The Alchemy Vol. I
The Alchemy vol. I
jason todd x fem!reader
aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood
vol II
warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence
Dear fuck, he’s as heavy as he looks.
You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized you’d have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.
Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all.
Thankfully you don’t have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.
You take a step back, hands out in front of you. “Hey, it’s alright.”
“Who are you?” His voice is interrogative.
You put your hands down, “You’re the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question it’s me.”
He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.
Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesn’t move. “You just looked like you needed some help..”
His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.
He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. “You got any bandages?”
“Uh, I—yeah, yeah, I do.” You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect he’ll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water.
When you return, he’s moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than you’d have hoped for.
“Can I?” You ask, motioning to his injury.
He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.
You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. It’s a cut, it doesn’t look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.
You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.
He’s very still as you work, and you get the strong impression he’s watching you carefully.
You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. “This’ll sting.”
He grunts.
You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t move his gaze from you for a second.
You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure there’s no bleedthrough.
And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.
You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at him—at his helmet.
You don’t know how you can tell, but he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, you’re eager to escape the gaze.
You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, “I didn’t take off your helmet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
There’s a short beat.
“Do I seem like someone that worries often?”
You peek your head out of the bathroom door.
You look at him. “You seem like someone that doesn’t worry enough.”
He snorts. “You’re not far off.”
You make your way back once you’re done, looking at the disregarded meal you’d been interrupted from. “I have pasta if you…eat.”
“I do.”
“I can go in the other room if you—”
He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. He’s left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you would’ve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Okay then.
You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.
You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.
This guy kills people, right?
You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesn’t show the same hesitation in dining away that you do—you guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.
“You a nurse?” He asks after a few minutes.
The question takes you by surprise. You hadn’t taken him as a small talk kind of person. “Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.”
He gives a short hum, thoughtful.
“What?”
“You’re good.” Hardly.
“I didn’t really do anything.”
“You did enough.” He says, not leaving much room for argument.
He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.
He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.
“I’ll see ya.” He says shortly, before ducking out the window.
You’re left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.
That could’ve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe you’re exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.
Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.
You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.
Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.
You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand.
“Wow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?”
“Fuck!” You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. “What is wrong with you?”
“Apparently that I don’t carry enough baseball bats with me.” He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though he’s got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his.
You drop your arms at your side. “If I’d known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I might’ve thought twice.”
“If I’d known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I might’ve too.” Barely. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.
He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.
You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, and…no that’s it. Not…ideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.
He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on.
“Very gentlemanly of you.” You call out from your room, “And only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.”
“Okay, one, I’ve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.”
“Right.”
“And two, I didn’t break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and don’t lock your window?”
You reemerge in the doorway, “I live on the eighth floor.”
He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. “Didn’t stop me.” No it did not.
“Mm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?”
He takes a deep breath, “Actually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.”
“Rest from what?”
A series of gunshots echo from down the street.
“Next question.”
Concise.
You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.
“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him.
“Does it matter how I answer?”
“I don’t understand how you’re not dead.” You poke your head up, turning to him. “Are you human?”
He cranes his neck to look out the window, “Maybe getting shot at isn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight…”
You roll your eyes with a smile that you’re glad is hidden by the darkness. “Oh, fuck off.”
“You don’t have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?”
You ignore him as to not acknowledge that he’s probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, “Who the hell was shooting at you anyways?” Though, you don’t really expect an answer.
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. They got ‘til sunrise anyway.”
You tilt your head, “‘Til sunri—” oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, “You know, I’m placing a lot of trust in the hope that you’re not just as bad as those guys.”
“Yes you are.” He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasn’t tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess that’s a good sign.
You tilt your head at him. “Do you get paid to do this?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.”
You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. “So you have a day job?”
He looks over at you, “Do you always ask this many questions?”
“Are you always so dodgy about answering them?” You shoot back. If you’d thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face you’ve never seen, name you don’t know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.
He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah. I am.” He looks over at you. “You live here by yourself?”
You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, “Seems that way.”
He shrugs, “Boyfriend could be out or something.”
“Well most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?”
“No.”
You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. You’re quiet for a minute before piping up, “Do people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?”
“Stupid people.” He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape I’ll shoot them.”
You let a little smile out, “I’m thinking there’s other steps you could take before you get to that point.”
“If you want to waste time.” His gaze doubles back at you, “That was a joke, by the way.”
You bark out a tired laugh, “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks.”
He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.
Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “Is this going to be a regular thing then?”
“You could lock your window.”
“Living on the eighth floor didn’t stop you, I can’t imagine a shitty lock will do much more.”
“If you don’t want me here, I won’t be here.” He says gruffly.
“If I don’t want you here, I’ll let you know.” You mumble, eyes closing.
You can barely make out a laugh from him, “Good to know.”
You’re not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling you’d fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you could’ve sworn was on the chair across the room.
Maybe it’s ten o’clock at night and you’re sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe you’re going to have to quit your job. Or maybe you’ll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe it’s about to get worse.
The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if you’ve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that you’re not in and he’ll leave.
But because today is today, that’s not how it goes down.
You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that you’re sure he incorporated on purpose.
“Oh fuck…” you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.
He rounds the counter, looking down at you. “Wha—what’s wrong?”
“Fuck. Nothing.” You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. “Are you hurt?” He better fucking not be at only ten.
“No, I—why are you on the floor?”
You roll your eyes, “I live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.”
“Did something happen?” You’re trying really hard not to call him an idiot.
You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”
He shifts in his stance, “Do I need to talk to someone?”
You scoff, knowing damn well his version of ‘talk to someone’ does not include talking to someone. “Why are you even here so early?”
“Wanted to stop by before I went out.” he says quietly.
You’re about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over.
It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You don’t realize it immediately, but he’s holding a good portion of your weight up, you’d for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.
You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like he’s ready to catch you.
It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for.
He’s quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. “What happened?”
You sniffle, “Some asshole at my job.”
“Some asshole?” He doesn’t believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that you’re lying about one single word in that sentence.
“My boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.” You exhale deeply, “His approach could use some work though, if I’m honest.”
His posture remains statue-like. “Where do you work?”
You look at him straight on for the first time that night, “What does that matter?”
“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply.
You wave him off, “It’s fine.”
He waits a moment before letting you know, “I’m being polite by asking, I’m going to find out either way.”
You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. “Well, then do it the hard way.”
About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. It’s a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, you’re assuming because he doesn’t want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night.
You don’t look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. It’s quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and you’re not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Again, you don’t know how, but you can tell he’s asking how far things went. “I started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.” you say numbly.
You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already.
His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. You’re in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and you’re counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles.
You sigh contemplatively, “I’m worried if you kill my boss it’ll be traced back to me and I’ll get pinned for it.”
He doesn’t laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.
“I’m not going to kill him.” he tells you, “I wouldn’t gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.”
Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. “Then why waste your time at all?” Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.
He wants to, but he doesn’t call out the implied self-slighting in your words. “Maybe it’s a ‘me’ thing but I don’t particularly like men that hurt women.”
You let out a dry laugh. “In Gotham, it just might be.”
He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didn’t quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time he’d headed out.
When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasn’t there. Wasn’t there the day after either. Or the day after. He didn’t make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldn’t give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, he’d been fired.
So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no.
Maybe you’re really starting to like this Red Hood guy.
Hard yes.
You’re slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, you’re not in much danger.
Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, “Oh, it’s you.”
“Good to see you too.” he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.
“Well, I have to imagine I’m a step up from the last person you saw.” You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. “What happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?”
He groans, “Ah, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.”
You sigh, “Jesus Christ, Hood.”
He waves you off, “It’s not that big of a deal.”
You scoff, “He tried to shoot you in the heart.”
“Yeah, well, he missed.” He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch.
You exhale sharply, “How do you know?”
“How do I know?” He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated.
You throw your arms up at your side, “I don’t know! I’m not equipped for this scenario.”
He huffs, “Look, it’s fine, it hit my armor. It’ll probably just be a bad bruise.”
“Probably?”
“I don’t think there’s blood. Could you…” he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.
You shake the panic out of your head, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.
You’re not shocked to see that he has scars, that’s kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. It’s a deep scar, too.
And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. That’s—oh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar.
You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never seen a living person with an autopsy scar—though you have to imagine neither have most people.
He clearly does not want to talk about it and you’re happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.
You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.
“There’s no blood, but…” You inspect it a bit closer, “I think there’s going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.”
“I am.” He says shortly.
You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. “By someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.”
He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. “You should sit down.”
“Need to go back out.” He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.
“To get killed? ‘Cause you’re going the right way about it.”
He tilts his head at you like he’s daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, “Sit down.”
You didn’t expect it to work but he does as told.
You look around, unsure of what to do next. “Do you need ice?”
“What?”
“You’re hurt.” You say slower. “Do you need ice?”
He falters for a second, “No, it’s—no.” A couple beats pass before he adds, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
It’s impossible not to notice that he’s staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second.
You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, “Take your helmet off, it’s rude.” You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.
It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and he’s just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure you’ll give him a break about it.
You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than you’d meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over.
You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. “So did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?”
He scoffs, “No, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.”
“Wrong line of work.”
He cocks an eyebrow, “You’re telling me.”
You turn your head to him, “Why do you do it then?”
He looks back at you earnestly. “Someone has to.”
“Someone does.”
He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. “Not well enough.”
Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.
“So violence is the answer to violence?” you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing.
Hood sighs, “Half-assed reform programs didn’t do anything, shitty ‘crisis interventions’ didn’t do anything, the cops sure as hell don’t do anything.” He shrugs under you. “You run out of options eventually.”
“And that’s why you took it upon yourself to intervene?”
“Mm. ‘When reason fails, the devil helps.’” He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.
“I-Is that—” you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?” You gawk at him, “That explains a lot about your disposition.”
He shrugs with a shake of his head. “It’s a rough world. Can’t afford to be reading about Hogwarts.”
You pause, combing through your next words, “‘Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.’”
His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. “Touché.”
You grin back, pleased with yourself.
There’s a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each other’s faces.
You realize that this may be the first time you’ve seen him properly smile and it’s so magnetizing. So much so that you don’t realize you’re staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.
His eyes don’t leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.
You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize it’s almost four in the morning. “I’m tired, Hood.” you mumble into his shirt.
“You don’t—” he falters for a moment, “You don’t have to call me that.”
You squint at him, “What should I call you then?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “J.”
“J?” you whisper, like it’s a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.
He nods.
“Okay.” Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. “J.”
You nearly think you’re imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.
“You don’t know how to protect yourself?”
You roll your eyes at him, “You saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?”
It’s only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. He’s started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if he’s a manageable amount of injured.
You stand in the middle of your living room together, after you’d made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that you’re useless in a fight.
“I was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.” He says, grimacing.
You shrug, “I carry pepper spray.”
He grumbles, displeased. “Put your hands up.”
You drop your head to the side and glower at him, “Really?”
He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it.
Alright, you’ll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.
“Come on, put your weight behind it.”
You do, hitting his hand harder. “Hood—”
He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.
You inhale impatiently, “J, Why do we have to do this? I don’t have any illusions that I could knock you out and I can’t imagine you do either.”
He shakes his head, “It’s not about knocking someone out, it’s about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if you’re throwing punches. Harder.”
You give a raised hum, “Not if they have a gun…”
“Well, we’ll work on that too.”
You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. “Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask before throwing another.
“Turn your body into it.” He corrects. “My, uh, my dad taught me.”
You hum, hitting him again. “Are you guys close?”
“You’re being nosy again.” He grunts amidst a hit.
“You’re being evasive again.” You shoot back.
He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, “Here, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.” He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.
You make a face, “I’m confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?”
He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at.
You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. “Alright, that’s good.” He says, relaxing his body.
You perk up, “We’re done?”
“No,” he shuts you down before asking earnestly, “Do you trust me?”
Your brain hadn’t even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a ‘yes’. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, “I want you to try to get me on the ground.”
You let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re twice my size.”
He sighs, looking at you somberly. “Sweetheart, odds are you’re not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get ‘em on the ground ‘n you have the upper hand or it’ll give you time to get away.”
You throw your hands up at your sides, “I don’t—” You huff, “Fine, okay.” You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.
You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down.
“You gotta get more creative than that.” He chastises with a tut.
In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. You’re sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.
He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, “Good. That was good, sweetheart.”
You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, “Really?”
He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. “Can’t be getting cocky, sweetheart.”
You laugh sourly, “Coming from you?”
You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.
He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadn’t intended for you to end up in this position.
Your legs are still wrapped around him and you’re too frozen in the moment to make any changes. He’s in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.
You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when you’re propped up on your elbows.
Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling he’s doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.
He leans forward so barely, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. “J…” you say breathily, not sure what implication you’re aiming for.
He stills and this time you’re sure he’s looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly.
You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than you’d meant to let out and rise to your feet.
“Let’s, uh…” He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. “Let’s try some combos.”
You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too.
Alright, one step at a time.
vol II
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Hiiiii, love your work! If you’re not too busy or anything could you please make one where you’re mad at Oscar but his love language is physical touch so when he wants to hold your hand, yiu keep your fingers tense and try to wiggle free so he clasps them down and tapes his and your hand together??
if anyone has that one pic of Oscar (from 2023 I think) where he’s in the cockpit and he’s looking up w those bottom eyes… send it my way pls🙏
He ate your leftovers.
Rookie mistake.
You’d been giving him the silent treatment for eighteen hours and sixteen minutes—yes, he was keeping count.
You went so far as to put a pillow barrier between the two of you last night. When he protested, you typed into your notes:
don’t even try to cross it or else I’ll go sleep in the guest room.
So today, while you were sat on the sofa sipping a tea and watching some reality television show, he came and sat next to you. His thigh brushed yours. You got up, and sat on the other end of the sofa.
“Baby, come on I said I was sorry.” He reached out for you, but you twisted away from his hand. “And I bought you more. What more do you want from me?” He was pouting now. That was the only way to explain it. He got close enough to you where he knew you wouldn’t move away. “Please. I miss you. I miss your kisses and your cuddles.” He huffed. “You can be mad at me and give me the silent treatment, just please let me hold you.”
It was taking everything in you to continue being stubborn. You felt bad for him—only a little. But you had to teach him a lesson to be sure that he wouldn’t do it again. You clenched your jaw to stop from smiling, and gave him a nasty side eye.
He called your name, drawing out the last part of it dramatically. When you didn’t respond, he reached out, placing a hand on your thigh. You quickly batted it away, but he caught your wrist in his other hand. His days training for formula one made him way stronger than you, so your efforts to try and pull your hand back were useless. He took his free hand and laced his fingers between yours, gripping onto your stiff hand.
You continued to try to wiggle free. Alas, it was no use.
Oscar’s kisses started on the back of your hand, then trailed up your arm. He reached your upper arm before you gave his head a small shove. He got the hint and pulled back, but not without looking up at you with an exaggerated pout.
Your resolve was crumbling quickly under his gaze. “You can’t look at me like that when I’m mad at you. It’s cheating.” You protest, still trying to wiggle your hand free.
Oscar didn’t care. Because you had finally spoken to him. Eighteen hours without the beautiful sound of your voice had come to an end. He was smiling like a damn fool. “You spoke to me.” He pointed out, his voice soft and full of love.
You glared at him, but it didn’t hold up for long. You laughed, fingers relaxing to hold his hand properly. “Fine. Fine. I forgive you.” You gave in, but not without a roll of your eyes.
He took that as permission, not wasting a second longer to connect your lips. It was impatient, but so familiar. You could feel him smiling into it. His hands found your sides and he pulled you into his lap. His fingers dug into your sides like he was afraid you’d run away otherwise. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m never making that mistake again.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞
word count: 6.5k
summary: On September 1st, 1971 you were sorted into Slytherin, putting you on the map as the first Potter to do so, and the first time James Potter turned his back on someone he claimed he loved dearly. You’re slowly drifting away, turning the Potter twins into a sad tale, but after one deadly incident close to Christmas break, James decides to put an end to the distance he unknowingly created.
How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dying?
cw: suicidal ideation, but hinted. scars and blood mention, nosebleed. angst, very heavy on the angst. potter!reader, fem!reader. platonic marauders and rosier twins. background jily.
a/n: sorry if this too much… just had this idea for a while and i needed an outlet. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. enjoy! xx
···
You sighed, the bandage around your shoulder suffocating you to the point of tears. As much as you tried, you wanted to keep your compartment warm and toasty with the blanket over your seat and legs, but your efforts were in vain at the mere lack of human heat. The fogged window seemed an acceptable distraction as you dragged your finger around, drawing meaningless doodles as the train passed by beautiful landscapes you barely registered.
Something shifted on your other side, and you turned to find people walking past your compartment, pointing and whispering about you and your sad state. None of them dared to open the door, making the lump in your throat grow with each breath you took. You looked down at the cassette player in your lap, hands too shaky to change the cassette into something more cheerful.
In time, you looked up to find a pair of brown eyes staring at you with both curiosity and pity, you frowned, desperately wishing your brother’s friends would stop pestering you. Their mere presence was a bitter reminder of your brother's abandonment, the pain you suffered seeing them fill your place, share laughter together like you both did many years ago. You looked away, luckily for you, Remus got the signal and made to move past the compartment; but to Remus’ ill luck, James followed his gaze and opened the door.
“Mum said Dad won’t be able to come, but will be waiting for us at the Manor.” He murmured, his eyes pointedly trying to not stare too hard at the bandages peeking through your jumper. You nodded. “She will meet us at the station.”
“Okay,” You said, not moving to take your headphones off, nor to look at him to meet his gaze. You feared you would cry if you looked at him, a reminder of the despair in his eyes when they brought you into the infirmary. “I knew that, you know we still write to each other, right?”
James nodded quickly, swallowing hard at your voice devoid of emotion. “Yeah, just… Just wanted to make sure,” He paused, quickly stepping in to fully enter and close the door behind him. You finally turned your head to him with surprise. “You alright?”
You scoffed, finally taking your headphones off your ears, “What do you think, James?” This time, he has no qualms about studying you completely, eyes skimming over your poor posture as a result of the accident. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes, your blood boiled as you spat. “Yes, I’m fine. Will that be all, or…?”
James closed his mouth and schooled his face, something desperately needing to be said. You bit your lip, your insides filling with regret but having no intention of backing away from the incoming disagreement. Something in you stirred with hope, hope that he would finally give you your place and sit with you. However, the bespectacled boy simply nodded and left the compartment.
You let out a breath, disbelief and disappointment in your heart as you placed the headphones back in your head. A tear slowly rolled down your cheek and you quickly cleaned it, your shaky hand almost poking your eye as you desperately tried to swallow the possible panic attack you felt looming over you. The countless letters addressed to you from your mother heavy on your satchel, most of them asking you to fix your relationship with James, the other begging you to take care of yourself, you weren’t sure which ones hurt the most.
The moment the word Sectumsempra left Snape’s mouth, a curse filled with magic so dark not even the boy could understand it, you almost felt bad for the relief you felt in your chest at the pain that took over your body. That morning still felt like a far away memory, a dream that shook you up so much you still recalled after you woke up; McGonagall’s surprised gasp and the students that were unfortunate enough to witness the moment your fellow housemate almost made you cut into pieces. You were brought up in a rush to the infirmary where your brother and his friends recovered from a rather violent full moon, James had almost passed out at the pure rage he felt when he was informed of the situation. You weren’t proud to admit that your brother being angry on your behalf was a nice memory to die with, a redemption that came almost too late.
You weren’t even prouder to admit to the sinking feeling in your chest when you woke up to find nothing had changed, the only remains that someone still cared about you in the form of Madam Pomfrey’s gentle touches. James hadn’t stayed back to check on you, and you couldn’t blame him. To that day, you couldn’t fully stare at your reflection in the mirror without your eyes filling with tears, had it not been for Pandora, promoted to friend as of lately, you wouldn’t have been able to even put the healing potions in your scars.
Just in time, three knocks came at the door, you turned, ready to yell at your brother or his friends to fuck off, but Pandora’s gentle smile made you pause. She pointed at the seat across from you, cold and empty, and you nodded dumbly. She stepped in, arms filled with sweets from the trolley and smiled at you as she made herself comfortable in the seat.
“Hi, how are you feeling?”
Why is everyone asking me that?, you thought bitterly. Immediately feeling regretful when Pandora presented you with a Chocolate Frog.
“I’m okay,” you murmured, shyly taking the sweet from her hand. She had a different color in each of her nails, you noted. “Thank you.”
Her platinum white locks fell to her shoulder as she sat back, her own Chocolate Frog in her hand. She smiled at you and picked her book, and you wanted to cry tears of happiness. Comfortable silences were Pandora’s main form of love language, you quickly learned, and you were eternally grateful for the company. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to put up with your self hatred for another moment, let alone the rest of the train ride.
You looked up from your cassette case, eyes lingering a beat too long on the compartment door.
“He’s two compartments over,” She said breezily, noticing the hesitance in your movements. “I passed them on my way here, he seems gutted.”
“Oh, please,” You made a scoffing sound, your shaky hand struggling to take a new cassette off its box. “He just feels bad for me, but he’s going to do absolutely nothing about it.” You poked your cheek with your tongue, satisfied when you finally got the cassette out.
“Have you thought that maybe,” Pandora started to say, fully closing her book now that she had your undivided attention, “maybe… he thinks it’s too late? You have been a bit too cold to him…”
“It’s the least he deserves,” You spat, then cleared your throat. If Pandora felt offended at your anger, she didn’t show, she never did. You looked back to the window, feeling the train had noticeably slowed down. “I just… I’m so tired of waiting for him, I don’t… I don’t know how to feel, I so badly wanted him to get close but now that he’s trying I don’t…” To your utter horror, you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m so confused.”
Pandora’s lips curled in an empathetic smile, she reached and held your shaky hand, gently sweeping her thumb across your knuckles, you took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself as students began to empty the train.
“I’m sorry,” You dared to meet her heterochromic eyes.
She shook her head, chuckling quietly. “No need to be sorry, keeping those feelings bottled up must be so tiring, I’m sure.” You laughed weakly, and used your free hand to discretely clean your cheeks. “You might’ve accepted your loneliness a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean it has to be permanent, sweet girl. Evan would agree, though he’s more shy to actually say it. You got more people in your corner than you realize, only if you let them…” She turned to the door, and you followed her gaze where you found James and Sirius walking past with a troubling look in their eyes. Pandora stood up, “You need help with your trunk?”
You opened your mouth, but were interrupted by the door opening. “Ready to go?” Sirius asked, and you frowned.
“I can carry it, thank you.” You smiled at Pandora, pointedly ignoring his question. She nodded, and reached to give you a quick hug, gentle and careful to not hurt you. “I’ll see you next term.”
“Write me?” She smiled, passing you a small box and you nodded, eyes in a daze as you tried to read the note. She walked to the door, and smiled at both boys. “Happy christmas.”
You watched her go, shaky hand still holding the box. James frowned, and studied you for a few more seconds before Sirius, who wanted to leave the station immediately before his parents would show up to drag him and Regulus away, cleared his throat rather loudly.
“Are you ready to go?” He repeated, making a move to take your trunk but you swiftly picked it up. Your features a mix of anger and, if he had more time to look at you, he would also find pain. “Don’t be stubborn, I can take that.”
“I can take my own trunk, Sirius. But thank you.” You spat, then turned away from both boys. “I’ll meet you in the platform in a moment, let me just put everything away.” You pointed to your little cocoon, the blanket and cassette player tossed aside in your previously vacated seat. “Just remember to—”
“To not tell Mum anything,” Finished James for you, an edge to his voice. “We know.”
You nodded, fear settling in your chest at the prospect of your brother picking up the argument you had nights before. Him begging you to tell your parents about what happened with Snape, to prepare them for your almost deadly state, but you met him head on, not willing to back down until he dropped the matter. He had walked away mid argument, his friends staring at you both with something akin to sadness, watching the distance grow impossibly longer despite James’ recent efforts to fix it. You had cried that night in Pandora’s arms as she and her brother watched you with both sadness and regret, you, for your part, seemed blind to the fact that they had been the reason James had breached that subject with you.
The bespectacled boy nodded, and stepped out of the compartment with Sirius close behind. You took the cassette player and put the headphones back on, Billy Joel’s Piano Man a fitting soundtrack to the way you felt. You took your satchel and hurriedly put the messily folded blanket inside, made an assesment of the compartment to not leave anything behind and silently walked out of the compartment towards the platform.
You watched with a sinking feeling as your mother enthusiastically greeted James, grabbing him by his cheeks and showering him with kisses, Sirius and the rest of his friends in line to receive the same treatment. He says, Bill, I believe this is killing me, Billy Joel sang in your ears and you readily agreed, walking towards the bunch with a tiny smile and your insides filled with dread.
Euphemia Potter’s bright smile dimmed when she met your eyes, and noted the sadness that, evident to everyone but you, radiated off your body as you placed your headphones around your neck. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, your brother and his friends watching the exchange nervously, as she practically balanced herself over you in a tight hug.
“My lovely girl,” You were horrified to almost hear her voice breaking, the least you wanted was your mother to worry for you. “How I missed you, oh, look at you.”
“Hi, mum…” You muttered, bitting your lip as she accidentally squeezed precisely around your middle, where your most painful scar was located. “Missed you too, Dad too, of course.” You patted her back awkwardly and she pulled back.
“You’re so small, oh, my girl, please be honest with me,” She grabbed your cheeks the same way she did to James, and you successfully swallowed the lump in your throat. “Have you been eating properly? I knew that veganism nonsense simply wouldn’t do.”
Her eyes studied you much like James did earlier, and you bit your lip nervously. You knew what was coming, and you wanted to take off and disappear from her searching eyes.
“I’m actually quite hungry…” You said quietly, hoping it would be enough to distract her.
Your mother, however, couldn’t be deterred. “What happened here?”
Unconsciously, you met James’ eyes. “Quiddtich accident.” You replied quickly, the lie easily slipping past your lips. “Fell off my broom, doesn’t hurt, though. I’m okay.”
“Quidditch!” She exclaimed, chuckling as she turned to James who smiled in return to avoid giving you away. “Honestly, what is it with my children and Quidditch? Can’t wait to see your dad’s face— Speaking of! He must be driving himself mad waiting for us! Come, come! Dear, you need help with your trunk?”
“I’m okay—” You replied and she quickly turned to shepherd everyone out of the plaform.
“Here,” Remus walked to you, taking the handle from your shaky hand, hard to notice to the blind eye, but he knew better, he was familiar. You frowned, and he made his voice extra quiet as he spoke, “I know you can manage but you’re going to make them worse, and by the time we get to the manor everyone will notice. It’s no problem, really.”
You stared at him, then at James who pretended to listen as Sirius and your mother fussed over Regulus, who would join you for the first time for the holidays. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and you forced yourself to look back at Remus, he smiled kindly as you nodded mutely and trailed behind the group. A comfortable silence falling between you both.
—
Potter manor seemed to stay stuck in time, with its beautiful pillars and big stained glass windows letting in colorful rays of sunshine when the english countryside allowed it. You looked through the window at your mother’s lovely garden she devoted herself to during springtime, surely to kill time when your dad was busy at work and her children away at school, her caring nature evident in the way all the flowers grew beautifully, despite the current cold weather. You sighed, and walked away ready to face your hideous fate, your secret stash of healing potions and your scars ready to be tended to.
You stopped short in front of your bed, Pandora’s present small in contrast to your belongings sprawled all over your bedding. It had her touch all over the decoration, even if the card claimed it was from both Rosier twins, the silver bow and colorful wrapping paper showing her peculiar taste. Your shaky hand hovered over the ribbon and gently tugged it to open the box, where you found a pretty aquamarine necklace along with a soft pair of green knitted mittens sitting neatly enveloped by tissue paper. You smiled and wasted no time to try and put the necklace around your neck, ignoring the fact that your shaky hands would make the task nearly impossible.
You were about to throw the necklace across the room in desperation when you heard a light knock on the door.
“Yes?” You managed to speak out, a sob begging to leave your lips. There was silence on the other side and you briefly wondered if you imagined the whole thing. “What?”
“Can I come in?” Sirius said quietly, and you frowned, but replied a quiet yes before turning your back to the door. “Hi,” He said as he stepped in, careful in his movements.
“Hi,” You echoed quietly, looking around the room to avoid meeting his eyes.
Sirius stared at the necklace in your hand and the discarded box in the other, “Need help with that?”
“I’m okay,” You followed his gaze and shook your head, knowing well it was a losing battle with the piece of jewelry. “I was just untangling it,” You said, barely believing it, and by his face, Sirius didn’t seem to believe you, either.
He stepped closer to you, his movements more confident. “Let me help you,” You opened your mouth to protest, but ended up handing him the necklace, knowing it was a losing battle arguing with him, too. “Stubborn thing you are, trying to put on this tiny necklace when your hands are shaking like a leaf.” He pointed as he stood behind you.
A silence followed, and you stared down at your hands, suddenly insecure in the way they trembled, another souvenir from your fellow housemate’s attack.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“They’re not very noticeable,” He allowed, gently tugging your shoulders to make you face him. “But sadly, love, I am very familiar with these kinds of things.” His grey eyes pointedly looked at the blood dots peeking through your bandages from your jumper. “I would change those before supper if I were you.”
You swallowed and nodded, “Thank you. Is this why you came here? Is the food ready?”
He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and nodded his head. “Yes, um… Mum told me she made you some of your vegan requests.”
“Oh,” You frowned, and he chuckled quietly at the surprise in your face. “I’ll be down in a moment… I have to…”
“I know,” He nodded, then made to walk out the door but paused on the threshold, turning to face you once again. “You know… James, he’s really trying, it’s just… He doesn’t know how to reach out.”
A beat.
“Was it hard for you? To reach out to Regulus? After everything?”
He seemed to be taken aback with your question, frowning and very clearly about to tell you to mind your sodding business, but then his eyes got a very sad look that you despised. You both dreaded and hoped for his answer.
“It was difficult, yes, but because of the way we were raised, not because there wasn’t love, it was just very tangled with other things, confusion, anger and resentment… But the love persevered. I think… I think that’s what made it bearable, that at the end of the day we loved each other despite everything.”
You nodded, visibly not satisfied with his answer. “I get that, but… you said it yourself, it was hard because of the way you were raised so… what is stopping James?”
Sirius seemed pretty close to tears himself, feeling for you and frustrated at the way James acted. Honestly not even himself could explain the way James handled everything since you both were sorted, admittedly he hadn’t known him long enough back then to be confused by the evident indifference towards you, but as he grew to know you both, that confusion grew in significance. It couldn’t have been the same James that offered him his home without thinking twice when he learned the hell that was Grimmauld Place, it was hard for Sirius to think that James held some resentment towards his sister for being sorted into Slytherin when he himself despised Sirius’ parents for disowning him for being a Gryffindor. You didn’t seem to be particularly fond of the pureblood supremacy ideologies your house held, either; keeping to yourself and to your friends, the Rosier twins and occasionally Regulus as of lately, and the gentle way you carried yourself through the hallways. He often wondered if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake.
“I… I don’t know, sweetheart,” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I don’t think this is a conversation for me to participate in.”
“It’s alright,” You nodded, once again swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’ll be down in a minute.” You said before marching towards your bathroom, closing the door behind you.
Sirius sighed, feeling very angry at himself for the way he managed to mess it all up in a matter of seconds. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned his face to meet both Remus and his brother’s sad eyes, he shrugged sadly and closed the door to your room quietly. A few seconds later, Lily walked out of her own room, immediately taking notice of the three boys sadly staring at your door and ushered them all to the dinning room, a sad look in her own eyes as she tried to ignore the knot in her stomach.
—
You stared blankly at a spot next to your father‘s face as you pretended to listen to his very heated debate with James about where should the next Quidditch Cup be. The food long gone and conversations passed in a daze as you ate supper and managed to participate here and there and answer the questions directed to you. You unconsciously thumbed the precious gemstone resting in your chest, the repetitive action helped you make the shakiness in your hands less evident.
You sat in a wingback chair, making a cocoon of yourself as you watched your brother and his friends happily chatting away to different topics, you watched as he occasionally grabbed Lily’s hand and kissed it, or the way he reached over his girlfriend to shove Sirius’ shoulder, mischief glistening behind his glasses. You knew you were being a killjoy, your pain almost an imposition in their delightful conversation had they noticed, if they ever did, or let them notice, you bitterly thought.
“Oh, darling,” Suddenly you had a handkerchief shoved to your nose. You frowned, but let your mother’s hand cradle your face back. “You almost stained your jumper,” Horrified, you noticed that your nose was bleeding, a common occurrence since the incident.
“Sorry,” You mumbled, trying to look away from her eyes, slowly filling with worry. “Don’t know what happened there. Strange.”
“Good thing your mum has good reflexes,” your dad pointed, chuckling and blissfully unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Growing up with you lot gave her reflexes of steel, she would’ve been a killer Seeker.”
“Let that go, honey,” Your mum added distractly, looking into your eyes, searching for… what? You were not sure, but her scrutiny made you nervous. “Are you okay?”
You inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling very warm. “Yes, I can take it, mum–” You made to raise your hand to take the handkerchief from her, her eyes falling on your hands.
“Are you cold?”
“What? No. I’m fine.”
“But you’re shaking.” She argued, and you found yourself slowly losing your patience at her questioning. “Are you sure you’re—”
“Can everyone stop asking me that? I said I’m fine.” You spat, shocking everyone into silence, even yourself. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, I…Yes, I’m alright.”
Somewhere from the floor came a scoff and you felt dread recoiling around your ribcage. You lowered the handkerchief from your face to see James dryly chuckling at you, his hazel eyes holding a fire that was only reserved for… Horrified, you realized he was about to tell your parents everything.
“James,” You whispered, pleading with your eyes to force him to take a step back. But your brother seemed done covering for you. “Please don’t.”
“James?” Your mother turned to him, who in return stood up from his spot on the floor, Lily reached out to pull him down again. “Is anyone going to fill me in as to what’s gotten into you both?”
He stared hard at you, then, “She was attacked.”
And just as the words slipped past his lips, chaos ensued with your parents, neither of them expecting those words to leave James’ lips. The air was sucked out of your lungs, and you reached to press the heel of your hand to your sternum, as if that would help your lungs accept the air you desperately seeked. You were not sure where you got the strength, but you marched towards him, betrayal in your eyes.
“You have no right,” You sneered, meeting his stormy gaze, he looked down at you, both your bodies pulsating with unresolved anger. “You promised!”
“I did not promise a damn thing to you. You’re my sister, and I cannot simply sit back and watch you fade away from us, can I?”
You scoffed. “It didn’t stop you before, hasn’t it?” He stepped back, as if your words alone had slapped him across his face. Your parents watched the scene with horror. “You’re my sister, you’re a liar. You made it very clear I am very much not your sister, James. In fact, I think you made it very clear to everyone that anyone can be accepted into your fucking marauders club except me.”
“Wait, so this is why you’re so miffed with me? Because I didn’t let you in the Marauders?” James had the nerve to laugh, and you stared at him in shock. “You have officially lost the plot, grow up, I beg you.”
“James!”
“No, James,” You met him head on, storm in your eyes as you tried to find your words. “Contrary to what your ego-driven mind might think, not everyone wants to be part of your glorified freak show.” You said, not at all regretting the venom in your voice. “You left me. You… you don’t even try, you think that just because you fought for me, breaking Snape’s nose, everything would be forgiven?”
“Look at what he did to you!” He pointed, squirming a finger inside the neckline of your jumper, pulling down to show everyone the bandage in your shoulder. You slapped his hand away with anger, but he grabbed your hand and raised it for everyone to see. “You can barely function with these shakes, look, you can barely put on a necklace!”
“James, stop,” Came Remus’ stern voice from somewhere in the room.
At this, your glossy eyes turned to Sirius, who, until that moment, had managed to sit back calmly and not let the whole ordeal get to him. He looked away as your betrayal was evident in your eyes.
“That wasn’t for you to tell, Sirius.” You said to him quietly, anger barely contained.
“Well, I, for one, am glad he told me. You could’ve gone the entire break hiding it from us had it not been for Sirius.”
“Like hiding it is such a hard task.” You snapped. “You barely notice my presence let alone a silly shake in my hands. I could’ve died that day and you wouldn’t have noticed at all, James.”
“You damn right could’ve bloody died! Go on, show them,” He stepped closer, and you barely registered his intention until it was too late.
With the help of his reflexes, you were a beat too late to stop him from lifting the hem of your jumper, exposing some of the fully healed scars in your stomach, the biggest one cutting through your navel in a nasty gash. Your mother gasped and her eyes filled with tears immediately, your father stared in shock, despair evident in his eyes. You pushed James away with all the strength you could muster, accidentally pushing your mother in the process, and pulled your jumper back down.
“You’re a complete, utter, dickhead, James.” You stared at him in shock, so did everyone in the room. “Fuck you, seriously, fuck you.”
“Darling,” Your mother stepped to you, but you were too mortified to even accept her hug. “How long… How did this…” She seemed desperate to find the right words to say, but a sob left her lips instead. You finally allowed the tears in your eyes to trail down your cheeks. “Why didn’t you say?”
“What would I even say?” You said desperately in between shallow breaths, your usually calm demeanor breaking. “That I was so depressed I riled him up so he could hurt me? That I didn’t even fight back? How was I supposed to explain that, mum? Tell me,” Before you could even process it, the feelings you had bottled up for months seemed to be done being held back in your chest. You chuckled humorlessly, “How would that conversation even go? That I’m so miserable, though I have no reason to be, that I walked towards the one person who would surely hurt me and enjoy it? This, exactly, is why I didn’t say. But here comes bloody James Potter who has to be everyone’s fucking hero! Are you happy now, James? Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to thank you in front of everyone that you saved my honor by hurting Snape? Well, there you go. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
Had you been less blinded by your anger, you probably would’ve waited for anyone to speak, or at least apologize for the amount of curse words you managed to say in a span of 20 seconds, but you simply exhaled deeply and stormed off towards your room, where you surely would spend the rest of your days crying away in embarrassment. Your tears fell hot and fast as you slammed the door behind you and sat on your bed, ignoring the stinging sensation in your shoulder by your harsh movements. Your hands shook impossibly harder to the point of actual pain in your joints, and pressed your face to your hands as you cried hard. Your sobs loud enough to drown the chaos from downstairs, your own doing, you thought angrily.
The door to your room opened, your brain was too shaken up and confused that when you opened your mouth to speak, a pained sob left your lips instead. Remus’ brows pinched with sadness as he walked to you, your disheveled hair, tear streaken cheeks and the dried trail of blood down your nose an exact mirror of your inner turmoil. He stepped closer and stretched his arms out, an open invitation in case you didn’t want to be touched, but you desperately needed something or someone to ground you before you could definitely reach a full blown breakdown. A breakdown days in the making.
“You’re okay,” He said as you stepped into his arms. He carefully caged you in, keeping you secure as you felt your chest shreding to pieces as you let out sob after sob. “No one is mad at you, we’re not, I promise you, not your mum, not your dad, no one. You’re okay.” He whispered, close to tears himself.
Soon, you felt a hand rubbing your back carefully, then, Lily’s gentle voice spoke, “Take deep breaths, honey,”
“I… I can’t,” You scraped out, voice raspy and worn out. “I…”
“Do it with me,” She instructed, and you pulled away from your hideaway to meet her gaze. Lily smiled sadly as she gently grabbed your hand and raised it to her own chest, where you felt her own heart beating, “Follow me, okay? You can.”
You inhaled and exhaled deeply, and she did it with you. As she busied you with breathing exercises, Remus walked to your bathroom to grab a cloth and damp it with warm water, when he walked back to your room, you seemed visibly calmer. He silently passed the cloth to Lily and sat beside you on the bed, she looked into your eyes and gently pressed it to your lips and under your nose, no-doubtedly cleaning the blood and snot off your face. None of you dared to speak, the only sound in the room the occasional hiccup leaving your lips, the fight leaving you tired and numb.
“I don’t know what crossed his mind to do that,” Began Lily, pointedly keeping her voice monotone to not spark another collapse from you. “That was very…”
“Barbaric?” Remus supplied, him not trying to keep his anger away from his tone. Lily frowned at him.
“Unlike him.” She said, then turned to you. “What he said, what he did… That was very cruel.”
“Yeah, well… I seem to always bring out the cruelest parts of him.” You finally spoke, and she hushed you to not strain your voice more.
“I think he’s very angry at himself, and he stupidly managed to show it in the worst way possible.” Remus pointed, the fight leaving his body as he gingerly placed a loose hair behind your ear. “It was very obvious to everyone that you were struggling but it passed right above him…”
“He didn’t need to make such a spectacle of himself though, and me. We could’ve talked it, if he had asked.”
Both Remus and Lily gave you a deadpan look.
“Okay, maybe not at first but why is it always me the one that has to reach out? I’m tired of embarrassing myself seeking for his attention.”
“You’re right,” The three of you looked up to find James standing at the threshold of your bedroom, a mix of feelings displayed in his face, regret being the most evident. “And I’m sorry.”
Lily looked at you, and you met her green eyes. She frowned, are you sure? Her eyes asked, and you nodded, grabbing the cloth from her hand. Both stood up and walked to leave, Lily ignoring the pleading look from her boyfriend as she closed the door behind her. The room fell eerily quiet as you stared at each other, assessing your stances.
“I’m sorry.”
“So you’ve said,” You mumbled, looking down at the cloth in your hands.
“I’m sorry,” He repeated, as he walked closer, you tensed immediately and something inside his chest cracked. “I shouldn’t have… I… It wasn’t my place.”
You closed your eyes, succumbing to the tears forming in your eyes and brought the cloth to clean your cheeks.
“I told you to not say anything, James. Why didn’t you listen? I… I don’t want mum or dad to get in between our mess.”
“Our mess,” He echoed, sitting next to you on the bed when you showed no signs of backing away again. “I did make a mess of everything, didn’t I?”
“It has always been, I was just the only one willing to see it as that.”
James frowned. “That’s not true.” He exhaled deeply, searching for your eyes. “I… I know I haven’t been the best brother to you but, but I wouldn’t say it reached a point where you feel like you can’t tell me anything.”
“James,” You chuckled dryly, not even trying to argue again but to get him to see where you were coming from. “You don’t even acknowledge me back at school, you practically pretend I don’t exist.”
“I’m sorry.”
“See, you keep saying that, but I don’t hear reasons why I should forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t forgive me, angel. In fact, what happened downstairs is the least punishment imaginable you could throw at me.” His chest filled with hope when you chuckled wetly. “I just… When I saw you in that cot, bleeding out and barely conscious, I felt like a part of me was being torn away… I had never felt so helpless in my life, knowing you would be taken away from me that easily and that I never tried to reach out? It’s been eating me alive, especially when you have been so calm about it, now I know why,”
You looked away, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to say that, I don’t know why I said it.”
“See, I think you did mean it. And it’s okay,” James scooted closer, his hand reached to yours in question, you placed it over his. He squeezed it four times, and you smiled despite the sadness in your heart. The mighty Potter duo, your own way of consoling each other when you were children. “Just, let me try again? Be a brother?”
“You never stopped being my brother, James, not to me.”
“To me neither, I’m still your brother, even if I haven’t shown it how you deserve it. But,” He paused, searching for your eyes, “Promise me that you’ll stop drifting away, that you’ll be in a distance where I can reach you.”
You swallowed, but nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to have it get this bad, I just, I just wanted you to notice me.” Something inside you broke, and so did your voice. Thankfully, you were close enough for James to reach over and hug you gently. “I didn’t realize you wanted to talk to me, or… or get closer. I’m sorry, I’ll stay close. I promise.” You whispered, and reached out to squeeze his hand, four times.
“I hope you can forgive me for what happened downstairs, too… I don’t… I just got so angry at myself, and… and you, but I shouldn’t have aired your pain like that.” He spoke after a long silence, voice barely contained as he fought back his own sob, not because he didn’t want to cry, but to get his feelings known. “It’s okay if it takes a while, too, I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I regret it… I do.” I regret everything I did, it’s the bit he didn’t say, but you heard it clear in the pain in his voice.
You nodded, feeling satisfied with the heart to heart, “It might take a while, but thank you.” You dropped your head on his shoulder, and closed your eyes, finally letting your body relax against your brother.
Your brother, who was there, willingly, hugging you. It was a nice feeling to fall asleep to, you thought as you drifted off. James looked down as your head got heavier, and noticed in your parted lips that you had fallen asleep at some point of your shared silence. He smiled, and helped you get fully into the bed, carefully placing your belongings away.
He made to leave, but you pulled him back, your voice heavy with sleep, “Stay?”
And James, even in his drowsy state, couldn’t fight back the happiness he felt in his heart. He nodded, though you couldn’t see him, and laid next to you, your hands clasped together as you both drifted away holding onto each other, very much like you did once upon a time when you were little.
In your desk, messily thrown along with your things by James, was Pandora’s gift, and a note in neat handwriting that said:
Happy christmas sweet girl. Aquamarine, your birthstone, is said to possess healing properties known to cure even the most devastating of heartbreaks and tame the most powerful oceans into tranquility and peace. It also gives the bearer hope and clarity. Love, Evan and Pandora Rosier.
![[SOURCE]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/30a40500b6545ca96b7525594c8c471e/fce4579a73160a50-80/s500x750/086c41675616521812b00f56614bfefdef1e3607.jpg)
![[SOURCE]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f32339098be214ac1b9030792a832fc7/fce4579a73160a50-07/s500x750/6a16a785d89e44dad9c25dabb5b6e4454ef6217f.png)
[SOURCE]
Maternity kits, medical threads and scissors, water testing kits, anesthetics, mobile desalination units, etc do you see the pattern? Israel is not only starving the people of Gaza but it also wants to ensure the spread of disease through contaminated water and surgical tools, as well as ensuring injured Palestinians suffer through horrendous pain.
It's beyond sickening.
⋆· ༘* you belong with me !
pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader
synopsis ★ the one where you come back from winter break and start operation cupid. meanwhile, charles and silena meddle in your affairs on their own mission. (3.9k)
content ★ no pronouns used for reader, lowk photography/carnival date weewoo, bad matchmaking shenanigans, will they wont they, best viewed mobile obv
notes ★ ngl this went in a slightly skewed direction than what i put in the synop, subtext reading may be needed to figure out what charles and silena r doing to meddle.
series masterlist
operation: cupid aka super evil plan >:)
NO ↓ ← yes ← ABSOLUTELY NOT
— blind date
— CARNIVAL @ ANTHOS FEST ^^ ok thats good
— get hmart napa 4 mom NOT A GROCERY LIST!!!
— fake dating? OPINION REJECTED
— SAYING TO GO SMWHERE AND THEN DITCHING THEM TOGETHER ^^ is this a romcom or smth??
You shift your shoulder to let your phone press closer to your ear, cringing at the uncomfortable warmth from the screen.
“So the festival’s a go,” you say, loud enough to be heard over the dishes. “All VAPA will be there early for the parade. Make sure you get to Hesperides Park at noon and meet at the big apple tree.”
“There are, like, fifteen apple trees in the park,” Luke says, voice bouncing around the tinny speakers of your phone. “Besides, the festival’s in February. We have weeks.”
“We’ve started practicing already,” you tell him, adjusting your shoulder again. “There’s a run through on the track next Tuesday, if you need some shots for yearbook.”
Luke hums and you hear him shift around over the phone, the noise captured between satellites. “Okay, I’ll be there. What are you doing right now?”
A plate clinks into the prongs of the drying rack, water running rivulets down your arm. You cringe when the soapy streams reach and soak into the edges of your rolled-up sleeves.
“Finishing the dishes,” you tell him after a moment.
You think Luke bites back a grunt, moving around again. There’s background noise with him, soft and faint. You think you can hear music, too.
“I’m getting napa cabbages for my mom. She’s been practicing kimchi,” he tells you, and then you hear the whine of a grocery fridge. “Do you like Asian soft drinks, by the way? Got a coupon.”
You consider it, turning off the sink and drying your hands. They feel all crunchy now, skin tight over your bones with the winter’s absence of moisture. You really need to remember to put on some lotion.
“Nothing too sweet, maybe fruity. I’ll pay you back if you buy Pocky.” You exit the kitchen, fuzzy slippers padding on the floorboards. You hear a staticky thud, and the whirring from the fridge stops.
Luke sighs, the sound nestled pleasantly in your eardrums. You flop onto your bed, listening to the not-silence. He talks faintly, words far-off and lost in the background, whirs and beeps and plastic crinkling.
He speaks finally, “I didn’t know how much you wanted…so. You owe me ten.”
You scoff, sardonic and not at all serious. “Fuck you, man.”
His world on the other side goes quiet for a heartbeat.
“Well,” he says, breaking the pause, “I’ll see you on Monday with the goods.”
“You sound like a dealer.”
“Yea, a dealer in love.” He sneers out the last word, a smile sewn into his voice.
You groan and hover your thumb over the hang-up button. “Cringe, go back to watching your Grand Prix or whatever.”
“Hey, pre-season testing hasn’t even started.”
“Whatever,” you grumble, sliding a palm down your face. “I’m hanging up.”
Not even five seconds after you press the red button, he calls you again. You swipe to accept begrudgingly, and then Luke’s voice cracks back into existence.
“You forgot to say goodbye. That’s bad manners, you know.”
“Good-fucking-bye, Castellan.”
He laughs, the sound of it swirling in your stomach strangely. “Thank you, major. See you Monday.”
You toss your phone to the foot of your bed when the line cuts and tangle your legs in the blankets, mortified at the heat curling around your neck.
♫ TV Girl ・Taking What’s Not Yours
[ IMAGE: a photo of you in your band uniform, baton in hand and a silver whistle looped around your neck. The jacket is orange with a pale yellow lining, gold buttons glimmering, and you wear a pair of black, straight-legged slacks. Your face is half eclipsed by the shadow of your cap. The photo may have been taken with an old digital camera, giving it a washed-out, nostalgic look. ]
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lukestellans sweepstakes at anthos fest, congrats @.majmajmaj
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majmajmaj dont tag theyre gna find me
↳ travstole fratrnisng w the enemy ICKK 🫵🤮 ↳ anniebethc That’s not the right spelling for ‘fraternizing’. You should enable auto-correct on your device settings.
The weather under the fruit trees is better than out in the street. You’ve shed your itchy uniform jacket, opting to just wear the loose, white under-tee to cope with the temperature. At least the metal of your camera keeps your hands cool, and the dry breeze that filters through the verdant boughs sends soothing, dappled shadows stretching across the grass.
It’s hot, and unbearably so. Marching down Zeus City Boulevard from the high school to city hall was hell; it’s only late winter, almost early spring, and the temperature is already in the high seventies. You can only dread the heat come summertime.
“If you told me it was this tree,” and Luke’s coming around the trunk, camera strap strung over his torso and glasses hanging from his shirt collar, “I could’ve gotten here sooner.”
Castellan pats the bark, disregarding the sign that reads DO NOT TOUCH welded to the small fence that encircles the roots. You try not to look at his arm, lean and veined, the pale stretch of skin under his bicep growing larger as the sleeve of his airy polo rides up.
You clear your throat, fiddling with the settings of your own camera. Around you, children shriek and dash in the alleys between the carnival game stalls.
“This is the apple tree, everyone knows that.”
“I told you,” Castellan says, rolling his eyes, “that there are a ton of them here.”
You snap a quick shot of some teens sharing a big, pink cloud of cotton candy. They’re smiling wide, wrinkles of joy arrowing around their mouths. It would have been a nice picture if not for the overexposure—you kiss your teeth and delete it.
“Sorry, was I supposed to say the biggest apple tree planted by Mayor Hera’s great-grandmother, coincidentally also named Hera, in the park next to city hall?”
He shrugs, making a face of agreement. “It would’ve helped. You also could’ve mentioned that it was the golden apple tree and not one of the red apple trees.”
You snag a fallen fruit off the grass, turning it in your hands. “Does this look lustrously golden to you?”
“Fine, the yellow apple tree.”
“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping it into your camera bag. You can already feel the imminent sweat stain forming under where the thick strap rests on your shoulder, and hope that Castellan won’t take notice
“You aren’t supposed to take the fallen apples, you know.”
You look at him, brows raised innocuously. “Who took what?”
Before he can chide you again, Charles steps up to your side, wearing the same black slacks and white under-tee. Castellan doesn’t seem fazed, unfolding the arms of his thin-framed glasses and pushing them up his nose.
Your bandmate stiffens when Silena skips over, still in pep uniform, her manicured fingers wrapping around Castellan’s shoulder. It’s the first time you've looked at Silena closely, all shiny black hair and round face—she’s more cherubic now that she’s right there in front of you, full-bodied and not as slight as you’d previously thought she was.
She waves at you, cute nails glimmering pale pink in the dappled shade.
“Hi,” she’s smiling, a little giddy, honeyed kick to her voice, “I’m Silena. Luke told me a lot about you.”
( Now you kind of get why Charles and half the guys and girls at school have a crush on her. )
You try to play it cool. “Really? I didn’t know he talked about me.”
She nods, and her dark hair sways mesmerizing with the movement. Castellan looks away, embarrassment creeping up his neck. You elbow Charles in the ribs when he stays silent for too long.
He speaks, although the words are punched-out and tremoring. “I’m Charles Beckendorf.”
Silena smiles politely, lips pink and glossy, eyes a bit too wide. “I know.”
Charles is a big, tall guy. Most people who don’t know better would think he did football and go about their lives not knowing that he used to be four feet zero and played piccolo since sixth grade.
So when the cheerleader of his dreams smiles at him, you can quite literally feel his body temperature rise, the skin of your arm prickling even though he’s standing half a foot away.
“I think,” Castellan pipes up, strained, his eye twitching, “I actually have to go take some pictures for yearbook.”
He’s really fucking bad at this matchmaking shit.
“Yea—” and your voice comes out in a near squeak too “—uh, Charles, you can go with Silena. I need stuff for Heralds too.”
Okay, you’re just as bad as Castellan.
Charles shifts, confused. “You sure? We could just all go together and hang out while you do your thing.”
You and Castellan—and Silena too?—nearly shout in protest. The cheerleader laughs it off and stiffly walks over to Charles, taking his wrist gently and tiptoeing to whisper to him. The rate at which the air around your fellow drum major heats up could be considered exponential.
Charles chuckles awkwardly and steps back, wrapping his hand around Silena’s in return. “Yea, right. We’ll meet back at sunset?”
“Sure,” Castellan says, putting up a hand, arm too stiff to wave. “See you.”
Silena skips away with Charles behind her. You breathe a sigh of relief in unison and drop down onto the grass, legs splaying over the green blades.
Castellan joins you on the ground, pinching his shirt and flapping it in an attempt to cool off.
“That was fucking painful.”
“No shit, major.”
You huff, prickles creeping up your neck. The shade barely does anything against the heat now, a stiff breeze blowing hot air through the fibers of your loose shirt. Castellan looks as worse for wear as you do, nose crinkled and hair gone wild.
A puff of air makes its way out of his lips. “So what now?”
You groan and stagger up, standing on weak legs. “We should follow them just in case.”
Castellan squints up at you, dappled shadows burnishing his face, curls bouncing leisurely in the wind. He groans and holds up his hand, jello-limbed and sloth-like. You take him by the wrist and heave until he’s standing.
“The first thing Charles does when he gets set loose in a carnival,” you tell Castellan—he’s chasing your steps doggedly, blushed from the heat, “is buy cotton candy.”
“So what do you do?” he asks, a hand shielding his eyes from the unforgiving sunlight.
“I’m gonna pay the stall operator to make an extra large one so they can share.”
“No, I mean what do you normally do at a carnival?”
You slow down momentarily, nearly tripping over yourself. “Uh…I kinda skip the festival most years. It’s too hot most of the time.”
“Oh,” he says, a little dumb with the way his mouth hangs open by a smidge. “I normally get tickets for the games first.”
“Cool,” you tell him absently, searching for the volunteer-run food stalls, “we can try that next year.”
He’s weirdly silent, the blunt of the sudden quiet unnerving you.
( You do not realize your mistake until after the festival ends. )
Percy and Annabeth are operating the cotton candy stall, perspiration beading at their hairlines and ridiculous aprons hung over their white tees. It seems that everyone in band decided to forgo the ugly-ass jacket, and for good reason.
You sneak around the back, Castellan not far off, pulling two five dollar bills from your pocket.
Hissing, “Percy, Annabeth.”
The girl turns, braids swinging in the air. They nearly hit Percy across the eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Annabeth asks in a high-pitched whisper. She does a double-take at Castellan. “What are you doing here?”
Percy looks over Annabeth’s shoulder curiously. “Is that money for me?”
“No time to explain—if Silena and Charles order two cotton candies, I need you to lie and just give them a super huge one, okay?”
A grin splits Percy’s face wide, eyes gleaming devilishly. You think that the time the Stolls spend bothering him is starting to influence his behavior.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asks, fixating on the bill, completely ignoring the customers waiting for their sweets. “Charles getting the girl of his dreams?”
You groan and hold out the money vehemently. “Just take the fucking bribe and act normal!”
The speed at which Percy snatches the two fives could be considered non-human. Yea, the Stolls are definitely rubbing off on him, but he splits the bills, gives half to Annabeth; she often says that she doesn’t care about money, but her eyes sparkle nonetheless.
Huh, interesting.
Castellan pulls you away to hide behind a thick tree trunk. You hold your camera up to your eyes, zooming in on the couple as they converse with Annabeth at the register. Her customer-service smile is strained, eyes wide, a little nervous.
You were right—Charles and Silena hand over their money separately.
Percy gives them a huge cloud of wispy pink sugar—it’s nearly thrice the size of his own head and—makes some lame excuse, probably that they ran out of cotton candy sticks because he’s literally hiding the paper cones behind his back.
Silena asks Charles something and he gives her a nod of agreement. She holds the candy between them—they’re walking shoulder to shoulder now, Charles picking off small clumps and Silena almost skipping with how peppy her steps are.
Mission one accomplished.
You tail them for some time, occasionally snapping pictures of kids playing rigged games and couples holding hands. When you hold up your camera, Castellan does too, and you stand back to back sometimes, taking in every angle of the carnival.
“Wait,” Castellan speaks, putting a hand on your shoulder and pointing the other towards your friends, “they’re walking out of the park.”
You frown. “It’s not even sunset yet.”
He hums—right next to your ear. “I think she’s taking him to that boba shop she likes. It’s close by.”
“So that’s good, right?”
“Yea.”
“So mission accomplished, I can go home?”
Castellan chuckles, sliding his hand cautiously from your shoulder to your wrist. His touch is light, barely a feather’s weight.
“Nuh-uh,” he grins, shit-eating. “We’re playing the games.”
You protest but don’t make any move to break away, “They’re rigged, dumbass. It’s a waste of money.”
“We need to pass the time somehow. Remember we’re meeting back at sunset to watch the fireworks?”
“Ah, fuck you.”
He leads you all the way to the ticket booths, fingers sending tingles burning up your arm when he secures a wristband around your wrist. Castellan tugs you along by the wristband thereafter, flitting between rubber duck and ping pong ball and dart games.
He wins some, loses some. You win none and lose a lot. It’s mainly him catching prizes, and you have to cross the street to get a bag at a nearby grocery store to hold all the cheap stuffed animals.
You pass by the boba shop, brightly lit and colorful, and Charles waves at you from inside. Silena makes an enthusiastic heart with her hands and Castellan blushes, looping his fingers under your wristband and darting away.
♫ Sonic Youth ・Sunday
[ IMAGE: Two pairs of beaten sneakers facing each other on a well-tended stretch of grass. Luke’s scuffed Air Forces are easily recognizable with a small Spiderman doodle at the toe. His middle and index fingers extend in a peace sign at the top of the frame, meeting the points of yours at the bottom in a diamond shape. ]
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majmajmaj sunday comes n sunday goes
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perciusjakcsn CHAT R U SEEING THIS 🫢
↳ naka.ethan git saw them holdin hands n walking round the fest 🤢 ↳ conmanstole sm1 ask annie if we can disown a drum major or smth
travstole sarge connor says he was joking n to pls unblock him 🙏
FROM: becky d
(18:32) so silenas kinda tired (18:32) gna walk her home
TO: becky d
(18:34) oh? 😏 (18:34) wait no ur gna miss the fireworks (19:00) BECKY ANSWER ME WHAT ABT THE FIREWORKS (19:01) fake friend bc now m stuck w castellan until fireworks 😭
FROM: becky d
(19:45) yk u dont hafta stay right… (19:45) cant even take good pics in the dark w out lookin goofy in flash
Charles had texted you halfway through sunset, the sky beginning to pinken along with broad, orange brushstrokes of sunlight—yet you still hang around between the apple trees and the carnival stalls. It’s well into the night, temperature dropping steeply, and the once stiff breeze has you suppressing a shudder.
Castellan must be feeling the change too, because he stands so impossibly close that each time the space between you two decreases by some increment, sparks begin to unspools from your nerves and smart along your skin.
“Fireworks in a few,” remarks Castellan, pocketing his phone. “D’you know Phaestus does them?”
You pick absently at the skin beside your nail. “Like the woodworking teacher?”
“Yea.”
“Cool.” It’s stilted, stiff and brittle. Now that you know for sure that Charles has left you for the wolves, you don’t see much reason in staying longer. The only problem is getting out without feeling guilty for ditching Castellan—not that you’d feel bad for him. “I dunno if I can stay, though.”
The boy furrows his brow, a little line forming on his forehead. “Why not? It’s barely eight.”
How do you tell Castellan that you want to be far, far away from him? That at the same time, you want to press yourself into and through his skin and twine around his bones?
“Uh…I need to finish my apps.”
“College apps got submitted like, a month ago.”
Fuck, shit, fuck again. You desperately need to take a masterclass in lying your way out of situations. Castellan slides his warm fingers under your flimsy wristband, tugs on it lightly.
It barely makes a mark in your skin despite the fact that he’s been pulling on it for practically half the day. The cheap material scrapes against your wrist when he tugs it again, something skating too quick to place up your spine.
He smiles, small with undisguised encouragement. “Let’s try the Ferris wheel.”
“No way.”
Castellan laughs and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse point. “Look, we haven’t gone on any rides, and honestly, the Ferris wheel’s a lot better than that.”
He tilts his head towards the Kamikaze ride: two hammer-shaped structures swinging around in 360 degree arcs like a pendulum. You can hear someone wailing faintly, cries fading in and out in time with each rotation. You aren’t too sure, but it sounds vaguely like that one sophomore trombone kid…Grover Underwood?
( At least, that’s what you think his name is. It’s hard to keep track of who’s who when the Stolls’ stupid and distracting antics preoccupy a majority of your attention during practice. )
You rub the strap of your camera between your thumb and index finger, weighing your options.
“Fine.”
Castellan cheers, pumping his fist and pulling you towards the empty line. People begin to race to the queue as the time for fireworks begins to near, but you and Castellan beat them all to it.
He slides onto the bench and you take the one opposite of him, placing the bag of cheap stuffed animals next to you. You take one—a squishy black cat—and squeeze it, watching the plush expand between your fingers.
Castellan’s got an angry-looking dog in his lap, playing with its soft polyester ears. You see him backlit by artificial light, all carnival colors and little house windows. From a distance, a rocket gets set off, a faint boom echoing sputters of red.
Without thinking, you raise your camera up and snap a picture of the firework’s colors splattering over his frame. A snap of the shutter and then you find he’s looking right at you, eyes gleaming, face softened by the night.
You’re then distracted by a flurry of pops, a bright, phosphorescent shower sparkling on the horizon. Your head feels hazy, cloudy, too stuffed with sugar like a half-developed photograph of what’s happened today.
A shutter, a snap. Castellan holding his camera up to his eyes. You both lean together, foreheads magnetic, pulling up the pictures you just took. The fireworks continue to sound off, faint and forgotten.
In his photo of you: your shoulders are relaxed, lips in a shallow part. The black cat plush is squished under your forearm, camera half-held by your loose fingers and all-hanging from the strap looped over your neck. Everything’s backlit blue and green and white like an aquarium, sea foam threaded in the phosphorescent fireworks.
In your photo of him: he’s painted a pale red, carnival lights splashing anywhere else they can. You can’t even tell what the color of his shirt really is like this. Castellan’s hair has the image of it being freshly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. The angry dog lays lopsided in his grip, expression warped under his fingers.
You’re about to open your dry, dry mouth when the wheel comes to a stop and a worker yanks open the door roughly. You hurry out with Castellan not far behind.
“I gotta go,” you say, jutting your thumb towards the end of the street. You’re really telling the truth this time; it’s nearly nine and you have a stats test on Monday. Or, tomorrow. You can’t really think straight when Castellan’s right next to you.
He touches your shoulder, fingers careful. “Send me that picture, ‘kay? See you tomorrow in math.”
Castellan’s hand peels away when he begins to step backward slowly, waiting for you to say something before he leaves. You wet your lips quickly, molars teething at the inside of your cheek.
“Yea, I’ll see you. Good luck on the test.”
His lips quirk, smile lines arrowing in his skin. He waves, and you wave back. Like two ships passing in the night.
[ IMAGE: a blurry, unprofessional, iPhone camera photo angled towards the sky and extra-zoomed in on two unidentifiable teens sitting on opposite sides of a Ferris wheel car. Their outlines are lit in neon carnival lights and soft fireworks, heads bent together. ]
Liked by anniebethc and 214 others
perciusjakcsn why r the rides diabolical af 😭
view all comments
tankadreww waittt whos in the ferris 😮
groovewood FUCK kamikaze all my homies HATE kamikaze i almost saw god three times
↳ anniebethc Can confirm, the Kamikaze was terrible.
majmajmaj werent the fireworks past ur bedtime percival,,,
↳ perciusjakcsn NO AND FYI ITS PERSEUS JUST LIKE HOW UR MAJOR NOT SERGEANT ↳ majmajmaj THEN WHY DONT U CALL ME MAJOR U FUCKING DUMBASS
p.s. ★ nearly finished w this, we have two more chapters left!! might take a small break next week until finals season and journalism summer work is done obliterating me
sharing is caring, so pls rb and also lmk ur thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩
luke tags (closed); @melllinaa @amortencjja @arsonnaire @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon @ahh-chickens @spiderbeam @jennapancake @traumatrios @omg--bluexx @dangelnleif @apolloscastellan @hiraethavis @lukecastellandefender @bookshelfminstrel @cherr-y-eji @solangelotus @liviessun @thaliagracesgf @ddarling-ddearest-ddead
© klineinie 2024 — do not plagiarize, translate, or use ANY works to train ai
communication is key
jason todd x fem!reader
word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities
Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?
It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.
Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.
Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.
Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.
You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.
The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.
As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.
It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.
Not so broken, clearly.
Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.
It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.
Yeah, right.
It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.
“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”
“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”
“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”
You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.
In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.
Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.
That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.
It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.
“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.
You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.
“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”
“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”
“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”
“You did what?”
“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”
“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”
Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.
You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.
As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”
“Red Robin…”
“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”
The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.
“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”
You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting.
The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”
A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.
“Hood?”
“Red Hood?”
“Hood, you okay?”
“Hood, status report, now.”
“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”
The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.
That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”
“Oh my god.”
“That’s so not okay, dude.”
“Holy shit.”
You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.
Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.
“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”
Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.
Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”
“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”
Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.
“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.
“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”
“Never.”
“Come on, man.”
“Dick got to meet her!”
“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”
“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”
Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.
“So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”
“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”
“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”
“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”
“Please,” Dick’s begging now.
“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”
“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”
“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”
“Shit.”
Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.
Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.
You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”
“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”
And the comm line erupts.
“When the wedding happens?”
“WHAT?”
“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”
“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”
If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.
You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.
Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.
“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”
“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”
It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.
If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.
The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.
You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.
The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.
“So, where is it?”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –
“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.
“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”
You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.
“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.
The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.
And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.
“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.
“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.
His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”
That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.
“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”
“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”
He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”
“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”
Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.
“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.
“Yeah, princess?”
“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.
“Oh, and Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”
You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.
microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse
If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.
satellite → r. keating (b. skeetz)
pairings — robert keating x fem!reader
summary — what bobby skeetz would be like as your annoying boyfriend <3
spinning out, waiting for you to pull me in. i can see you're lonely down there. don't you know that i am right here?
i feel like you'd be a long-term relationship (like teenage years long term)
ik they went to some fancy all boys school so let's say you went to an all girls school near theirs that would often go on trips together (pls tell me that wasn't just my school that did that)
either that of you'd meet through extra curriculars or overlapping friend groups
EITHER WAY met when ye were young (13-14) and got together when ye were 16-17
tbh most people thought you'd only last a few months bcs it was a teenage relationship after all but you're so chill with each other that it became very clear very quick that ye were just different
major "my girlfriend's my best friend" vibes
because of that, every inhaler fan knows you
you're no longer referred to by your name
you're just "mother" now
it's low-key a problem
like in any of your instagram posts or cute little tiktoks, at least half of the comments have a silly little inhaler pfp and are calling you mother
anyways
he's so annoying
definitely a very playful relationship
mocking eachother and all that
telling anyone else (outside your friendgroup) to fuck off if they do the same
he himself wouldn't be very public with the relationship
like you wouldn't be the face of every instagram post but you'd be in a story every few weeks and you'd pop up in the middle of a photo dump here and there
the inhaler_on_tik account however....
fans play where's wally with you in the tiktoks
usually hiding in a window reflection or the hem of your jacket poking into frame
enough to know you're there
you'd be best friends with all the fans
gigs are your opportunity to make new friends
they all adore you
so many fan tiktoks from gigs just have you dancing away with them
they'd bring you flowers <3
but yeah even if bobby himself doesn't post you a lot, fans would get pictures of you two together and they'd be so cute 😭
most of them are taken before gigs when he's helping you out of the bus or ye're walking into the venue together
but someone got a picture of you two once at some silly little market in spain and you were looking at flowers and he was looking at you
they posted it to tiktok and you asked them to send it to you
it was your lockscreen for a bit x
BIRD BINGO!!!
if you're ever traveling without him, you'd take pictures of any birds you pass and send them onto him
i really need to make sure it's known that he'd be annoying
like imagine you're just lying in bed, reading or on your phone, and he just bellyflops on top of you
no warning
no escape
you're trapped
i said the same in my eli headcanons but i don't really get spooning vibes from him
no matter what way you fall asleep, at least some part of him will be touching you
whether he's full on wrapped around you or just got an arm thrown over your torso
it helps him sleep better
you're best friends with the band ofc
i mean, you practically grew up together
you and rob never have a moment of peace with them on tour
you could be curled up in bed, and all of a sudden, elijah's busting down your door and lying down beside ye to tell you about a new song idea
you finally think you're free for a moment having a smoke by the back of the bus? nope, ryan's there now purely because he wanted to annoy ye
josh is nice on ye though (not really) (he makes fun of ye all the time) (he's my little pookie bear angel) (he can do no wrong)
they love having you around
and even if you leave the tour bus to get some snacks and come back to them trying on your dresses and robert doing josh's eyeliner you love having them around too
you're starting to get the mother thing
they do feel like you're hyperactive little children
bobby skeetz, the man that you are, you'd be a great boyfriend
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