing at the Short n' Sweet Tour in Dublin (March 3, 2025)

[eicspossible]

lily evans who was always the outcast in her muggle town, nobody liked her, so how could james potter? the same james who pulled pranks and won every quidditch match he played. who had every girl head over heels.

but then he became the james who listened to her cry over petunia when everyone else was asleep, he made sure her tea was made just as she liked it, read books she’d mentioned just so they could talk about them together. and suddenly, it all made sense

[eicspossible]

summary: remus thought that you were way out of his league. but, to his own surprise, you're here to prove him wrong.

-> remus lupin x gn!reader, just remus yearning & pining, swearing (because, cmon, its remus), inspired by role model's song (with the same name), word count: 1,503

Remus first met you during one of his Herbology classes. Where you helped him with his trouble with the Venomous Tentacula plants. The teethy little bastards annoyed him to no extent—his words—but you had come to his aid and stunned them every time they tried to bite him. He really wanted to make it up to you then, but you insisted. And you never really crossed paths again.

Until James barged into their common room, with you following behind him. Remus noticed you immediately and his breath caught. Turns out James knew you, he had for a while. Ever since he was paired with you for a Charms homework. And you have apparently taught him how to make a flower crown. Which was why James traveled from the courtyard to his common room, just to show his friends the ones you both made.

Remus didn't exactly know how they got you to start hanging out with them. One day you just sat next to them during lunch, and now they’re adding you to every weekend plans that they have. Remus’ friends accepted your addition to the group as if it was just any other day. But for him, it felt quite a lot.

Not to sound like he doesn't like you, it's actually quite the opposite.

Remus could go on with a list about why you're the sweetest person he has ever met. But that’d be never ending, which is probably why he’s in his bed right now, moping to himself about why you just have to be so out of his league. And this was purely coming from after he saw you interacting with Amos Diggory. Even though he probably just asked you a question. Remus shivers at the thought, embarrassed by his own jealousy. He was barely even eating the chocolate you’d given him this morning, having lost the appetite.

Merlin, how did you get him to act like this? He wasn't even supposed to be this miserable so early in the month. And yet here he was curled up in his bed, hiding himself under his blanket, as he let his guilt eat him up. You did look comfortable talking to Amos, though. He wonders if you ever looked at him that way too. If you feel comfortable talking to him at all.

A whine emits from the back of his throat, as he buries his face on his pillows. He was fucked, definitely fucked. You’re too good for him, you deserve someone better. But then he didn't like the image of seeing you with somebody else. So what the fuck is wrong with him?

“Remus? Hey, Moons.” He hears James’ voice as he comes in, closing the door behind him. The curly haired boy comes into Remus’ view with a wide smile, which falters when he sees his friend looking like.. shit. “Woah, what’s gotten into you?” James sits down next to him, eyebrows furrowed, worried. Remus sighs, his mood completely shifted now that James is here. After all, it's hard to wallow in your self-pity when you’ve got company.

“Nothing, I just woke up. What’d you need?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James, I am quite certain.” Remus presses on, and James lifts his hands up in mock surrender. So, he starts talking about how he’s playing a board game with Sirius and Peter downstairs, and asks Remus if he wants to join. Which he originally said no to, but then James mentioned you’re also downstairs. So, now Remus is making his way down to the common room, following James’ steps.

Did he just spend the last couple of minutes crying about you? Yes.

Was he about to miss an opportunity to be with you? No.

Is he pathetic and a coward? Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely.

And turns out, the only way out of his miserable, depressing, and guilty state is you. You and the sweater you're wearing, that looks oddly similar to his. “Hi, Remus.” You smile once you see him—and it's so bright you might as well put the sun into shame—and he sits down next to you on the sofa.

You must’ve sensed that something's up with him, as you immediately rest your head on his shoulder. And he welcomes it, completely melting once you’re in near proximity. You don’t talk, you don't ask him any questions, you just sit there and offer him your comfort—silently. And maybe that’s just what Remus needs. A moment where he could turn his mind off, and don't let his thoughts consume him.

In a span of an hour, you managed to convince Remus to walk outside. And maybe it's just him trying to distract himself, but he’s pretty sure you might have Legilimency. Because why else would you take him to the Black Lake to see the sunset? If you didn’t know, he felt absolutely horrible? But, on a more serious note, you’ve always been spontaneous. And he likes that about you. Especially, when you pay attention to him so much that you know when things start to feel off.

Things like this, it makes him think if he really does have a chance with you or not.

“This is yours, by the way.” You admit, pulling on his sweater that you’re wearing while looking up at him, expectantly. And his eyes widened. “How?” He seems much more amused than you expected. “I was cold earlier, and this was the first thing Sirius gave me.” Remus raises his brow at the mention of Sirius’ name. “I asked him where he got it, and he said you let him borrow it.” Then you let out a laugh, finding it ridiculous. “Which I was suspicious about, but I didn’t ask him again.”

Fuck, Remus knew exactly why Sirius gave his sweater specifically to you.

“Looks like I have to talk to him about stealing my things.” You smile, glancing up at him and then down on the ground. He watches you kick a few pebbles to the lake, as a comfortable silence falls into you both. Then you say his name, and he hums, meeting your gaze once again.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” It's sudden, and he doesn't exactly know where it came from, but Remus appreciates your sentiment. More than so, when he finds your hand inching closer to his. And he’s never been brave enough to initiate the first move, yet here is, intertwining his hand with yours.

“Is this alright?” Remus whispers, voice coated with uncertainty. He’s already bracing himself to pull away, expecting the worst. But you tighten your hold, pulling him closer to you. “More than alright.” You assure him, lifting the weight off his shoulders. And he thinks this is the most convinced he’s been that he might have a chance with you. Because, all this time—as pathetic as it sounded—he would only wish for something to happen.

So, what if he did sneak into the Divination classroom, and tried to look into a crystal ball to see if there’s a future with the both of you together? He was desperate! Okay? He wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for the nagging voice inside his mind.

But it seems that he no longer has to come up with such desperate measures. As the universe presents with something more interesting. “Can I tell you something, Remus?” You ask, and he nods his head in response.

“I’ve liked you for so long. And this isn't exactly how I imagined I’d tell you–”

“You like me?”

He didn't really mean to interrupt you, but his mind may have short circuited the moment he heard the words ‘I like you’ . You look at him, baffled as to why he’s acting like this is a new discovery. Which it is, for him.

“Wait. You didn't know?” He shakes his head, and you cover your mouth in surprise. “How come? I thought I’d made it so obvious?” You really did think so. I mean, you’re wearing his sweater for Merlin’s sake! But, typical Remus, he’d rather assume the worst than ever think you had the same intentions as him.

“There might’ve been, uhm, some slight issues with the transmission, perhaps?”

“You mean you really didn't have a clue?” He nods his head, and you can't help the sudden laugh that comes out of you. “Did you tell James or Sirius?” Remus asks, and you nod your head. “I told both of them.” He gawks at you, before looking away to run a hand through his hair, currently in distress.

“Is that bad? That I only found out about it now?” You shake your head, things were already going the different direction, anyway.

“No, not at all.”

Maybe this isn't how the both of you expected for things to go. Remus thought you’d never like him back, but here he is pulling you closer after you just told him otherwise. And he felt the strong urge to really make it up to you this time.

marauders era masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[eicspossible]

so i did this redraw of my old art with marauders in a band!au. made this for tiktok and now i’m scared that nobody will see it and i spent like 20 hours doing this so… yeah. i’m trying to get back into the fandom so i’ll appreciate any kind of attention here!! 🐺⭐️

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Just imagine how much helicopter parenting Lily and James would do if they had survived being in hiding.

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Lily could’ve asked James to jump into the black lake in winter and he would’ve swan dived in without hesitation and asked if she wanted a fish.

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1) hc for lily first realizing she rly likes james and what she does

2) sapphic jilypad?

1. i think it'd be something rlly stupid tbh. like this hc is based on my oneshot about mia & monty's get together, but i think its cute. so like end of 6th year, her & james are now friends & she thinks he's over his crush on her & they're just purely platonic. & then she's there in the stands as gryffindor loses a quidditch match & james is extremely pissed off & mopey about it. she waits for him outside the changing rooms, bcs their friends. even tho none of their other mates are waiting with her, & he comes out, still all mopey & he comes over to her, tells her in an extremely heartbroken voice "we lost" & then tucks head on her shoulder & she hugs him. & then he proceeds to lift his head up after a few moments, eyes widening, & just. asks her how her test in arithmancy went. & she's just suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that she fancies him badly. turns a bright red, which he questions but she deflects, & proceeds to let him know she's going to let gryffindor have a party to forget about their loss. he gets a bit less mopey at that, & they walk back to the castle together, james rambling & lily staring at him & then turning away & then staring again, etc as she just thinks "oh fuck oh fuck i like james. fuck"

2. i LOVE sapphic jilypad. been thinking about them a lot bcs i have a genderbent sorority au where they happen (with marlene also involved tho. at first. stuff happens & it'll prob be endgame jilypad & dorlene). but anyway. sapphic jilypad <333 i can see it a variety of ways but bcs i'm working on that specific au rn, i do see it as butch sirius & femme james & lily. they'd be so messy. and also hot. james&sirius aren't usually, to me, but genderbent???? 🫶🫶🫶 (sorry i'm a lesbian). um anyway, queer bestfriendship james&sirius & the girl james gets with that sirius wants to hate but can't find herself doing bcs lily is just so fucking likeable & he can't help becoming friends with her.

[eicspossible]

jason todd x fem!reader

── .✦ angst

[jason’s hurtful words lead you to leave for a couple days]

long story — [7k word count]

second person writing / edited-ish

*.ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you don’t even remember what started it.

maybe it was the late nights. the blood on his knuckles. the way he shut you out like a slammed door every time something bothered him. maybe it was the way you kept asking, over and over, “are you okay?” and getting that practiced silence in return. or maybe it was you. wanting too much. needing answers he wasn’t ready to give.

It starts with the quiet. the kind that creeps in before the thunder hits. jason walks in, his jacket soaked with rain and something darker. his eyes avoid yours. you’re used to it, but tonight something in you snaps. “did you kill anyone yet?” you ask. not because you want to accuse him. but because you have to know.

he stiffens. “what the hell kind of question is that?”

you don’t back down. “a serious one. because I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what you’re doing out there.”

jason tosses his helmet on the counter with a loud clatter. “don’t start this.”

“no, you don’t get to tell me when I start. you come home covered in blood, you don’t talk to me, you shut me out—”

“because it’s none of your business!” he snaps.

that stings. you feel it in your chest, sharp and immediate.

“I am your business, jason. or am I just something you keep around to feel normal?”

he laughs—bitter, cold. “don’t flatter yourself.” —silence.

you blink. his words hit you like a slap, and he knows it. he flinches for a second. just one. but he doesn’t take it back. you try to keep your voice steady. “so that’s what I am? just… convenient?”

he doesn’t answer. you’re waiting for him to say no. to soften. to say he didn’t mean it. instead, he mutters, “you knew what this was. don’t act like you didn’t sign up for it.”

that’s the thing. you did know. you knew loving jason todd would mean long nights, fear gnawing at your ribs, and blood on his knuckles when he kissed you goodnight. but what you didn’t sign up for was being invisible.

“I didn’t sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” you say, standing now, voice rising. “I didn’t sign up for being ignored, for being lied to. you don’t talk to me, jason. you just disappear.”

jason scoffs. “and what, I should be reporting in every five minutes? you want a boyfriend or a lapdog?”

your heart aches, but you don’t back down. “i want you. the version of you that lets me in. the one that doesn’t shut down and push me away every time something gets hard.”

“I don’t need you to fix me!” he shouts, voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need your sympathy or your constant hovering. you think loving me gives you the right to pry into every dark corner of my life?”

you stare at him, stunned. “It’s not prying when I’m trying to help jay..”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he barks. “god, you’re so damn exhausting. always needing something. always complaining. maybe I’d be better off without you dragging me down all the time.”

you stare at him like you’re seeing someone else entirely. “you’re a coward.” — wrong thing to say.

jason steps forward, eyes burning. “you think I’m the coward? you sit here in your nice little apartment, judging me like you’re above it all. you don’t know what it’s like out there. you couldn’t last a week in my world.”

“and yet I’ve been trying for months!” you shout, your voice breaking. “but you don’t care. you never really let me in. you just wanted someone to come home to—someone who didn’t ask too many questions.”

“you think you’re some kind of savior?” he sneers. “you’re not. you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

you stop. you feel it crack right there—something fragile and important inside you. “i didn’t want to fix you,” you whisper. “ i just wanted you to let me in.”

he scoffs. “then you wanted too much.” and that’s it. a finial look into jason’s eyes of any hint of regret— nothing. just pure frustration and anger. a weight in your heart dragging you towards the door. no dramatic exit. no final scream. just you walking past him, grabbing your bag, and shutting the door behind you.

at first, jason doesn’t move he doesn’t feel much of anything, honestly. just numb. tired. angry in that hollow way that doesn’t have a target anymore. he just stands there, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again. It always does.

you always come back. — he grabs a beer from the fridge. sits on the couch. flips on the TV. something violent and loud, because silence feels like guilt.

hours pass. no call. no message.

he scrolls through his phone. no unread texts. he opens your thread—nothing. his fingers hover over the keyboard, then stop. he locks the phone and throws it on the table.

then he starts thinking about what he said. really thinking.

“you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

the way your face changed. he remembers the silence right before you walked out, how final it felt. and something cold settles in his chest. it’s been almost 4 hours since you left.

he starts pacing. that tight feeling in his chest creeps in like smoke under a door. his palms feel clammy. he’s sweating. his vision is narrowing. he can’t think. — you didn’t come back.

you always come back. “shit,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “shit, shit—”

the room feels like it’s closing in. the walls are too close, the ceiling too low, like everything’s pressing down on him at once. he can’t breathe. his knees buckle, and he slides down against the wall, gasping for air, chest heaving like he’s drowning. his hands shake. his throat burning.

he didn’t mean it. — of course he didn’t mean it. you’re not convenient..you’re the only thing that’s kept him afloat. you’re the light he pretends he doesn’t need but clings to in the dark.

and now you’re gone. the words he threw at you, the venom he spit out just to win a fight, ring louder than the silence you left behind. he says your name into the empty apartment. once. then again. then louder. like if he says it enough, you’ll hear him. — but you don’t. and now the silence is unbearable.

he can’t breathe. now It’s been five hours since you left, and jason’s chest is on fire. not the kind that comes from bruised ribs or a bullet wound—he knows that pain. he’s good with that pain. this is worse. this is panic. helplessness.—this was worse kind of hurt because it doesn’t bleed.

his phone is clutched so tight in his hand, his knuckles have gone white. he stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts again. he’s already called five times.

no answer. — just the sound of your dumb voicemail message, cheerful and playful and now completely soul-crushing. “haii! Its (y/n), im sorry i missed your call! im not home right now! but i can take a message… let me grab a pencil…hm okay! what would you like me to tell me?” it used to make him smile. now it makes him sick. he hits redial.

one ring.

two.

three.

voicemail. — again. again. again.

he runs both hands through his hair, dragging his fingers hard through the strands like maybe pain will wake him up. like maybe this isn’t real. like maybe you’re still coming home, keys jingling, saying his name like you do when you’re trying not to smile. but the apartment is dead quiet. and it smells like rain and blood and something fading.

“pick up,” he mumbles to no one. “please (y/n).. please just pick up.” he calls again. and again.

his hands are shaking now, so bad he nearly drops the phone. his mind is running circles around itself—what if something happened? what if she didn’t look crossing the street? what if someone followed her? what if she’s hurt?—and he can’t shut it off. his heart is pounding too loud in his ears, drowning out reason. he stands up fast, then stumbles forward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. everything’s spinning.

he opens your location on his phone. nothing.

either you turned it off or the battery’s dead. or worse. his brain fills in the blanks faster than he can stop it. “goddammit,” he breathes, slamming his hand down on the counter. the sound echoes in the empty room.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to yell, slam a door, crash on the couch, and by morning everything would be fine. that’s how it’s always gone. you fight, you cool off, you come back. you always come back.

but not tonight. tonight, you left like you meant it.

and jason realizes—too late—that he pushed you harder than he ever had. too far. past the point of no return. past the point where an “I’m sorry” could fix it. he scrolls to your name again.

calls. again. “haii it’s (y/n)! im sorry i mi—” he shuts his eyes and grips the phone like he could tear it in half. your voice is soft, light, untouched by the mess he made. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to curl in on himself and disappear.

you’re gone. and you’re ignoring him. that’s what finally breaks something inside him.

because jason todd—red hood, vigilante, killer, survivor—can handle almost anything. bullets. torture. death. — but he could not handle being ignored by the one person who made him feel human.

he sinks down against the wall again, chest heaving, lungs burning. his phone slips out of his hand, landing face-up on the floor, screen still lit up with your contact. a tiny, cruel reminder: your not picking up. you don’t want to talk to him.

his mouth is dry. he tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like it’s too shallow. like he’s not getting enough air. his arms wrap around his knees. he’s shaking. his thoughts are racing.

‘she’s not coming back. you blew it. you pushed too hard. you said too much. she hates you. she should hate you. why would she come back after that?’ he doesn’t know how long he sits there like that—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. All he knows is the silence. and your stupid voicemail. and the gnawing, tearing fear that he might’ve lost the only good thing left in his life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says aloud, as if the room cares. as if his regrets can travel through walls and streetlights and find their way to wherever you are. “I didn’t mean any of it.” but the universe doesn’t answer.

he pulls himself off the ground. head still spinning, he can’t keep sitting around for you. he needs to find you. the air outside hits him sharp and cold, but it doesn’t clear his head. the city is still dark, the streets damp with leftover rain. his helmet is in his bag. he doesn’t wear it. doesn’t need it. he’s not red hood right now— he’s just jason. — and jason’s falling apart.

he makes his way through the city on his motorcycle, his mind endlessly searching for you. stopping when he even sees a glimpse of someone with your same hairstyle. everything reminding him of you. he feels hopeless knowing how huge gotham is, even more so how dangerous it is.

he ultimately decides to stop at some of your favorite places, maybe to soothe him with precious memories. he knows it’s to early in the morning for most of these places to be open, but he needs to check. needs to try anyways.

his first stop was a café. your favorite locally owned coffee shop, where you two became regulars. it was a small business, on a strip walk between a laundromat and boutique. — the coffee’s always too strong and the chairs wobble if you don’t sit just right. you loved that place.

he memorized your order. it was always the same thing everytime you came here— your order barely changed. — the smell of coffee, occasionally tea on ur breath, he was craving to kiss your lips just to taste your order again.

jason stands across the street for a second. the lights are off. homemade “closed” sign hangs crooked in the window.

he still walks up. presses his hand to the door like it might open. It doesn’t. he presses his palms to the glass, looking in

your spot is empty. the corner table by the window where you used to sit and steal sips of his coffee when you swore you didn’t want one. where your eyes would crinkle when you laughed, lips covered in foam you never noticed until he wiped it away. he stands there, remembering the time you convinced him to try that stupid seasonal drink with cinnamon and syrup and something else sweet that he pretended to hate—but secretly liked, because you liked it.

he thought if he came here, maybe you’d be sitting there again. your beautiful eyes locked in a book he’d recommend while eating a pastry. but there’s nothing. only cold glass and silence and now an emotional memory.

he sits on the bench outside and closes his eyes, trying to summon your laugh. where you are the happiest, and he remembers your smile when he took you to his favorite library.

it became a sacred place for you to. both calm and quiet while enjoying each-others company. so that was his next stop.

the library.

not a big, fancy one. no marble columns or quiet rules. this one’s cramped, unknown, smelling of dust and secondhand pages. you loved it for its charm—for the creaky floors and mismatched chairs and the old man behind the desk who always smiled when he saw you.

jason picks the lock with trembling fingers. slides through the back door like a ghost. third floor. far left corner. your nook.

he stares at the armchair you always claimed, the stack of dog-eared romance novels that you teased him with—the window seat you used when the weather was just right and the sun poured in like liquid gold. he walks through the aisle, trailing his fingers along the spines of books you once handed him. he can almost hear your voice echo in the stillness.

walking around until he was in the aisle where he first met you. making his eyes burn, to many memories flooding in his head— where he tried so desperately to be cool in front of you, and staring at you from afar admiring how divine your presence felt. — jason reading all the books he thought you’d like before even knowing you and putting his name in the checkout card. and watching your face light up from seeing his name once again. giving him the courage to go and talk to you.

a tear burning his cheek, he puts his head down feeling ashamed of pushing you away when memories like these made him feel alive again.

jason left the library, riding off having the city district him. he rides for a while thinking of any more possibilities. he was about to run out of gas and just decides he needs to take a walk anyways— and when he gets off his bike, he notices he’s at a familiar park — It’s further out, away from the main drag, quiet enough that the chaos of gotham doesn’t touch it. you both used to go there when things got loud—inside his head, inside the world.

It’s mostly empty, just a jogger in the distance and birds rustling in the trees. jason walks the winding path slowly, like a man retracing his own history — here—this is where you tripped over your own feet and he caught you, both of you laughing like kids. over there is the tree you climbed and got stuck in, yelling at him between laughs while he pretended he wouldn’t help you down. there’s a bench under the big oak tree. you kissed him there for the first time. real, honest, vulnerable. no masks, no walls. just lips and nerves and something too tender to say out loud.

he passes through more bench where you sat one night, eyes puffy, telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else. and he’d wrapped his jacket around you and promised—promised—he’d never be the one to hurt you.

he sits down there now, gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles go white. — “i lied,” he whispers to no one, his voice strained. becoming angry with himself.

but there was still no sign of you.. and so he knew despite it all he had a couple more places to check. his mind became desperate. he heads where he should’nt, hoping you’re not there. he still had to check— ‘the narrows’ — ‘ park row ‘ — ‘crime ally ‘

he checks alleyways where addicts linger and criminals circle like vultures. every step, he begs he won’t find you there. But he has to check. has to know. he’s on a rampage now, eyes wild, heart racing. he gets in a guy’s face just for looking at him too long. knocks someone out cold when they make a comment about “that girl he used to walk with.”

he checks rooftops. alleys. places you shouldn’t be, but maybe are. places where bad things happen. — places he belongs, not you. he asks around. no one’s seen you. and those who know who he is don’t dare lie. — still nothing. jason’s a mess—bloodshot eyes, raw knuckles, unshaven. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years instead of just a night.

and then — “jason?”

jason turns around. it’s dick.

“jason?” dick calls, landing on the fire escape in full nightwing gear. “what the hell are you doing back in this part of town?”

jason doesn’t answer at first.

dick jumps down in front of him, blocking his path. “jay—hey. talk to me.” — “I messed up,” jason says hoarsely.

dick blinks. “with…?”

jason swallows hard. “(y/n)... she left. and she’s not answering. It’s been hours. I’ve checked everywhere. the café, the library, that damn park. nothing. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I just—I said too much. I said shit I didn’t mean and now she’s just… gone.— dick, i can’t breathe.”

dick moves quickly, placing a hand on jason’s shoulder. “hey. breathe. look at me.” jason meets his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. then: “alright. sit down.” dick says guiding him to sit on a nearby stoop.

jason does. because for once, he has nothing left to fight with.

“you love her?” dick asks, voice low. jason nods without thinking, like it’s a reflex. “then tell her. find her and tell her. but not like this. you’re spiraling.”

“I can’t stop,” jason whispers. “every second she’s not answering, I keep thinking she’s hurt. that it’s my fault. that I broke her. I can’t even hear her voice without thinking of what I did.”

dick sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “you didn’t break her. you pushed her away. that’s different. and maybe you don’t get to fix it. but you sure as hell don’t stop trying. not until she tells you to.” jason looks at him. “and if she never does?” — “then you mourn. but not until you know for sure.”

jason’s quiet for a long time. watching gotham pass by with his brother “never give up jay, i believe in you” and jason stands up, continuing his search.

but he doesn’t find you.

he checks safehouses. rooftops. he climbs halfway up wayne tower before turning around because he knows you wouldn’t go there.— by the time the sun rises, his hands are shaking.

his head is pounding. his legs feel like lead. and you’re still gone.

he stumbles home like a ghost. kicks off his boots. sinks to the floor. doesn’t even make it to the couch. just sits there.

and stares at the door. It never opens.

three days pass.

no texts. no calls. not even a read receipt.

jason doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. barely moves. the apartment is dead quiet except for the occasional replay of your voicemail, like he’s torturing himself on purpose. by the fourth morning, he can’t take it anymore.

he grabs his bag and heads to wayne manor.

bruce meets him at the batcomputer. he doesn’t ask why jason’s there. just takes one look at him—pale, tired, shaking, blood shot eyes — and knows. “use whatever you need,” bruce says softly, walking away.

jason nods, throat tight. while the system loads, alfred appears at his side with a quiet sigh and a fresh mug of coffee and a blanket. he doesn’t speak right away.

then, gently, “would you like to talk about it, master jason?”

jason’s jaw clenches. he shakes his head, but then his voice breaks. “I ruined it.” a lump in his throat, looking at alfred.

alfred sets the coffee and blanket down and pulls him into a hug without a word. just strong, steady arms and that grounding kind of warmth jason hasn’t let himself feel in years. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers.

alfred holds him tighter. “you start with the truth. then you wait. and if she’s worth it—and I suspect she is—you never stop.” jason nods against his shoulder

and for the first time in days, he lets himself cry. sobbing into the older man’s shoulder releasing all the pent up sadness and anger he kept inside for days. “I’ve cleaned blood off your boots, patched holes in your uniform, and stayed up more nights than I can count wondering if you’d make it back. but what worries me most… is how quick you are to believe you don’t deserve good things.. ” he said rubbing jason’s back soothing him, letting himself cry. “i love her so much, alfred— I don’t know how to hold on to good things without breaking them.” jason hiccups “it hurts how much i love her”

and they stay like that for a while, talking about jason’s feelings and what happened causing you to walk away. alfred listening and making him eat and drink to get something in his system. jason slowly getting tired, the comfort he craved slowing his brain down. alfred replacing you for a little while.

you always comforted jason, your touch melted him into a different man. you were his safe place and made him feel completely loved. the unconditional love he never felt before, ‘she’ll come back..’ - ‘ she’s okay, she’s safe’ — he kept repeating to himself, trying any possible way to soothe himself — jason became tried once again, but this time he was willing to sleep. he slept next to the computer, with the blankets alfred placed over him. he got a couple hours in until he woke up, a reminder of what happened.

now five days have gone by—

the coordinates come in just after midnight.

a quiet ping from the batcomputer—courtesy of a city-wide search bruce helped set up. jason had loaded every street cam, signal ping, and facial recognition tool he could, but deep down, he hadn’t really believed he’d find anything.

until now. a small rental apartment in the east end. under a friend’s name. you hadn’t left the city—you’d just gone off the grid. he finally found what he was looking for.

the screen flickered, and your image appeared in the facial recognition software. jason’s heart dropped as he studied the image that was pulled from surveillance footage. your face, usually full of life and fire, looked hollow. the light in your eyes were dimmer than he remembered, like you’d been carrying an unbearable weight for far too long.

your skin was pale, darker circles under your eyes indicating sleepless nights and too many tears shed. lips, once always curled into a small, knowing smile, were now pressed into a thin line. the fight had drained you, and he could see it in every inch of your face.

the camera hadn’t caught the vulnerability posture, but jason knew. you weren’t just physically tired—you were emotionally worn out. the woman he loved wasn’t the same one who had walked out five days ago. this woman, this (y/n), looked like someone who had been pushing through the world alone, all the weight of her pain carried on her shoulders.

he gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the screen, his chest tightening. guilt, sorrow, and a deep sense of regret clawed at him. he had to find her. he had to make things right before it was too late.

he reads the address three times to be sure, then grabs his helmet and jacket and is out the manor doors before bruce can say a word. he jumps on his motorcycle and starts the engine, the loud sound of his tires screeching in the cave as he raced out to find you. he was lighting on the road, dangerously weaving in and out of cars, adrenaline of seeing you alive making him rush even more.

then he makes it to your location. his feet on the pavement, one flight of stairs, then two. his heart is a riot in his chest. his hands are sweating, shaking, cold. an a rush of anxiety washes over him.

what if you slam the door in his face?

what if you don’t even open it?

what if you’re gone again?

what if you don’t want to see him?

but he still knocks. soft at first. then harder.

he hears the lock click. the door creaks open a few inches. you stand there in sweats your friend let you have, eyes puffy, hair lazily in your face like you stopped caring how you looked days ago. and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

your eyes widen when you see him. and that’s all it takes. jason breaks down.

his legs give out. he drops to his knees like something inside him finally caved in. and before he can even stop himself, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your stomach, sobbing. not the angry kind. not the kind that comes with yelling and fists through walls.

the kind that’s quiet and raw and scared. the kind that says thank god you’re alive and I’m sorry and I missed you all at once. he was relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean it, I was angry, I didn’t know how to say it right, I—god, I thought I lost you—” you freeze. shock, sadness and joy all overwhelming your head. your hands hover for a second, unsure, still hurt, wondering if this is a dream or not.

but then they come down gently, slowly, fingers threading through his hair as you hold him against you. your voice is quiet. “jason…” a melody to his ears.

he can barely speak. “I looked everywhere. I thought something happened. I thought—god, I thought maybe I deserved it. maybe you were better off without me. — I’ve never been this scared in my life.” you listen to him, his words muffled into your stomach. as he plants small kisses in between each sentence— his words rambling and gasping in-between for breaths. “baby.. come here.”

you helped him stand up and stared at his face. “I was angry,” you admit. “you hurt me.” — “i know.. i never wanted to hurt you.”

he leans into you like he needs your heartbeat to breathe.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I keep ruining everything good in my life. I say the wrong thing. I push too hard. I scare people off. and then when I finally realize what I’ve done, it’s too late.” you pull back just enough to make him look at you. — his eyes are red. wet. desperate.

“you didn’t scare me off,” you whisper. “you hurt me. but I left because I didn’t want to say something I’d regret. I needed time.”

jason swallows. “you should’ve. said something worse. hit me. I deserved it.” — “you don’t get to decide what you deserve, jason. I do.”

a beat. “and I still choose you.” he exhales a breath that sounds like a sob.

his eyes are rimmed red, exhausted, glassy with the tears he’s still trying to keep at bay.

“I went everywhere. the café, the library—the park,” he continues, his arms tightening like he thinks you might slip away again. “every place we made a memory. every place that still smells like you. I kept thinking, maybe I could find one more piece of us that wasn’t broken yet.— I needed to find you. I was losing it, sweetheart. I checked alleys. dangerous places. I—fuck, I was hoping I didn’t find you there but I had to check. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to see you. to say I’m sorry. to fix it.”

you nod slowly, listening to him. watching the way he talked.

“I knew I took it too far, even when I said it,” jason continues, clutching you tighter. “I was mad at the world, not you. but I threw it all at you because I knew you’d still love me, and that makes me the worst kind of person.”

you press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “not a single word. I was angry and afraid and so fucking overwhelmed that I—” his voice cracks. “I lashed out. at the one person who loves me the most. and when you left, I knew. I knew I deserved it.”

you stare at him for a moment. because your silence isn’t punishment—it’s your own unraveling. choosing your next words — “you said I was just a distraction,” you whisper finally, voice shaking despite how hard you try to steady it. “that I make things worse for you. that I don’t understand you, and maybe never will.”

jason flinches. physically recoils at the words he remembers far too well. the words that have been haunting him for the past few days.

you swallow, continuing. “you didn’t just lash out, jason. you hit where you knew it would hurt. you said things I’ve been afraid of ever since we met.”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers again, desperate. “god, if I could tear the words out of the air and bury them, I would. I would’ve rather taken a bullet than see you walk out that door. I just—” he breathes in deep. “I’m not good with… emotions. with fear. and losing you? that’s the scariest thing in the world to me...”

you nod slowly. “you self-destruct.”— he presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut. “yeah. and I took you down with me.”

silence stretches again, but it’s different now. heavy, but not hostile. like the fog after a storm. “I wasn’t leaving forever,” you whisper. “I just needed time. space. I needed to remember who I was outside of what you said.”

running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, jason. that didn’t change. but you hurt me. bad. I will never stop loving you. i will always come back to you— I needed to know I could still choose to come back on my terms. not because you begged. not because you were falling apart. but because I wanted to.”

his arms tighten around you again, and for the first time since last night, his tears start to fall freely. once again. no restraint. no pride. just a man drowning in his own grief, relieved to be seen, still loved despite everything.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into your shoulder, his voice small and shaky.

“no,” you say gently. “but you have me. and that means doing better.” and you both stand there for a while. two exhausted people wrapped around each other like maybe the world will stop spinning if you just stay still long enough.

after a while, you hold out your hand. “come inside.” and he does.

the apartment is small, quiet. the kind of place that smells like lavender and old books and something that’s just you. jason steps inside like he’s walking on glass—like the walls might collapse if he breathes too hard.

you close the door behind him. lock it gently. like you’re not locking him out, but keeping the world away.

neither of you says much as you move to the small couch in the living room. he follows you, slow, cautious. sits on the edge like he doesn’t deserve the whole cushion. like if he gets too comfortable, you might change your mind and tell him to leave.

you notice the way he keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. the way his knee’s bouncing, nervous. his shoulders are curled in, defensive, like he’s ready to run the second you flinch.

finally, you break the quiet. “why are you sitting like you’re afraid I’m gonna hit you?” jason freezes.

you don’t say it to hurt him. you say it softly. genuinely. because you see it—the hesitation, the fear, the way he’s pulling away without moving an inch.

he exhales. “because I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”

“you think being quiet is safer?”

he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s safe with you anymore. I keep playing every version of this in my head—if I say too much, if I touch you too soon, if I breathe the wrong way—maybe you’ll walk out again.”

you shift toward him slowly. “I didn’t leave to scare you.”

“I know.” he finally meets your gaze. “but it scared me anyway.”

you nod. “and now you’re trying not to want anything.” he doesn’t answer. “jason, you’re allowed to want me.”

his breath catches. you reach out, gently covering his hand with yours. he looks at the contact like it might vanish.

“you’re not scaring me off,” you say, voice soft but sure. “you’re hurting. and so am I. but I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t forget all the good just because of one night.”

jason’s voice is raw when he answers. “It was more than one night. I’ve been shutting you out for weeks. I didn’t let you in when you were trying. I turned everything into a war when you just wanted peace.”

“yeah. you did.” he flinches. “but,” you continue, tightening your grip on his hand, “you came back. you searched for me. you let yourself fall apart. that means something to me, and im sorry too. i didn’t intend on being away this long. i just felt so lost” he closes his eyes, jaw clenching.

“i’ve never felt this afraid,” he murmurs. “not even when I died.” you squeeze his hand.

“I’m not good at soft,” he admits. “I can be violent, I can be angry, I can be the guy who kicks in doors and breaks bones. but being… gentle? I don’t know how to do that without thinking I’ll screw it up.” you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“you’re being gentle right now.” he nods, barely. and for the first time since that fight, he lets his hand curl into yours. not tight. just enough.

enough to say I want this.

enough to say I still love you.

he presses his lips to your temple, hesitant at first, then lingering. not hungry. not desperate. just present.

“i love you eternally jason, im sorry too, i’m truly sorry for walking away.”

“i love you so much (y/n), so.. so much it’s a unbearable pain i never want to let go of. you are my heart.. my soul.. my person”

he pressed kisses on your hand inbetween words. whispering softly to you, sweet nothings. just wanting to cherish you. “i cried to alfred, cried like some damn kid and I was just—gone. full-on sobbing in his arms like I was ten again.”

(y/n)’s eyes softened, reaching out but letting him keep going.

“I told him everything. told him I screwed up. told him I was scared you’d leave for good. and he just… held me, made me miss your touch.— i’m still sorry,” he whispers

“I know,” you say. “i am too jay”

the two of you sit there, wrapped in the silence that used to hurt—but now, maybe, it’s just healing in disguise. you pulled jason in to cuddle him. he wraps his hands around your body. feeling fortunate to have you, to touch you, to kiss you. he hasn’t been able to breathe normally since you left, but now his chest feels lifted. he’s calmer and exhausted. he can tell you were too. he rubs your body while kissing all over you until he knows your asleep in his arms. watching you sleep so peacefully puts him at ease, helping him drift off into a wonderful slumber he’s been dreaming about for the past five days.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

ahhh :3 i couldn’t do a sad ending— i was going to!!, but he’s been out through to much already!! haha

hope u enjoyed!! im trying out different writing, angst is one im not the best ask but i like trying! it feels repetitive sometimes :p

have a good day / night!! xx

[eicspossible]

single dad!James Potter x fem!reader meet cute ✿ 752 words

cw: fem reader, single dad James, Lily is James' ex wife though she's not mentioned by name, James panicking because he loses Harry

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James is panicking.

He can’t find Harry.

This has never happened before. James proudly considers himself an overprotective father, constantly hovering. And Harry, his precious boy, is usually very good about staying by his side. Especially in busy places like this. 

James begins looking around frantically. The park is busier than usual today, because of course it is, and there are so many children running around that James feels as though he’s playing the world’s most terrifying version of Where’s Waldo. 

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He can’t figure out what the hell he is going to tell his ex-wife when he finally spots Harry’s dark hair and bright green dinosaur jacket by the pavilion. Bless Harry for being obsessed with the most brightly colored piece of fabric in his closet. 

James runs. He’s over to Harry in two seconds flat, pressing him to his body. 

“Harry James Potter, you know better than to run off like that!” James scolds his son, pulling back to look down at the smaller, almost identical version of himself. Harry looks sheepish, shuffling on his feet before his little voice speaks up.

“Cake.” Harry says simply, his tiny hand reaching out to gesture at the table in front of him. James’ heart still feels like it is trying to jump into his throat, and he takes a few breaths as he looks between his son and the table he’s gesturing to. The cake. And you.

He suddenly feels a bit embarrassed, though he knows he shouldn’t be. He grabs Harry’s hand gently and looks back over to you. You stand by the table, icing-covered plastic knife in hand and an empathetic look in your eyes.  

“I am so sorry” James is scrambling to recover from this situation. He suddenly becomes entirely too aware of his surroundings. There are children running around the pavilion, screaming loudly and throwing things. There are balloons, presents, and just as Harry said, cake. You’re serving cake at a child’s party, and Harry, lovely Harry, just wanted a piece of cake.

He turns to tell Harry that it is impolite to ask for food from an event he hasn’t been invited to, but your voice stops him before he can even fully turn to look down at his son. 

“It’s alright” You tell the two of them with a bright smile and a sweet, kind voice. You grab a plate, cutting off a piece for Harry before handing it to him with a plastic fork. Harry’s face brightens, a wide grin appearing on his lips, showing off his missing tooth. You smile back at the young boy, and at his father too, who seems to be staring at you with a soft look in his eyes.

“Thank you.” James manages to say after a moment. He clears his throat, glancing at Harry as he sits down at a table nearby to eat his cake. His gaze returns to you, dark eyes moving over your features. You’re pretty. “I’m sorry if we’ve, uh- interrupted your birthday party.”

You shrug off his words with another kind smile, “It’s not my party, I’m just the aunt who serves cake.” Your head turns back to Harry for a moment, then your eyes return to James where he stands in front of you like a lovestruck fool.

“Would you… like a piece of cake?” You ask him. 

“I would.” James says with a nod. He watches as you cut him a slice, putting it on a plastic plate. Your hands brush as he grabs the plate from you, and he visibly hesitates as soon as the plate is fully in his hand.

“I’m James.” He tells you, free hand reaching up to press his glasses up his nose. “And my son is Harry.”

“Hi, James.” You greet him, and you tell him your name too. James repeats it back and butterflies erupt in your stomach at his velvety voice. He glances back at Harry, and once again hesitates right as he moves to go take a seat by his son, whose face is already covered in icing. 

“Would you… want to sit with us?” James asks, always one to be direct and forward. He gestures toward his son’s picnic table with a tilt of his head. 

You aren’t expecting the offer, if your look of surprise is anything to go by. But it turns into a shy smile, and you place the plastic knife down on the table by the cake.

“I would love to, James.”

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© prettydaisygirl

[eicspossible]

lily evans who was always the outcast in her muggle town, nobody liked her, so how could james potter? the same james who pulled pranks and won every quidditch match he played. who had every girl head over heels.

but then he became the james who listened to her cry over petunia when everyone else was asleep, he made sure her tea was made just as she liked it, read books she’d mentioned just so they could talk about them together. and suddenly, it all made sense