he’s hard before you even do any of that. his heart thuds loud enough to crowd out thought, heat rushing to his face until it blooms poppy-red and mottled. his thick, muscular thighs tense beneath your touch. when you mouth at the protruding outline of him through the fabric, whatever composure he’d been clutching collapses entirely. his fingers hook into the mattress, corrugating it between them. he loses his mind. when he finally dares to look down, he can’t tell whether the darkened patch on his pants is your saliva or all him.

tyson’s first allowance is letting you feel under his clothes: as long as you promise not to look. and you do. you even offer to let him blindfold you if it would help. discounting the scars, he’s especially self-conscious about his body hair. the line running from his chest downward is riotous, untamed — a jungle that once precipitated an onslaught of ridicule when he was younger and still tender enough to feel it. no one dared voice it after the locker-door incident, but the damage had been done, the fearful reticence could never ameliorate the injury.

just before your hand slips beneath the hem of his shirt, he issues a warning, preemptive and apologetic, pitched as though he assumes you’d prefer to be elsewhere.

“you don’t have to,” he says with a shrug that looks more like he wants to curl into himself and disappear forever. “i tried shaving once — didn’t like it. it came back all scratchy and stuff.” he hesitates, then adds, softer, “sorry,” like it’s a genuine imposition.

Jason Grace had always been the type to overthink everything, from sword fights to the way he tied his sneakers. It wasn't that he lacked confidence— hell, he'd faced down monsters without flinching— but when it came to you, things got oh! so messy in his head.

You'd been together for months now, a whirlwind of kisses and late-night talks, but sex? That was still new territory. Jason was a virgin before you; his life was packed with quests and duties to explore much else.

And you? You were the one who'd gently pulled him into it, showing him the ropes— or rather, the sheets— on those rare nights when the world let him take a breathe.

It started simple.

The first time, in the dim glow of his cabin, you'd straddled him, guiding his hands to your hips as you sank down onto his cock. Jason's eyes had widened, his breath hitching at the feeling of your pretty cunt clenching.

He was thick— impressively so, the kind of girth that stretched you in ways that made your toes curl— but he didn't know what to do with it !

He laid there, mostly passive, letting you set the pace while he gripped the bedframe like it was his lifeline. You rode him slow, feeling him throb inside you, but it was all instinct for him, no rhythm and definitely no drive.

You'd come, sure, grinding against him until the pressure built and shattered, but Jason? He finished pathetically quick, spilling outside with a groan that sounded half-apologetic. Afterward, he'd hold you close, whispering how amazing you felt, but you could see the frustration in his eyes. He wanted to be better for you.

That became the pattern.

Jason underneath, you on top, controlling the ride. He'd thrust up sometimes, tentative, his hands roaming your breasts or ass, but it was always you leading.

You didn't mind— his eagerness was endearing, and that thick dick of his filled you up just right. He even thrusted up into you with all the enthusiasm of a guy desperate to please from time to time, but it was pretty much always the same: quick, predictable, leaving you satisfied but not exactly screaming. You'd come, no doubt, but he knew it wasn't fireworks for you.

Little did you know, Jason was already plotting his redemption arc !

Starting with asking Leo for a laptop without dying of embarrassment in the attempt... Anyways! Once he got it, he immediately started investigating.

It was as innocent as it could be.

One night, after you'd left his cabin with a kiss, Jason couldn't shake the frustration gnawing at him. He was built like a god— tall, broad-shouldered, with that chiseled jaw and a body honed from years of discipline in the roman legion— but in bed, he felt like a rookie fumbling the ball.

So, alone in the dim glow of his new laptop, he dove in. Porn first, the kind with titles promising "mind-blowing technique" and close-up shots of couples who looked like they were inventing new laws of physics. Then articles, forums, even a dog-eared book on anatomy he'd swiped from a roadside library box because he knew that pornography was not a reliable source for pleasing a woman..

He watched how guys used their mouths, their hands, the way they'd build tension instead of rushing to the end. Jason took notes while his cock hardened because he imagined practicing on you. He wanted to erase that look of polite pleasure from your face and replace it with something raw, something that made you cry of pleasure.

Now, here you were again, grinning as you tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Missed you," you say, your voice so soft. How could Jason deny you anything?

Jason swallowed. "Mh, yeah? We saw eachother at breakfast."

He adjusted his glasses, but you were already closing the distance, your hand brushing his arm.

"But I can miss my boyfriend," your hands slided under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abs.

And like that the clothes disappeared after some kisses.

You pushed him down gently, like always, straddling his hips. Jason's cock was already hard, thick and straining against your thigh, a detail he'd always been shy about, never knowing how to wield it beyond the basics.

You guided him inside you, sinking down slowly, and he groaned, hands gripping your waist. It was familiar: you riding him, setting the pace, your pussy clenching around his length as you ground against him. He thrusted up awkwardly at first, overthinking the angle, but the heat built anyway, your moans filling the room.

"Ah.." you breathed, rolling your hips, chasing that edge he could never quite push you over.

Yet tonight, something shifted. As you leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest, Jason's hands tightened—not in surrender, but in resolve.

He'd watched those videos, read the guides: how to make it about her pleasure first! His mind usually raced with the pressure to perform, but this time, it fueled him.

With a sudden surge, he flipped you both, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You gasped, surprised, your legs parting instinctively as he settled between them.

"Jason? What—"

He didn't answer right away, his face flushed, those blue eyes dark with determination. Instead, he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue.

You arched, expecting him to slide back inside, but he kept going, lips trailing over your stomach, hands spreading your thighs wide.

His breath ghosted over your pussy, already slick from riding him, and your breath hitched. He'd never done this—never even hinted at it. Oral? That was unknown territory for him, something he'd jerked off to in secret, imagining your taste but too embarrassed to ask.

"Jason, you don't have to—" But his mouth was there before you could finish, tongue flicking tentatively against your clit.

It was clumsy at first, a hesitant lap, but then he remembered the videos: circles, pressure, the flat of the tongue. He pressed in, licking a broad stripe up your folds, tasting you fully for the first time. You moaned, loud and unrestrained, your fingers threading into his blond hair.

Because, holy shit, he had never done this before. Not once in all your relationship had he gone down on you; it was always hands or his cock, quick and to the point. But now? He was doing it, actually eating you out, his inexperience showing in the way he paused to adjust, but God, it felt good.

He grew bolder, sucking your clit between his lips, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. One hand braced on your thigh, the other slid up, two fingers teasing your entrance before pushing inside and curl them, seeking that spot he'd read about, the one that made women squirm.

You bucked against his face, the dual sensation— his tongue swirling, fingers pumping— sending sparks up your spine.

"Fuck, Jason," you talked between moans, your voice breaking. "Where did you learn this?"

It was messy— his chin glistened with your arousal, his breaths coming in hot puffs against your inner thigh and his cheeks red.

"I- I read about it. Online. In those... you know." He looked up at you, vulnerable but earnest, fingers still buried deep, stroking slowly. "Am I doing it right? Does it feel good?"

You could barely form words, pleasure coiling tight in your core. Instead of answering, you grabbed the back of his head, guiding him back down firmly.

"Keep going. Don't stop." Your voice was a command wrapped in a plea, and he obeyed, diving in with renewed focus.

His tongue worked faster now, alternating flicks and sucks, while his fingers thrusted deeper, hitting that ridge inside you with each curl. The pressure was building, relentless, with your hips grinding against his mouth as he devoured you.

You'd always taken the lead before, riding him to your satisfaction, but this— him taking care of you, learning on the fly— was intoxicating. His thick fingers stretched you sososoo damn right, slick with your arousal, and when he added a third, scissoring gently, you cried out, the fullness pushing you closer.

It built so fast, that orgasm, hotter and more intense than anything Jason had given you before. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets, and you shattered, whimpering his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing, and he didn't let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.

When he finally lifted his head, lips swollen and shiny, he looked triumphant. "Was that okay?"

You pulled him up, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

"More than okay. That was fucking incredible."

Your hand wrapped around his cock, still rock-hard and throbbing, the thick length pulsing in your grip. Precum beaded at the tip, and you stroked slowly, intending to reward him— climb on top again and let him feel you milk him dry. But Jason shook his head, a small smile breaking through his flush.

"Not this time." He caught your wrist, gently but firm, and pushed you back down, his body covering yours once more.

You laughed, breathless, as he positioned himself. "Bossy now?"

He didn't respond with words, just nudged the flushed, angry tip of his cock against your entrance, still sensitive from your climax.

He'd never known how to use his size before— thrusting too shallow or erratic, leaving you wanting. But right now, guided by all that secret studying, he pushed in slow and deep, inch by thick inch, filling you completely.

You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist, the stretch delicious after his fingers.

He started moving, hips rolling with purpose, not the hesitant pumps from your other encounters. Each thrust kissed your cervix with that swollen tip, a deep, insistent pressure.

"God, you're so tight," he muttered, voice rough, with his forehead pressed to yours. He adjusted his angle, pulling back almost out before slamming in, the head of his dick dragging right over your g-spot.

You gasped, nails digging into his back, the spot-on hit sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He'd read about it, watched the diagrams— how to angle for the maximum pleasure— and fuck, it worked. Every stroke targeted it, building that pressure again, faster than before.

Jason's rhythm steadied, his weight pinning you a bit as his hands braced on either side of your head. Sweat slicked his skin, his glasses fogging slightly as he fucked into you, harder now, the bed creaking under the force.

Your pussy gripped him like a vice, wet and hot, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Feels so good— you feel so good."

He was still overthinking a little—you could see it in the way his brows furrowed—but it only made him more attentive, hips snapping with precision, chasing your reactions.

When you clenched around him, he hit that spot again, relentless, the thick base of his cock grinding against your clit with each hilt-deep thrust. You were lost in it, your body arching to meet him, the coil tightening impossibly fast.

"Jason— right there, don't stop."

He didn't, couldn't, pounding into you with a focus that bordered on fierce, his cock stretching and filling every inch. The room filled with the slap of skin and your shared breaths ragged.

He reached down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles like he'd practiced in his mind from those videos. It was too much—the deep kisses to your cervix, the G-spot hammering, the added friction—and you shattered, your orgasm crashing in waves, pussy spasming around his thick length.

He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, tip pressed flush against your depths as he came. Hot spurts filled you, a creamy rush that leaked out around him.

That was also new; the coming inside thing, but you were so fucke out and happy you didn't even care.

Jason collapsed half on you, both of you slick and spent, his cock twitching inside as the aftershocks rippled through.

For a moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, his head on your chest. Then he lifted up, pushing his glasses back into place with a sheepish grin.

"I... I wanted to get it right this time."

"You did more than right. That was heaven." You traced a finger along his jaw, smiling.

No more frustration or overthinking shadows. Jason Grace, the guy who'd never touched a girl before you, had leveled up. And damn if it didn't make you crave the next sex session already.

But as you drifted, sated and warm, Jason murmured against your skin, "Think I need more practice?"

You smirked, nipping his ear. "Only if you're volunteering." He laughed, the sound light, and for the first time, he didn't doubt the answer.

♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The boys didn’t hate love, far from it. But this? This was something else entirely. Because before you Mattheo was smug smirks and one night stands, careless hookups and relentless flirting. And now? Now he was heart eyes, soft kisses, intertwined hands and sweet whispers, nuzzling noses, pink roses, monogamous. And if that could happen to Mattheo? It could happen to any of them.

Terrifying.

Theo shook his head with his own look of disdain that slowly transformed into an irked confusion.

“It’s like he’s been drugged, like he’s on Amortentia.” He paused, a brief look of shock on his face. “Wait, you don’t think?…” He let the sentiment hang and looked around at his friends.

They all thought for a moment.

Then collectively shook their heads at the notion.

You weren’t that kind of girl. And if they were completely honest with themselves they didn’t blame Mattheo, though they’d never admit it. You were the kind of girl any of them would fall for, too sweet for your own good, with a beautiful smile and a kind heart. No, you didn’t need to drug anyone to make them fall for you.

“Can you imagine him on it, though?” Theo laughed. “I mean, what’s left? Would he stand on the table and serenade her?!”

“He’d probably propose,” Blaise said flatly.

“There would be tears involved—“ Enzo added.

“—Poems. Sonnets,” Draco snickered.

They laughed.

Then, a collective moment of silence ensued as they all imagined the utter humiliation of their lovesick friend. Slowly their thoughts permeated, and it was like small lightbulbs clicked on over each of their heads as they shared sly, mischievous smiles with one another.

— ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Two weeks later you slid into breakfast beside Mattheo, your thigh pressing against his, close enough to feel his radiating warmth, to be wrapped in his scent like vetiver and pine. He looked over to you and smiled so wide his eyes twinkled and a small dimple formed in each cheek.

“Good morning, YN!” Draco said eagerly, pulling you from the moment. You were taken aback at his unusually chipper energy.

“Hi, Draco,” you said, turning to smile across the table at him.

You looked around and realized all of the boys were smiling back at you, which was slightly confusing but ultimately a very welcome change; you knew your presence irked them, they were never subtle about it. So this felt… nice.

“Drink up, mate!” Blaise said, pushing a goblet towards Mattheo. “Got a big game this afternoon, don’t want you dehydrated.” Mattheo snorted but acquiesced, accepting the goblet and taking several gulps before you both busied yourselves with your breakfast.

In a moment you could feel Mattheo’s hand under the table gently squeezing your thigh and you looked over to see him smiling at you, his amber eyes twinkling and his mouth quirked in a perfect grin that you immediately mirrored.

“Hey, I love you,” he whispered and pressed a quick warm kiss to your lips. It lingered with heady pressure and your eyes fluttered closed before they opened again as he gently pulled away.

Theo and Draco were batting each other’s arms in anticipation.

Blaise was holding his breath.

But that was it.

One sincere statement. One chaste kiss. And then the morning continued in relative normality. Sure, you ogled each other, finished each other’s sentences, giggled at each other, blushed. The boys watched the two of you intently like a tennis match back and forth waiting for Mattheo’s impending implosion, his grand, drug-induced outburst. It never came.

“You fucking twat! You got a bad batch,” Theo whisper-yelled to Draco.

“Excuse me who couldn’t be bothered to go get it himself? I assure you it’s the best money can buy,” Draco rebutted.

“Clearly didn’t work…” Blaise muttered under his breath as the three of them continued to argue, each too busy bickering to notice Lorenzo sliding in beside Mattheo, half-asleep, mid-yawn reaching for the wrong goblet and taking a swig. Then another.

He felt his cheeks flush and set the goblet down very very slowly. He let out a deep breath. And then he calmly stood and sauntered down the table next to you, nearly pushing a third year off the bench to make space beside you.

He sat backwards, leaning against the table so he was facing you directly. Closely. Mattheo looked up briefly, clocking his movement.

“Hey,” Enzo said, smoothly running his hand through his hair, tousling it in the effortless way he liked to do to get attention.

“Hi Enzo,” you giggled.

“Fuck I love how my name sounds on your lips” he said, low and sultry.

“What?” You laughed again, your giggle a bit more unstable.

“What the fuck did you just say to her?” Mattheo echoed, the rising edge of his tone finally catching the others’ attention.

But Lorenzo only had eyes for you and your lips… his lidded eyes locked on them as he bit his own like he was indulgently imagining what you tasted like.

“You’re so fucking hot, YN. I’m crazy about you,” he said, breathless.

Mattheo was on his feet. “Berkshire you have two fucking seconds to back the fuck away from her before your face meets the table.”

You looked quickly between Enzo and Mattheo, trying to diffuse the situation.

And now Theo, Draco, and Blaise were paying attention for an entirely different reason.

Blaise reached for Mattheo’s goblet, confirming it was empty. “Enz,” he asked. “Did you drink this??”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”Mattheo snapped, his eyes never leaving Lorenzo whose eyes never left you. He couldn’t look away from you, his cheeks swirling pink with flustered desire. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you; you, you, you, your gorgeous hair, your delicious perfume, your laugh, your perfect laugh, your goddamn lips, all of you, right there in front of him this whole time. He had to have you. He reached for you.

And was yanked off his seat and flung to the floor.

“—No no no!!” Theo shouted.

“—Wait!!” Blaise yelled.

They tried to intercede, leaping over table.

“—You don’t fucking touch her!” Mattheo roared as he pinned Lorenzo down.

“Matty!!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

“I love her!!” Enzo shouted valiantly. “She’s everything to me, Riddle you’ll never understand the way I feel!”

Mattheo’s fist flew and Enzo let out a yell as he grabbed his face, blood gushing between his fingers.

“Say that shit again!” Mattheo dared, just as his friends managed to grab ahold of him, barely holding him back.

“ILUFFHER!” Enzo cried, the sentiment muffled in tears beneath his hands and his blood.

Mattheo tried to swing again.

“Mattheo!!” Theo shouted as they held him back. “He’s drugged! He’s on Amortentia!!”

Mattheo’s attention finally snapped to his friends. “What?!”

“We put it in your goblet” Blaise admitted quickly.

“Why the fuck?—“ Mattheo started.

“—Come on,” Draco said, pushing the group towards the door as he nervously eyed the nearby professors.

— ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

All of you sat side by side on a bench outside the infirmary.

Blaise was rubbing his temple.

Draco had his arms crossed as he pouted.

Theo looked down at his hands in his lap.

Mattheo flexed his split knuckle which was slowly mending itself as you held his other hand.

And on the far end of the bench, Lorenzo held a rag to his bleeding nose, staunching the blood there as the side effects of the Amortentia wore off, leaving him confused and very grumpy.

“What doesn’t make sense is that you drank it too, didn’t you?” you asked Mattheo quietly.

“Yeah, I mean I remember feeling warm in my chest, like I wanted to be near you and tell you how I felt,” he said.

A pause.

“Maybe that just means I can’t possibly love you more than I already do?” he concluded, glancing at you with a lopsided, lovesick smile.

Lorenzo gagged.

Draco sighed.

Theo groaned.

And Blaise ran his hands down his face as you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Mattheo’s lips with a satisfying smack.

— 𝑝ercy 𝑗ackson 🌊

#d17b78

neatly trimmed, short, black, and straight against his tan skin. percy's around 6.2 - 6.8 in. girth's a good 4.3 in. round tip that he cannot stop rutting between your tits and admiring his thick cum sprouts coating them. cue to cumming on the spot if you shyly touch his slit or even better, kitten lick it mid his thrusts into your tits as he squeezes them together. he 100% licks his cum off your tits or spreads it around with his fingers. normally hung? his scrotum isn't that tight.

— 𝑗ason 𝑔race ⚡

#bc8f8f

clean-shaven. always. he's serious about his appearance everywhere. if you say you like it a bit hairy, though? a few months later, he's early out training – shirtless; a neat blond happy trail going down to a place that makes you very happy. he's in between 6.9 - 7.4 in. girth's 5 in. slightly upwards curved. mushroom tip like leo. low scrotum. goes feral if you run your nails along his happy trail and tease the rim of his boxers that are visible from his gray sweats. has a thing for letting his runny cum ruin his sweats after too much teasing – the thrill of being like that in public (and as a strict rule following person in general) does something to him ngl.

— 𝑙uke 𝑐astellan 🗡️

#e6a0a7

luke's the biggest one of the bunch – that's just the truth. 7.9 - 8.2, though he's probably the least girthiest, like 4.1 in, and that's fine, Luke's specialty is drilling anyways; something he'll always satisfy you with,,, tapered tip. he's the most hung, lowest scrotum + biggest balls = perfection. naturally, he's obsessed with ballplay. be it you paying special attention to his boys with your tongue and sucking them into your mouth with drool dripping down his crack, or riding him with his and your cum just sliding onto them.

— 𝑓rank 𝑧hang 🏹

#b56576

frank's the smallest of them, but hey, it's how you use what you're given sooo... he's around 4 - 4.7 in long, though he's the second girthiest at 5.3 in. slightly pointed tip. not that hung, scrotum is high. adores attentive handjobs! he can't get enough of his girlfriend being so careful,, then asking him if it's okay to squeeze or go quicker?? he's falling apart and nodding. pulling you closer for a kiss, whining into your mouth as he nuts the prettiest shade all over your delicate fingers.

── © dewypout

Jason Grace had always been the type to overthink everything, from sword fights to the way he tied his sneakers. It wasn't that he lacked confidence— hell, he'd faced down monsters without flinching— but when it came to you, things got oh! so messy in his head.

You'd been together for months now, a whirlwind of kisses and late-night talks, but sex? That was still new territory. Jason was a virgin before you; his life was packed with quests and duties to explore much else.

And you? You were the one who'd gently pulled him into it, showing him the ropes— or rather, the sheets— on those rare nights when the world let him take a breathe.

It started simple.

The first time, in the dim glow of his cabin, you'd straddled him, guiding his hands to your hips as you sank down onto his cock. Jason's eyes had widened, his breath hitching at the feeling of your pretty cunt clenching.

He was thick— impressively so, the kind of girth that stretched you in ways that made your toes curl— but he didn't know what to do with it !

He laid there, mostly passive, letting you set the pace while he gripped the bedframe like it was his lifeline. You rode him slow, feeling him throb inside you, but it was all instinct for him, no rhythm and definitely no drive.

You'd come, sure, grinding against him until the pressure built and shattered, but Jason? He finished pathetically quick, spilling outside with a groan that sounded half-apologetic. Afterward, he'd hold you close, whispering how amazing you felt, but you could see the frustration in his eyes. He wanted to be better for you.

That became the pattern.

Jason underneath, you on top, controlling the ride. He'd thrust up sometimes, tentative, his hands roaming your breasts or ass, but it was always you leading.

You didn't mind— his eagerness was endearing, and that thick dick of his filled you up just right. He even thrusted up into you with all the enthusiasm of a guy desperate to please from time to time, but it was pretty much always the same: quick, predictable, leaving you satisfied but not exactly screaming. You'd come, no doubt, but he knew it wasn't fireworks for you.

Little did you know, Jason was already plotting his redemption arc !

Starting with asking Leo for a laptop without dying of embarrassment in the attempt... Anyways! Once he got it, he immediately started investigating.

It was as innocent as it could be.

One night, after you'd left his cabin with a kiss, Jason couldn't shake the frustration gnawing at him. He was built like a god— tall, broad-shouldered, with that chiseled jaw and a body honed from years of discipline in the roman legion— but in bed, he felt like a rookie fumbling the ball.

So, alone in the dim glow of his new laptop, he dove in. Porn first, the kind with titles promising "mind-blowing technique" and close-up shots of couples who looked like they were inventing new laws of physics. Then articles, forums, even a dog-eared book on anatomy he'd swiped from a roadside library box because he knew that pornography was not a reliable source for pleasing a woman..

He watched how guys used their mouths, their hands, the way they'd build tension instead of rushing to the end. Jason took notes while his cock hardened because he imagined practicing on you. He wanted to erase that look of polite pleasure from your face and replace it with something raw, something that made you cry of pleasure.

Now, here you were again, grinning as you tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Missed you," you say, your voice so soft. How could Jason deny you anything?

Jason swallowed. "Mh, yeah? We saw eachother at breakfast."

He adjusted his glasses, but you were already closing the distance, your hand brushing his arm.

"But I can miss my boyfriend," your hands slided under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abs.

And like that the clothes disappeared after some kisses.

You pushed him down gently, like always, straddling his hips. Jason's cock was already hard, thick and straining against your thigh, a detail he'd always been shy about, never knowing how to wield it beyond the basics.

You guided him inside you, sinking down slowly, and he groaned, hands gripping your waist. It was familiar: you riding him, setting the pace, your pussy clenching around his length as you ground against him. He thrusted up awkwardly at first, overthinking the angle, but the heat built anyway, your moans filling the room.

"Ah.." you breathed, rolling your hips, chasing that edge he could never quite push you over.

Yet tonight, something shifted. As you leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest, Jason's hands tightened—not in surrender, but in resolve.

He'd watched those videos, read the guides: how to make it about her pleasure first! His mind usually raced with the pressure to perform, but this time, it fueled him.

With a sudden surge, he flipped you both, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You gasped, surprised, your legs parting instinctively as he settled between them.

"Jason? What—"

He didn't answer right away, his face flushed, those blue eyes dark with determination. Instead, he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue.

You arched, expecting him to slide back inside, but he kept going, lips trailing over your stomach, hands spreading your thighs wide.

His breath ghosted over your pussy, already slick from riding him, and your breath hitched. He'd never done this—never even hinted at it. Oral? That was unknown territory for him, something he'd jerked off to in secret, imagining your taste but too embarrassed to ask.

"Jason, you don't have to—" But his mouth was there before you could finish, tongue flicking tentatively against your clit.

It was clumsy at first, a hesitant lap, but then he remembered the videos: circles, pressure, the flat of the tongue. He pressed in, licking a broad stripe up your folds, tasting you fully for the first time. You moaned, loud and unrestrained, your fingers threading into his blond hair.

Because, holy shit, he had never done this before. Not once in all your relationship had he gone down on you; it was always hands or his cock, quick and to the point. But now? He was doing it, actually eating you out, his inexperience showing in the way he paused to adjust, but God, it felt good.

He grew bolder, sucking your clit between his lips, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. One hand braced on your thigh, the other slid up, two fingers teasing your entrance before pushing inside and curl them, seeking that spot he'd read about, the one that made women squirm.

You bucked against his face, the dual sensation— his tongue swirling, fingers pumping— sending sparks up your spine.

"Fuck, Jason," you talked between moans, your voice breaking. "Where did you learn this?"

It was messy— his chin glistened with your arousal, his breaths coming in hot puffs against your inner thigh and his cheeks red.

"I- I read about it. Online. In those... you know." He looked up at you, vulnerable but earnest, fingers still buried deep, stroking slowly. "Am I doing it right? Does it feel good?"

You could barely form words, pleasure coiling tight in your core. Instead of answering, you grabbed the back of his head, guiding him back down firmly.

"Keep going. Don't stop." Your voice was a command wrapped in a plea, and he obeyed, diving in with renewed focus.

His tongue worked faster now, alternating flicks and sucks, while his fingers thrusted deeper, hitting that ridge inside you with each curl. The pressure was building, relentless, with your hips grinding against his mouth as he devoured you.

You'd always taken the lead before, riding him to your satisfaction, but this— him taking care of you, learning on the fly— was intoxicating. His thick fingers stretched you sososoo damn right, slick with your arousal, and when he added a third, scissoring gently, you cried out, the fullness pushing you closer.

It built so fast, that orgasm, hotter and more intense than anything Jason had given you before. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets, and you shattered, whimpering his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing, and he didn't let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.

When he finally lifted his head, lips swollen and shiny, he looked triumphant. "Was that okay?"

You pulled him up, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

"More than okay. That was fucking incredible."

Your hand wrapped around his cock, still rock-hard and throbbing, the thick length pulsing in your grip. Precum beaded at the tip, and you stroked slowly, intending to reward him— climb on top again and let him feel you milk him dry. But Jason shook his head, a small smile breaking through his flush.

"Not this time." He caught your wrist, gently but firm, and pushed you back down, his body covering yours once more.

You laughed, breathless, as he positioned himself. "Bossy now?"

He didn't respond with words, just nudged the flushed, angry tip of his cock against your entrance, still sensitive from your climax.

He'd never known how to use his size before— thrusting too shallow or erratic, leaving you wanting. But right now, guided by all that secret studying, he pushed in slow and deep, inch by thick inch, filling you completely.

You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist, the stretch delicious after his fingers.

He started moving, hips rolling with purpose, not the hesitant pumps from your other encounters. Each thrust kissed your cervix with that swollen tip, a deep, insistent pressure.

"God, you're so tight," he muttered, voice rough, with his forehead pressed to yours. He adjusted his angle, pulling back almost out before slamming in, the head of his dick dragging right over your g-spot.

You gasped, nails digging into his back, the spot-on hit sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He'd read about it, watched the diagrams— how to angle for the maximum pleasure— and fuck, it worked. Every stroke targeted it, building that pressure again, faster than before.

Jason's rhythm steadied, his weight pinning you a bit as his hands braced on either side of your head. Sweat slicked his skin, his glasses fogging slightly as he fucked into you, harder now, the bed creaking under the force.

Your pussy gripped him like a vice, wet and hot, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Feels so good— you feel so good."

He was still overthinking a little—you could see it in the way his brows furrowed—but it only made him more attentive, hips snapping with precision, chasing your reactions.

When you clenched around him, he hit that spot again, relentless, the thick base of his cock grinding against your clit with each hilt-deep thrust. You were lost in it, your body arching to meet him, the coil tightening impossibly fast.

"Jason— right there, don't stop."

He didn't, couldn't, pounding into you with a focus that bordered on fierce, his cock stretching and filling every inch. The room filled with the slap of skin and your shared breaths ragged.

He reached down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles like he'd practiced in his mind from those videos. It was too much—the deep kisses to your cervix, the G-spot hammering, the added friction—and you shattered, your orgasm crashing in waves, pussy spasming around his thick length.

He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, tip pressed flush against your depths as he came. Hot spurts filled you, a creamy rush that leaked out around him.

That was also new; the coming inside thing, but you were so fucke out and happy you didn't even care.

Jason collapsed half on you, both of you slick and spent, his cock twitching inside as the aftershocks rippled through.

For a moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, his head on your chest. Then he lifted up, pushing his glasses back into place with a sheepish grin.

"I... I wanted to get it right this time."

"You did more than right. That was heaven." You traced a finger along his jaw, smiling.

No more frustration or overthinking shadows. Jason Grace, the guy who'd never touched a girl before you, had leveled up. And damn if it didn't make you crave the next sex session already.

But as you drifted, sated and warm, Jason murmured against your skin, "Think I need more practice?"

You smirked, nipping his ear. "Only if you're volunteering." He laughed, the sound light, and for the first time, he didn't doubt the answer.

♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you and percy jackson had been dating for almost three months until you decided to break up with him. 

It wasn’t that he was ignoring you or was a bad boyfriend, but something deep down made you feel like you were dragging him down with you. 

you never really understood why percy seemed to have feelings for you, it kept you up at night but you never found the courage to talk to him about it. you found those doubts stupid and so you tried to move on with your day. 

but those doubts kept growing every day and some part of you thought that you weren’t good enough for him. you two had always been total opposites and at first it didn’t bother you, but as you and percy became closer you realised that you both were making a terrible mistake. 

you felt as if you were failing on the role of the ‘good girlfriend’ and made you feel so anxious that you almost threw up. 

so, you did what you were good at. 

you run away. 

you broke up with him, leaving percy no room to react or fight for this so-called relationship. you collected some hoodies and pyjamas that you had forgotten in his dorm and left. 

you felt guilty for leaving like that, without giving him an actual reason, just a dry ‘there’s no future in this relationship’. you still couldn’t forget the way percy tried to reason with you, find a solution to this problem that he had no idea existed and was jeopardising your relationship.  

“tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it”  you kept replaying this conversation in your head like a movie stuck in a loop. his voice was soft and you had to refrain from taking your words back. 

“you can’t fix it this time percy” you said and almost immediately; a frown formed on his lips, looking as if you had stabbed him on the back. 

that’s all you had said and had walked out of his dorm. 

it had been a month since you had broken up and everything felt weird. no one was sending you good morning texts, no one knocked at your door to walk you to your class, no one stayed over and watched a cheesy romcom with you and kept saying how similar you two were to the main characters. 

just silence. 

when your friends annabeth and grover (you had met them through percy and had somehow instantly clicked) found out about the break up, they thought that you were pulling a prank. 

you had decided to meet up in the library and you had to burry your face deep in whatever essay you had to write, in an attempt to ignore how intense they were looking at you.  

“but percy is crazy about you” grover reasoned, and he looked as if someone had discontinued his favourite snack. 

“we were too different” you clenched this admission as tight as you could so you wouldn’t think you made a mistake. This was better for the both of you and you could imagine percy doing better now that you parted ways. 

even if it hurts you. 

annabeth pulled you out of your thoughts by placing her hand on your shoulder and gave you a look that you knew all too well. she was silently offering you comfort without judging you or feeling pity. 

you gave her a smile and the three of you silently tried to finish your essays without saying anything else. maybe they didn’t understand why you broke up with him but they made you feel a little less shitty about yourself. 

**

your dorm was uncharacteristically quiet. 

usually, you would have music blasting through your laptop or have some friends over and gossip about your college life. you didn’t have the energy to do anything though, so you were simply laying on your bed. 

you were supposed to feel better. 

you weren’t allowed to want him back when you knew that you weren’t the best girlfriend. there had been a lot of times where it was hard for you to open up or simply enjoy the moment without overthinking it. 

perseus jackson deserved the whole god damn world and even though you loved him, you knew that you weren’t the one for him. 

it hurt more than you could admit. 

was this even possible? to love someone but know that you are hurting them unintentionally? 

you decided that at least now, you'll try to be better. you didn’t know if you would be able to move on but you could try and get rid off the ugly parts of yourself. 

you took one glance at your lock screen-it was a picture of you and percy that you had forgotten to change-and let out a sigh. you might have broken up but that boy was still the owner of your heart and you weren’t sure if you actually wanted  him to give it back. 

**

you thought that percy would be doing a lot better now that he wasn’t yours anymore. 

well you couldn’t be more wrong. 

when you walked into your english class, you had taken a glimpse of him from his seat and your breath hinged. 

percy was leaning against his chair, black circles covering his beautiful face and his hair was a mess. he was wearing a black hoodie and seemed like he was zoning out. 

you had learnt through a trusted source (annabeth) that percy had been rejecting every girl that had tried to take up your spot. you would be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t surprised. 

you sat down in your seat at the back of the class and tried your hardest to ignore the way his eyes followed your movements. 

you couldn’t help but start to worry about him because he needed to move on. you knew that you weren’t good for him and deep down he knew it too. 

but a part of you seemed to be relieved at the fact that he hadn’t done anything with another girl yet. 

at the cafeteria, you saw him sitting at a table near the corner. percy was sitting alone, looking like a completely different person. 

your percy would be talking excitedly, moving his hands in the air to give more emphasis to his words and his eyebrows would be knitted together as he tried to concentrate at the story he was telling and not have his attention drift away. 

this one was sitting quietly in his seat, looking at his food like it had betrayed him. 

it perplexed you as to why he was sitting at that particular table when he usually sat at the center of the cafeteria, talking to either jason or grover. 

but then it hit you. 

that was the table where you first met. 

it had been a hectic day and your friends had been nowhere to be found. you scanned the cafeteria, hoping to find an empty table and somehow you saw a table near the corner that seemed empty. 

you had walked towards it and sat down. 

as you let out a sigh, you realised that someone was sitting on the other end of the table. 

percy had stared at you, surprise and curiosity flashing in his eyes as you gave him an awkward smile. he hadn’t been rude; didn’t tell you to sit somewhere else, just stared back at his phone and ate his sandwich. 

you never really learnt why he sat there; at the time you thought that he also couldn’t find his friends and just sat at a random table. 

but now you know. 

he had admitted it to you once, when he had stayed over and was cuddling you like you were something fragile. 

“it was an excuse to talk to you” he had said, tracing absentmindedly circles on your waist. he had said it so casually like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“but why?” you couldn’t help but ask as you buried your face on the crook of his neck. 

“my friends had been begging me to make a move on you and well, that’s all i could come up with” he admitted with a sheepish smile and you could only laugh. 

you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

percy still remembered, you thought that he was silently inviting you to sit next to him and pretend like everything was like before. 

and you so badly wanted to pretend but you didn’t. 

because you knew how it would end. 

a part of you wondered if it had been a mere coincidence but you knew it wasn’t. it was the way he was staring at the seat across from him like if percy wished hard enough, you would appear in that seat and keep him company like before. 

like how it should be. 

you dragged your legs at your friends’ table and tried to eat your food without bursting out in tears in the middle of the college cafeteria. 

** 

you couldn’t really remember what made you come to this campus party but here you were. 

everyone had been talking about it for the past week and even if you didn’t have the energy for it, something told you that it would be a good distraction. 

the music was loud, people were dancing and screaming at the top of their lungs and it was enough to ignore the racing thoughts in your head. 

your friends were also there and they had dragged you into the dance floor and you couldn’t help but just relax. you moved your body and shook your head like it was the first time that you felt so carefree. even for a few minutes you felt better. 

you decided it would be a good idea to go grab a drink and so you moved through the crowd of sweaty teenagers. 

when you arrived at the table with the red cups filled with beers, you went to grab one and suddenly your hand grazed someone else’s. somehow they went to grab the same cup. 

you didn’t even have to look at the stranger to know who it was. 

“oh” percy stared at you and your breath hinged. it had been two months since your break up but your heart still fluttered at the sight of him. he was wearing a light blue shirt with baggy jeans. he had also left three buttons undone and it took everything in you not to stare at the way a part of his torso was peaking out. 

you had no idea what to say. what was the appropriate response in seeing your ex at a party? you just stared at him, hoping that the ground would swallow you whole. 

 you decided to stay quiet and took a sip off your cup. this was way too awkward for you to handle so when you saw that percy hadn’t replied to you a few seconds later, you turned around to hide among the crowd. 

but before you could walk away; you heard his voice, soft and quiet and you wondered how you were able to hear it. 

“why?” one word that was somehow more painful than him completely ignoring you. at first you froze, blinked a few times to make sure that it wasn’t your mind and as you were about to answer, percy took you by the hand and was leading you away from the party. 

you two ended up in a room (it was probably the host’s but you couldn’t care less) and percy closed the door as he let out a sigh. 

you stared at him again, debating on whether you should admit the truth or bury it even deeper. 

“why did you leave?” percy rephrased his question and was now leaning against the door. you found it normal that he wanted an explanation since you never bothered to give him one. 

“percy-” 

“tell me the truth” he cut you off as if he knew that you would try to avoid the question. you hated how well he could read you sometimes. 

you took in a quick breath and felt your heartbeat ringing through your ears. 

“does it matter?” you asked and took a step back, creating more distance between you. but as if on instinct, percy took a step closer and clenched his fists in a way to prevent himself from pulling you into his arms. 

he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t missed you but right now he needed closure. it had bothered him a lot; the way you decided to walk away without an explanation but percy couldn’t blame you for that. 

he knew how clingy he got when he was comfortable with people let alone with his girlfriend. he could be rambling about random stuff that popped up on his brain and had to share it with someone or else he would explode. 

percy understood how you could get bored of him. 

he just wanted you to verbalise it so he would stop going back and forth, analysing every moment you two had and try to see when exactly you started feeling this way.  

“I think I deserve to know why you broke up with me out of the blue” he wasn’t pissed. how could he be when you were still looking at him with those big eyes that could make him turn the world upside down? 

“because you need someone better” you admitted while fidgeting with the ends of your skirt. percy’s eyes widened at your confession but didn't say anything. he left you space so you could explain yourself and it was so hard not to fall for him deeper. 

“I'm not the best person to be around” you carried on. “I..Ι thought that you’d be better off without me” 

”that’s not true” it surprised you how fast he was in disagreeing with you. after everything; he still managed to see the best in you. 

he let out a sigh of relief. 

and now everything made sense; you hadn’t gotten bored of him but simply thought you weren’t good enough for him. 

which was a huge lie. 

silence fell between you but not an awkward one. you could see how percy was trying to put his racing thoughts into words and you ended up fidgeting with your hands. 

“there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought of you” he confessed which caught you completely out of guard. “you might think that I deserve someone better but all I want is you” 

your breath hinged in your throat. you hadn’t really thought about the fact that percy loved you no matter what. 

percy cupped your face with his hands and rested his forehead against yours.  a part of you told you to pull away from him, get away fast before it was too late. 

that’s what you’ve been telling yourself; running away was the right thing. 

but him holding you so close made you realise that you didn’t want to be scared anymore. you wanted him to know everything about you, your favourite dessert, your biggest fear, literally anything you could think of. 

you were determined to make things right this time, no more hiding and endless what ifs. percy was still trying to fix things so why couldn’t you give it another shot? 

“I’m-” you tried to say but he immediately cut you off. 

“I don’t care what you are, we’re doing this together and you don’t have a choice” he said firmly, earning a chuckle from you. you had forgotten how stubborn percy was so even if you wanted to tell him every romantic thing you could think of, it died in your tongue. 

“I don’t mind your overthinking or your doubting” percy reassured you, placing a kiss on your temple. “I’ll overexplain everything if I have to”   

your heart was beating so fast making you believe that percy was able to hear it. “sorry for running away” you said and that only made him place a hand on your waist and pull you closer. 

“just promise me that you’ll never do it again” he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face and you almost got lost in his eyes. 

the next thing you know, you’re leading percy back to your dorm and you try to hide the huge grin that had formed on your lips. the two of you enter the dorm and before you could say anything, percy’s lips are on yours. 

his lips still tasted like saltwater and forever. 

—•—

“Where my gorgeous girl!” You heard him call out over the music that was playing. The smell of tomato and garlic filled Frank’s nostrils before he was hit with the sight of you over the stove. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” He wrapped his arms around you from behind and you giggled feeling his lips kiss the back of your neck.

“He finally returns…” you spun around and your lips instantly found his. “Mhmm dinner’s gonna burn!” You moaned against his soft lips and rough stubble before finding the strength to press your hands to his shoulders and softly pushing him away. “Sit! C’mon, I spent ages on this.”

Frank complied, not before twirling you on the spot just as the music peaked before slowly walking away and sitting down, watching you plate up his dinner before your own and sitting across from him. “Shit, this is delicious!” You bashfully smiled and waved away his kind comment. “But not as delicious as you…” his tone dropped an octave and you stopped mid-mouthful. You pulled off what was on your fork with your teeth and slowly chewed, mulling over his words.

“Dinner first…” you half warned before giving in to his ways. “Then dessert.” His first frantically hit the table in excitement, causing you to laugh.

“Oh baby,” you looked and saw an empty plate in front of him and then watched him tuck a napkin into his collar. “I’m fuckin’ starvin’.” You placed down your fork and looked at him through your lashes, a wide grin engulfed his face and he stood up, picking you up with a growl and planting his lips to yours as he carried you to his bedroom as strings of giggles left your lips.

—•—

“So…how did you and Frank meet?” Peter asked one evening when Frank was out yet again, you had made him an extra portion. It had been two weeks since you first met the boy. The two of you forming a close bond over a brief meal, you almost felt a maternal instinct over him.

“We actually met outside a gallery, I’m an artist and I was trying to get an exhibition spot there. He found me crying my eyes out because I didn’t get it.” You smirked to yourself. “He cheered me up with a joke- said ‘surely you didn’t see a portrait that ugly- no one painted me recently’ and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Threw him a flirt back, saying the gallery would be sold out if a face like his was in it and that made him laugh, we went for a drink, hit it off- over the love of the Spice Girls of all things! And well…let’s just say the next week I got that gallery spot.”

He could see your influence around the small houseboat, paintings scattered here and there, Peter softly snorted to himself. “Really? Frank likes the Spice Girls?”

“Don’t let him kid ya- he likes the Spice Girls just as much as anyone else!” You laughed. “He’d be posh spice…closet full of black clothes…” you rolled your eyes and Peter let out a hysterical bark. “Don’t you tell him I told you that- that’s a secret you take to the grave.” He nodded at that.

“How long have you been together?” He asked, genuinely curious but also making casual chit-chat with you as he continued to nibble on a cookie you had baked with his mask covering everywhere besides his mouth.

You smirked and shook your head before taking a mouthful of your coffee. “Too long kid, too long! But ain’t a ring in sight.” You wiggled your bare left hand at him.

Peter let out a puff of amused air. “I’ve seen him eyeing up stores in the diamond district a couple of times!” He tried to assure you and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“You’re a kind soul, kid. I don’t think he’s gonna pop a question like that anytime soon though. He’s had a hard time. I’m not gonna push anything like that on him too much, not until he’s ready.” You explained with a tight smile, the painting you did for him of his wife and kids catching your eye in the far corner, a reminder of his past.

“I can tell he really loves you.” He sounded quietly confident.

“Yeah well, I really love him too.” You softly replied. “I’ll wrap you up some dinner to take home. Some band-aids too I think?” You sent him a knowing look and he nodded his head with a deflated sigh. “What about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Anyone?”

“Nah, not right now…there was someone but…it’s complicated.” His voice strained.

You hummed. “I’m sure the mask doesn’t help things.” He nodded. “What about family?” You asked.

“Just me.” You felt your heart twist inside your chest at his all too casual admission as a tear slipped down from his mask to fall off his chin, Peter quickly wiped it away. But not fast enough that you didn’t catch it.

“Well,” you cleared your throat. “You have family here.” You tightly smiled and tried to not let your voice break. “And to prove it, I’ll give you two cookies away with you.” You gently tapped his hand and began packing another meal for him.

“Peter,” you stopped what you were doing and slowly turned to him with a confused expression. “M-my name’s Peter.”

“Our home is your home, Peter.”

An hour later a set of hands were wrapping around your waist, Frank’s chin finding its place on your shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he gave you a gentle peck on your cheek. “You want me to finish this off?” He asked, taking the utensils from you anyway. You softly smiled and fell back into him, swaying for a moment before pulling away and dismally sighing seeing the cut on his temple. Frank quickly caught on. “It’s nothin’,” he pressed a brief kiss to your lips. “Why don’t you go and paint a little hmm? Don’t worry about me.”

You wandered off and sat outside with a sketchpad in hand as Frank finished making dinner for you both. He called you back in when it was ready, in reality you hadn’t painted a single thing on the page but looking back at you was an image.

—•—

Your eyes went wide and you jumped at the sudden booming noise. “What the fuck was that?!” You yelped.

“Fuckin’ cocky kid, gonna get himself killed and give me a heart attack…” you could hear Frank grumble to himself walking through the narrow corridors of the boat.

“What’s happening?!” You asked, hurrying after him as his brooding demeanour burst through with every stride.

“He’s here! Fuckin’ Spiderman…some chick too!” He grunted out as you followed him to the deck. “What you want?!” He called out “And who the hell is that?” He motioned to the young girl beside him.

“Well- you know!”

“Nah I don’t know that’s why the hell I asked!” He barked back.

“Frank!” You hissed at his snarky tone.

Peter groaned. “I need a favour!” He called out and Frank blew a raspberry. “Oh come on man! I saved your life- Staten Island!”

“What’s he talking about...?” Your unimpressed tone almost made Frank flinch. He glanced to you and saw you with a deadpanned expression on your face and your arms tightly crossed over your chest while your foot tapped, waiting and silently demanding an answer.

“Nothin’ honey, doesn’t matter.” He quickly spewed out, his best at trying to reassure you while desperately trying to move on. “Staten Island my ass! That’s all bullshit! What do you want kid?” He called out to Peter again.

“I need you to keep her safe. Please?” Peter all but begged at the man before turning and looking at you. “Band-aids!” You blinked softly, limbs loosening when his word hit you, you knew what he meant and you knew he was in trouble. Big trouble.

Frank slowly turned to you, uttering the words you said to him with a confused expression. “What’s he talkin’ about?”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly and you almost mocked him “Nothin’ honey. Doesn’t matter.” Frank shot you an unimpressed glare. “Frankie…he needs help.” You quietly whispered, trying your best to tug on his hardened heartstrings with the nickname only you could call him by.

Frank sighed, always somehow succumbing to you. “You like chilli?” He shouted.

“I wouldn’t eat it,” Peter turned and explicitly warned MJ.

“It’s alright, I made it.” You told him and he let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s fine, you can eat that.” He said and Frank narrowed his eyes before turning to you. “She’s a good cook. Won’t poison you.”

“You helpin’ him?”

“Staten Island? What the hell is that about, Frank? He had to save your life?” You countered back and he stood a little straighter. “Let’s talk about this later.” You turned on your heel and went to meet the two of them. “I made muffins this morning if you’ll be here for breakfast too tomorrow,” you said as you greeted them both. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

“MJ,” the young girl shook your hand and you encouraged her to take a seat.

“You staying for dinner sweetie?” You asked Peter and he looked to a sneering Frank, worried to open his mouth. “Don’t you mind him.” You waved away his silent concern. Frank took a muffin and you pulled it from his grasp, pointing a finger at him “Not until after your dinner and only if you’re nice.”

“I’m always fuckin’ nice.” He huffed before disappearing into the darkness.

You rolled your eyes and served them dinner, taking a bowl to Frank who was sitting outside. “It’s too cold to eat out here…” you handed him the bowl and he practically snatched it from your hands.

He was grunting and sulking, sending you soft glares every now and then. “Can’t believe you’ve been helpin’ him…”

You walked over to the railing and steadied yourself with one hand on it. “Ya know what, Castle. I’m not sorry I did.” Frank gulped, it was few and far between that you ever called him just by his surname. But it was never good anytime you did. “He’s a young kid, probably so outta his depth he’s drowning!” You sternly told him and walked forward towards him.

He flapped his arms in exasperation at your hypothesis. “How do you know that?!”

Everything inside you burst at Frank’s complete obliviousness to the situation. “Because your voice shakes just like his when you’re scared!” You erupted, taking Frank back. Your words bouncing off the rusting metal as they echoed around him. He looked at you silently blinking, he wasn’t aware that he ever did that and certainly didn’t realise the kid did that either. “He probably feels like he’s the only person in the world, he doesn’t have anyone else Frank. No partner. No family. Only you.” You softly jabbed his chest with a pointed finger, your eyes welling. “You’re so fucking blind.” You jabbed your finger in further with each word before storming off to your bedroom.

Frank slowly followed you, finding you perched on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor with your body almost twisted into a knot. He kneeled down and placed his finger on your chin, raising it up slightly to connect your eyes with his. “Only us. There’s no me without you, baby.”

You couldn’t help the smile spreading over your face, trying to remain collected enough that he’d still know you were annoyed at him. “Do not try and charm your way outta this one.” You wrapped your hand around his wrist. Frank reached up and kissed your knuckles before his lips found yours.

You pulled back with a soft click filling the room. “I know I can’t, that’s why I love you. You take no shit- especially not my shit.” His gruff voice filled your ears and his words filled your heart. You clutched onto his top and pulled him towards you again.

“Frank Castle,” your noise pressed against his own and your breath fanned over his cheeks. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Hmm love me and keep me in line forever I guess…” you playfully rolled your eyes and kissed him again. “C’mon, you’re too busy taking care of everything and everyone else that I bet you didn’t even have you dinner.” He pulled you up from the bed and marched you to the kitchen where Peter and MJ were.

“This is really good, Y/N, thank you,” Peter tried to avoid Frank’s narrowing eyes.

“You draw?” MJ asked, her eyes catching onto your works.

Peter hummed on your behalf. “That’s how they met, Y/N’s an artist.”

You bashfully smiled as Frank scoffed. “Aww god! You told him how we met?” You shrugged a shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

“Even down to the Spice Girls,” Peter added.

Frank sent you an unimpressed sneer. “Great…I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of that one from him…” he grumbled to himself.

“I have some art supplies if you wanted to keep yourself amused?” You offered, trying to change the subject and she gladly accepted, you motioned to the room behind her and she wandered off. Your eyes then snapped open when you heard a crunch and you turned to catch Frank in the act. “No way! Nuh uh Frank get that goddamn cannoli out your mouth! I made you a crumb cake yesterday that’s still there!” Peter tried to conceal a laugh, seeing a domestic moment play out between the two of you- somehow feeling more at home by the second over it. “Where the hell did you even get that?!”

“Bakery.” You glared at him with a lips pursing in anger at his smart-ass answer. “It’s swell!”

“You know what else is gonna be swell, your jaw in a second!” He rolled his eyes back and ate the entire thing in one mouthful, shooting you a wink and then a longing glare. “Stop giving me the eyes in front of the kid!” You warned and Frank’s face flushed red with embarrassment and he walked away before you could torment him any longer.

You turned to Peter “You wanna know about Staten Island, don’t you?”

“Every. Single. Detail.”

—•—

You woke up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. You got out of bed without disturbing Frank and headed out to sit outside and watch the city. When you stepped out, you found a suited up Peter there.

“Couldn’t sleep either huh?” You asked before sitting beside him.

He shook his head “Feels like I hardly do these days…” You sent him a sympathetic smile, staying in silence for a moment before Peter opened his mouth. “Uh…MJ opened one of your sketchbooks and found something.” You furrowed your brow before he revealed a small black and white image and gingerly handed it to you. “I didn’t know…”

You smirked with welling eyes “He doesn’t know either.” You replied tracing your fingers over it. “Don’t know how to tell him. That’s why I can’t sleep.” You sighed and held it close to your chest.

“He’ll be really, really happy.” Peter told you and you nodded with a smile, a tear falling down your cheek.

“C’mon, get some sleep.” You gently pushed him up and encouraged him to rest. You went back to your own bed, Frank still sound asleep. You crawled back in and wrapped your arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder blade before your eyes shut.

—•—

You woke up and found Frank and MJ almost having a standoff in the kitchen. “What’s going on?” Your eyes darting between them both.

“You’re just gonna let him leave?!” MJ’s panicked tone sent your mind into a worried overdrive. Your head snapped to Frank who waved away her concern. “I think you should go after him!”

“Yeah right…” Frank groaned.

“I think you should go after him too.”

Frank looked at you with his eyebrows knitting together. You never told him to go. You’d always end up begging for him to stay each and every time.

This was one time you told him to go.

He watched your worried eyes motion to the door, your arms surrounding your frame like you were trying to ease your panic with a hug.

“Y/N…”

“He needs you Frank. You know he needs you.” He nodded, feeling his throat closing at the expression on your face. “Help him. Be safe.” You cupped his cheek and pecked his lips.

—•—

You dropped everything when you got the call. You rushed to the hospital and found Frank hunched over sitting outside a room with his head in his hands.

“Frank, sweetie?” You slowly approached him.

He looked up at you with red eyes and wet cheeks. “Honey…” his voice cracked and he broke down into a flood of tears again. You wrapped him in your arms as he sobbed into your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, it wasn’t supposed to be him,” he kept repeating himself over and over before eventually the tears stopped and he just let himself be held by you.

The doctors finally let you into his room after you and Frank convinced them you were family, you kept a hold of Frank’s hand as the two of you stepped in. As you gasped, he held your hand tighter. Your eyes welled with tears seeing the young boy in the bed, battered and bruised. “He’s just…”

“A kid,” Frank finished your sentence, feeling himself getting choked up again. “Really is just a kid.” He turned to you and pressed a kiss to your hair, ushering you to sit. “He’s gonna be okay.” You held his hand a little tighter as you reached across for Peter’s with the other.

“Oh Peter…” you said while looking at his bloodied face and then turning to Frank whose eyebrows were furrowed together. “You didn’t know his name, did you?” He shook his head no, eyes welling again. Peter. A normal boy with a normal life thrown into an abnormal world.

“Strong name. Strong nature.” Frank croaked and swiftly brushed his fingers over his eyes. “Selfless kid.” He sighed. “Can’t imagine any of my kids taking on what he’s done. I’d be so damn proud of them…” your eyes turned back to Peter and then fell to the bedsheets.

It felt like weeks went by until he finally cracked opened his eyes again. You were using Frank’s shoulder as a pillow as he softly snored, the warm hospital room was causing your eyes to flutter shut too.

“W-where am I?”

You sat up with a gasp that jolted Frank awake and almost reaching for a weapon at your reaction.

“Peter, you’re in the hospital, try not to move. You’re okay.” Your hands hovered over him as if you were trying to make him stay still.

“M-my mask…” he murmured and Frank let out an amused grunt.

“Think we are past that kid…” he watched as you grasped Peter’s hand with both of yours, acting like one of the nurses and asking him a dozen questions. “Give him a minute! He’s just up for the love of god woman!”

You hushed him and waved him away while your attention remained firmly on Peter. “Trust me kid if you died, he was next.” You told him and Peter found the strength to smile.

“I told her you were gonna make it anyway, I knew you’d be alright.” Frank walked around to the other side of his bed, trying to sound sure of himself, but deep down you knew when you saw him sitting on the seats outside the room, he wasn’t sure whatsoever.

Peter laughed, trying not to focus on the pain in his back and worry you. “Course I had to make it. I need to make sure she gets a ring on her finger as a result for tolerating you before anything happens to me.” He jibed, taking Frank aback. You let out a watery laugh at his playful teasing.

“Smart-mouthed lil’ shit…” he grumbled and then looked up to you, his features instantly softening at the sight of you fussing over Peter.

Then his eyes fell to your bare hands and he realised that Peter had a point. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to ask you, or start a new chapter with you, or wasn’t committed, or didn’t want to settle down, or didn’t have a ring ready and all he had to do was get on his knee.

A part of him knew he still didn’t deserve you. Deserve your patience, your strength, you smile, your love, your much better cooking…deserve your hand in marriage above everyone else’s.

“Don’t worry, Peter sweetie,” you brushed away the hair from his bruised and cut forehead. “I’ll get it one day.” Your eyes flickered up to Frank and a smile flashed across your face. “Besides, I know he keeps a little red box in an old coffee tin behind cleaning supplies that he thinks I don’t know about.” His jaw dropped and Peter burst out laughing, you smiled hearing his laughter filling the room. Frank shook his head with a small smile. Of course you knew. He couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes.

“Great, now I got to deal with two smart-mouthed little shits…” Frank grunted.

“Whenever you’re ready to go leave Peter, we have a plan. You can also stay with us. Just until you’re back on your feet.” You sent him a soft grin. “I’ll make your favourite for dinner.”

“That’s a good deal, kid, she never makes me my favourite…” you shot Frank a playful glare and Peter giggled.

“That’s a lie as big as your ass.” You countered back and Peter continued laughing, tears streaming down his face.

“I missed this,” he breathed out and closed his eyes, opening them to raised brows from both you and Frank, the two of you silently asking what. “A family.”

You held Peter’s hand as Frank reached for the other. “We got you Peter.” Frank smiled.

—•—

“You’ve been baking lots…” Frank observed aloud when he got home from impersonating Peter at the hospital. You shrugged and looked into the oven. “You bake when you’re stressed.” You silently cursed him for knowing you so well. “Remember when I was shot and when I came home it was like a damn bread factory…didn’t know that much focaccia existed in the world.” He snorted.

“Well maybe if you didn’t almost die on Staten Island and shoot at the Hulk!” Frank went wide-eyed and gulped. “Yes Peter told me what happened!” You pointed your wooden spoon at him and turned away.

Frank wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back into his chest. “This has been before that, what’s the matter, baby?” He softly whispered in your ear.

“I’ve got a bun in there,” you didn’t answer him quite yet, motioning to the oven and Frank hummed as he peered in through the glass, deciding to amuse your musings.

“Looks and smells good, when will it be ready?”

You kept your focus on the oven as took his hand and brought it to your stomach “About six months…”

You could feel Frank’s body tense against your own. “Really…?” he quietly managed to croak out between a sniffle. You turned and faced his glossy eyes with your own, softly nodding and pulling out the black and white image of the scan. Frank held it like it was the most precious thing in the world. You cupped his cheek as he left out a soft sob. “My baby, havin’ a baby…” he gingerly placed his hand over your stomach before pressing a long kiss to your lips.

“It’s not though, is it?” You murmur as you approach him, careful hands reaching up to cup his jaw but he quickly jerks his head and reroutes your hold. Now, your hands are encased in his as he places a chaste kiss to your fingertips. Dismissing your worries with a cushion of tenderness.

“I’m okay, promise.” He mumbles all gravelly.

“Frank.. please just let me—“

“I don’ want you to worry ‘bout it.“

“Just sit so I can—“

“Sweetheart, I’m a big man. I can handle—“

“Frank!”

Your raised voice takes him so off guard that his next defence leaves him, lips still parted as if to speak but eyes now, finally, trained on you.

“I don’t care.” You try.

He frowns in confusion. Having absolutely no idea where you were going with this.

“I don’t give a shit what you want right now. What I want is to clean you up. I’m being selfish. I want to be selfish.” Your voice is firm, hitting him in his weak spot.

Because if there’s one thing Frank Castle loves to do it’s give you what you want.

And now that he can see the track you’re taking, his brows soften a little in understanding, already plotting his counter.

“Baby..” his voice is so soft and the broken skin of his lip pulls as he smiles almost cockily. Like he’d figured out the punchline to your joke.

“Just—“ you take a breath. “Humour me, would you?”

He chuckles and lets you drag him to the stool by the kitchen island, not far from the door. You leave him there for a moment while you go to collect what you need in the cabinet above the microwave.

“You’d think I was asking you to cut off your ear and gift it to me in a jewellery box.” You mumble in frustration as you flit around the small space. It pulls another tired laugh from him as he watches you.

“Your birthday’s comin’ up.” He teases and you shoot him a serious look as you position his face with gentle hands so you can see the damage you’re working with.

“This looks like it hurts, Frank..” your tone is as sympathetic as it is scolding.

You dab an alcohol pad across his cheek and the man doesn’t even flinch. There’s no hiss, no extended blink, nothing. Something about that only fuels your concern.

“I’ve had worse.” He grunts. “You know, baby, you really don’t need—“

“I’m doing this for me.” He shuts up.

“Sorry but I want to go to bed tonight being able to tell myself I did what I could. Maybe it’ll mean I don’t have to fall asleep crying into my pillow again either.” You mumble the last part, too busy patching him up to filter yourself.

He frowns again and takes detailed note of what you just said.

When you don’t take pause at the change in his expression he reaches up and grabs your wrists, forcing you to make eye contact.

“Crying?” He almost chokes on the word. Busted lip and swollen cheek be damned, that image shot straight through Franks chest.

You simply look at him for a moment, recounting what you’d said.

His eyes track every micro-expression of your face and he pulls you a little closer, one hand leaving your wrists to rest on the side of your neck. His brows are knit so tightly it could earn him a new wrinkle.

“Sweetheart. You wastin’ tears over me?” He asks, desperate now.

“They’re not wasted, Frank. Look at you!” Your voice isn’t quite as firm anymore, wobbling a little at the ends.

“You think seeing you like this is something I can just brush off? You think it doesn’t scare the shit out of me?”

“Angel..” his shoulders soften.

“No, seriously.” You shake your head. “I accept what you do. Shit, I even support it. As fucked up as that is.” A shaky sigh. “But if I can’t offer the bare minimum— if I can’t clean you up when you get hurt or kiss your bruises better— then what can I do? Because it’s not nothing. I can’t do nothing.”

He sighs, looking down in defeat as he caresses his large, callused thumb across the side of your jaw. His other hand is holding your wrists against his chest now. You can feel his heart thumping there.

“I don’t wanna’ worry you.” He admits, heartbroken to learn that he’d been unsuccessful in his endeavour. So much so that his girl had cried herself to sleep over it. The thought makes him sick.

“I’m always going to worry. I just.. I need you to help assuage it by being honest with me. The not knowing and the distance you keep me at from this..” you gesture to his split lip, pulling a hand out from his grip to gently thumb at the injury.

“It makes it worse.” He finishes for you and you nod, pouting as you choke back those heavy feelings.

“Yeah.” The word comes out in a breath.

You sit there for a moment, giving space to this new revaluation between you both.

“If I was hurt, wouldn’t you want to do everything in your power to make sure I was okay?” You ask, offering him the perspective.

“Course I would.” He answers fast and the thought itself causes that frown to return. Chuckling lightly at how sure he sounds, you let the amused sound filter out into a soft sigh, biting your lip to compose yourself as you caress his cheek.

“Okay.” He says, looking up at you again, eyes big and pooling with a soft sort of intensity reserved only for you.

“Okay.” You nod. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. A moment of connection unburdened by words.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He hums roughly. “Never meant’a upset you. Thought I was protectin’ you.” There’s an upward inflection in his tone, almost like he was hearing himself clearly for the first time and realising how foolish he sounded.

“S’okay. Just gotta let me in.”

He nods, pursing his lips and squeezing your hand against his chest a little tighter.

When he looks up at you, he offers a sympathetic smile before leaning in to meet your lips but you make a small sound and halt him. His eyes flit back up to yours, worried.

“Your lip.” You frown, clearly not wanting to hurt him further.

He grunts and pulls you in, capturing your bottom lip between his. The kiss is sweet, firm and reassuring all at once. His arms move to circle around your middle— one hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him until you are stood between his legs from his position on the stool. The other moves to your face, holding you with more tenderness than anyone would assume him capable of.

His eyes peer down at you when you finally part.

“I’m not sacrificin’ kissin’ my girl just because some asshole got a cheap shot in.” He grumbles.

But Sam was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was compassionate without being naive, funny without sacrificing his strength, and fiercely loyal without ever being overbearing. Everyone in your line of work fought with anger or a sense of duty— and Sam did, too. But he also fought with his heart, with a passion and a clarity of purpose that earned an incredible amount of admiration from you. 

But it wasn’t until after Sokovia fell from the sky that you realised just how much he really meant to you. 

The battle against Ultron had been brutal, a mission that left you questioning everything you’d come to believe. 

You stood among the rubble, surrounded by your teammates, and yet you felt more alone than ever.

The realisation hit you: time was fleeting. You didn’t have forever, and you didn’t want to keep ignoring the one thing that had started to matter more than any mission you’d ever had.

So that night, you sought Sam out. The rest of the team had been decompressing, recovering, but you pulled Sam into a quiet spot away from the others, somewhere under the night sky, where the stars glimmered faintly against the smoke. You didn’t say much, just let the silence and the closeness speak for itself.

When he looked at you, something like affection flickered in his eyes, a hope that maybe he meant as much to you as you did to him. It was then that you closed the space between you and kissed him—gently, like he was made of glass.

In a way, he was. This life was fragile, and his was one you couldn’t bear to lose.

After that, you spent as much time together as you could manage. Between missions, you’d crave moments of normalcy. Walks in quiet parks, stolen weekend getaways, breakfasts cooked together in your shared apartment. 

These small, simple moments began to feel like home, like the life you’d never thought you could have. 

Then came the Sokovia accords. 

When you and Sam sided with Steve, you didn't realise how everything could go so wrong. 

Your world turned upside down again. You became a fugitive, a person without a country, constantly on the run, evading governments, ducking the scrutiny of former allies. Sam stayed by your side, fighting the same battle as you.

Despite the danger, despite the sacrifices, the exile only strengthened your relationship. He was your safe haven, the one person you trusted wholly. 

One night, as you sat together in some safe house with peeling wallpaper and torn furniture, you dared to voice the thought you’d been carrying for so long. 

"One day,” you said, almost hesitantly, “when we’re done running, when all of this is behind us… I want a real life, Sam. With you.”

He looked at you then, his smile one of equal parts sadness and hope. “Tell me more,” he murmured, smiling just a little. 

“I want to marry you,” you confessed, voice trembling. “I want a house. Somewhere no one can find us. I want a family, Sam.”

For a moment, he was silent, his thumb brushing along the back of your hand. “One day. When the world stops chasing us,” He pulled you close, his words a quiet promise against your ear. “I’ll give you all of that.”

For the first time in a long time, the future felt like something worth looking forward to. It felt like something you could actually touch, something just out of reach but waiting for you. 

His promise lingered: that once you were free, once you weren’t running anymore, you’d be able to build that life together.

But then came the Battle of Wakanda, and the life you had both fought so hard for vanished in an instant as you were both erased from existence, dusted away by Thanos’s snap. For five years, you were gone.

When you returned, everything had changed. The world was broken and scattered, When you looked at Sam, you saw it, too— the realisation that so much of everything was gone. How much of the world needed fixing.

And you knew your Sam. He would want to fix it.

You saw the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. You watched him take the shield, watched him step up in a way that was brave and selfless. Everything about this was so unmistakably Sam. Your Sam.

In that moment, you knew that the life you’d dreamed of, the one you’d whispered about in the dark, wasn’t possible— not when the world still needed him.

It broke you, knowing you had to leave, to walk away from the man you loved. But you both knew that your paths were diverging. You wanted peace, family, a quiet life that had no place in the shadow of Captain America’s legacy. And Sam, with Steve’s shield in his hands, couldn’t turn away from the fight. 

It happened on a quiet evening, back in the small apartment you shared. The shadows were long, stretching across the worn wood floors, as the last light of the day reached through the windows. 

Sam was sitting across from you, his hands folded on the table, and his face was set in an expression you’d come to recognize—the one he wore when he was carrying something too heavy to keep inside. You saw it in the slump of his shoulders, the way his usually loving gaze couldn’t quite meet yours. You reached out, caressing his arm.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Sam,” you said, voice wavering. “Are we okay?”

He looked up then, his eyes meeting yours, and the sorrow there was enough to make your chest tighten. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if… if I can give you the life you deserve.”

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until finally, you pulled your hand from his. “Then we have to let this go,” you said, voice cracking with finality. “I can’t keep waiting for a life that isn’t going to happen.”

The look in his eyes was almost unbearable—regret, pain, and love all tangled together, raw and unguarded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick. 

“I’m sorry, too,” you replied, your vision blurred

The first tear drawn came from him. “I’ll always love you,” he said, his voice a quiet, broken promise. 

You looked at him, feeling the truth of those words resonate in your lungs. You would always love him too, but love alone couldn’t bridge the gap between the lives you wanted. It was heartbreaking, knowing you’d finally found something so good, only to have it slip through your fingers.

You stood up, needing to move before you changed your mind, before you broke down completely. “Goodbye, Sam,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“Goodbye,” he murmured, holding back everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t reach for you as you turned and walked toward the door. 

You both knew that if he did, you wouldn’t have the strength to walk away.

–

In the weeks after the breakup, you tried to convince yourself it would get easier, that the pain would fade. But the truth was, every day only sharpened the ache. It was clear that your lives were leading in opposite directions now, that Sam was destined for something larger than either of you had once imagined. 

He had the shield, the responsibility, the weight of a legacy that he hadn’t chosen but that fit him as naturally as if it were always meant to be his. 

And you? Well, after retiring, you finally had the quiet, the simplicity of a life you’d always craved, but it felt hollow without him.

You still loved him, of course. 

That was the hardest part.

There was no switch to flip, no way to undo the love that had grown in the depths of your heart. And he loved you too— you knew that as surely as you knew that the sun would rise tomorrow, the kind of knowledge you felt deep in your bones. 

But you both recognized that clinging to each other, seeing each other, would only deepen the hurt. So you made the hardest choice, cutting contact to give yourselves space to move forward, even if it felt like cutting out a piece of your heart.

You would go through your days thinking about Sam, feeling his absence as a phantom weight by your side. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself reaching for your phone, feeling the urge to share a thought, a joke, a memory— only to remember he was gone from your life now.

It was a loneliness harsher than any pain you’d felt before, and you've been shot at and stabbed multiple times. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too— if he missed you as much as you missed him.

Months went by, and the world kept turning, but you could never fully escape him. And then one day, you saw him on the screen. It was in the news, footage of Sam at the Smithsonian, standing before the shield as he laid it down, offering it back. You watched in stunned silence as he walked away from the legacy Steve had entrusted to him. He looked so different from the man you’d known—tired, torn, and full of questions only he could answer. 

Still, you knew he’d only given up the shield, not the fight. There was still that fire in his eyes, that drive you knew he would never fully let go of. He was still your Sam, the man who couldn’t stop helping others even if it meant losing himself in the process.

Then came reports of his work with Bucky Barnes. You caught glimpses here and there: videos of Sam fighting, speeches to crowds, images of him standing strong and proud, still doing the work he believed in. Each clip, each mention of him in the newspapers you read was like reopening the wound, bittersweet in a way that only true love could be.

And then, one day, you saw him on the screen again—but this time, he was wearing the Captain America suit.

The shield sat on his back, the way it once had been with Steve.

His face was calm, resilient, and he carried himself with a confidence that you hadn’t seen in a long, long time. As he stood before a crowd, addressing the nation, his voice rang out strong and clear. He spoke of unity, of justice, of how much work still lay ahead.

There was something fiercely proud and unmoving in his stance, as if he had finally found a purpose that felt right, a cause he was willing to fight for as himself. 

The people around you could hardly believe it.

But you did. You always did.

As you watched him speak to the world, you felt your heart swell with pride. He finally stepped into a role he was born for, embracing everything that came with it— the good and the bad. You felt a deep, overwhelming admiration for him— the same one you had felt all those years ago. 

The man you love had found his calling. He had finally stepped into the legacy he’d once doubted. And though he was miles away, speaking to millions of people, it felt as if he was speaking to you. It felt as if he were telling you, Look, I made it. I found my place.

—

It had been over a year since you’d last seen Sam in person. But then, you heard a knock—a familiar rhythm, one you'd both come up with in those times of hiding, a signal you’d memorised to mean ‘it’s safe to open the door.’

Suddenly, all those buried memories resurfaced. You took a deep breath and walked up to the entrance, fingers trembling ever so slightly. 

When you opened the door, he was there. 

He stood tall, carrying an air of quiet confidence that you had missed.

“Hey,” he said softly, that deep warmth in his eyes settling on you like it always had. “I know you’re retired, but I… I need your help.” He hesitated, shifting his weight, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “This mission… there’s something I just can't figure out. Tactical consulting, just advice, you know.”

Your heart gave a painful thud, torn between the part of you that had finally let yourself step back and the part that had always been drawn to Sam’s gravity. There was something in his eyes, in the way he looked at you—was it hope? Regret?

“Come on in,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady.

Once inside, you cleared space at your kitchen island, pulling out blueprints and maps from him and laying them between you. The small counter seemed even smaller with Sam standing across from you, leaning close as he unfurled more documents. The scent of his cedar aftershave filled your home in a way that felt so heartbreakingly familiar. You poured the both of you a glass of wine.

It didn't take long for you to settle into the rhythm. Soon, you were bouncing ideas back and forth, memories and laughs slipping through the cracks as you strategized, just like old times. You caught yourself chewing on the back of your pen—an old habit that Sam had always found adorable—as you debated where each exit and entrance might be. When it came time to relay the guard rotation, Sam scrunched his nose in that familiar way that always meant he was uncertain. You couldn’t help but smile, reminded of countless memories just like this one.

As the hours passed, you felt yourself relaxing, dropping your guard bit by bit. You found yourselves laughing over old missions, sharing stories of close calls and narrow escapes. When Sam’s hand brushed yours as he reached for a pen, there was a tension there that you couldn’t ignore, something that had always been effortless between you.

Then, as he raised his glass for another sip, his gaze landed on the roses on your counter— a fresh vase of red roses, bold and out of place in your otherwise grounded kitchen. He paused, frowning slightly.

“Red roses?” he asked, glancing back at you, a surprised smile lifting his lips. “You don’t like them. You always preferred pink ones.”

You felt a small pang of sadness, realising that after all this time, he remembered that small detail, one that even you’d almost forgotten. 

“I didn’t buy them,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “A date brought them over. A couple of days ago.”

The words fell into the awkward silence between you. For a second, you saw the surprise flicker across his face. “You’re… dating again?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, well…” You gave a light laugh, trying to brush it off, “had to fill the void you left somehow.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the words cut deeper than you’d meant it to.

He looked down, fingers trailing the edge of his glass, lost in a thought he wasn’t ready to voice.

You wanted to break the tension, you had to. “What about you?” you asked, forcing a smile. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got to be dating, Sam. Come on. You’re still the most handsome man I know.”

But he shook his head, his expression solemn. “No,” he said, his gaze fixed on the wine swirling in his glass. “I guess I just haven’t moved on.”

The words struck you like a lightning strike, filling the room with a tension neither of you could ignore. For a moment, the breaths you took felt too thick, too charged. You watched him, studying his face, seeing a quiet pain etched into his expression as he finally looked up to meet your eyes.

He broke the long silence, his voice low. “Is he… good to you?”

You let out a shaky breath.  “He’s… he’s alright. We’ve only been on a couple of dates. It's not like we’re… exclusive or anything.” You paused, trying to find the words to explain. “He’s a nursery teacher. Sweet, good with kids.... But nothing serious.”

Sam nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips. “Good with kids, huh?” his voice was filled with an ache that twisted in your chest. “Just like you always wanted.”

You felt a wave of frustration and sadness rise up. “Yeah,” you replied softly, almost to yourself, before you could stop. “But he’s not…”

The words caught in your throat, but Sam didn’t let you off easy. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away, “He’s not… what?”

“He’s not you, Sam,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could take them back. And you didn’t want to.

Something broke in him— relief, pain, and longing all at once. Without a word, he reached across the counter, his fingers finding yours. He walked around the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to yours. His skin was warm as he closed the distance between you. His hand moved up, cupping your face as his eyes traced over you, like he was taking in every detail, every piece of who you were now.

You were still you. But you had grown without him. You had found your peace, just like you always wanted.

He leaned in, and his lips brushed yours in a  trembling kiss.

The moment he felt you return it— the moment he felt the familiar force of your kiss, he deepened it. His hands slid into your hair, pulling you close, desperate to feel you, to make up for all the lost moments he had to go through without you.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. 

The kiss had left both of you shaken to your core.

Sam’s hands were still on your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks, making sure you were real, and that this wasn't just one of his dreams about you. He searched your eyes, looking for something to reassure him this was more than a moment of weakness.

“We can do this,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost frantic. He believed now, he needed to make you believe, too. “Clint—Clint made it work, right? A family, a life— he did it. He’s raising kids and still comes back when we need him. We’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him, I’ll ask him anything, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He swallowed, his breath shallow, his desperation pulling him closer to you. “If that’s not enough, if this— if me being Captain America is what’s in the way, then I’ll… I’ll give it up. Just say the word. I swear, I’ll give it all up if that’s what you need. None of this—none of it means a damn thing without you.”

The words hit you hard, more sincere than anything else you’d ever heard him say. You saw the same unwavering love in his eyes, but this time it came with a willingness to do anything, sacrifice anything, to make room for you in his life.

It terrified you because you knew he meant every single word. 

You closed your eyes, finally feeling the burn of tears that you barely managed to hold back. You reached up to hold his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline.

“No, Sam,” you said, your voice shaking but unbreakable in its resolve. “You’re not giving up the shield for me. I’ve seen you out there. I’ve watched you bring people together. And I… I can’t be the reason you walk away.”

He shook his head, his eyes pleading. His breath came quicker. It was moments like this when you realised that he was human. Not a super soldier. Not enhanced. 

He was human with an unnatural resilience.

“But if this is the only way to have you—”

You can’t help but interrupt him, before he dug himself a fantasy so deep that he would struggle to get out of it. You closed the small gap between you, kissing him again. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you like he never wanted to let go. You could feel the tremor in his hands, the way his breath hiccuped, so close to breaking. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his, calming his silent pleas.

“Listen to me,” you whispered. “You are Captain America. That’s a part of you, and I would never forgive myself if I took that. But that doesn’t mean we have to give this up,” you added, willing him to understand. “I want to try again.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. For the first time in a year, he was letting himself hope again. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady, filled with a conviction you hadn’t felt in years. “I want you back.”

The relief on his face, the gratitude, was like sunlight breaking through a storm. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and then another to your lips, softer, filled with a tenderness you had missed so damn much.

“I’m all in,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what it takes. We will make this work.”

As you nodded, he lifted you into his arms, spinning you around. For the first time in a year, your giggles filled your quiet kitchen. When he set you down, his gaze landed on the flowers once again.

“First on the agenda,” he said, smiling mischievously, “we’re getting rid of those damn red roses. I’ll get you pink ones tomorrow.”

You laughed through happy tears as he pulled you to the couch, the mission he had come to consult you for forgotten, even if only for tonight.

You watched him leave the blueprints behind to spend time with you, when he would’ve been obsessing over a year ago. This time, you felt a conviction that he was right— that it would work.

This time, he was willing to compromise. And so were you.

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

For the first time i wrote something in one sitting 🫠 while writing this i had some sort of famous footballer James in mind, i guess? Idk haha

────୨ৎ────

James' phone rings in the middle of his afternoon football practice with Peter. He glances over his shoulder at Remus and Sirius, lazily spread out on the bench, basking in the scorching, summer sun. All sweaty and hot, he trudges towards the place where Remus reads – or at least was reading until James's phone didn't start ringing loudly in his short's pocket, pulling his attention away from the story.

"Who's calling?" He asks, wiping his sweaty forehead with his shirt, as Remus puts the book aside and fishes James' phone out of his pocket.

Remus' eyes widen, hilariously so, as he sees the contact name. He freezes, his eyes focused on the phone's screen, his hand pausing mid movement in Sirius' hair. Sirius grumbles, but Remus doesn't resume caressing his hair. James' eyebrows furrow at his friend's weird reaction.

"Remus?"

"It's Y/N." Remus chokes out, finally looking up at James. Sirius, a moment ago so blisfully unaware of everything happening around him, also perks up. Peter joins them with a football ball in his hands and his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?" Peters asks, but no one answers.

James takes the phone from Remus' hand, more forcefully than he intended. He stares at the screen for a moment, his finger hoovering over the buttons, the red and the green one, before pressing accept. He puts the device to his ear.

All he hears on the other end is your irregular breathing and quiet hiccuping, as well as rustling of something, most likely tissues.

"Y/N?" He asks quietly. His voice wavers.

Your words make his blood run cold. "I'm pregnant, James."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Two months earlier

"Honey, I'm home!" James's cheerful, just a bit tired, voice reaches your ears, but you don't move from your spot by the sink, remaining still, with water still dripping down your arms and dishes drying on the rack.

James's excitement doesn't waver as he makes his way to the kitchen where he hopes to find you. He doesn't mind his sweaty sport clothes or the mud mixed with grass blades on his calves. He's just happy his team won. Also, a bit tipsy from the outing with his teammates after the game.

"Baby, are you here?" He asks, peeking into the room.

First, he notices you. Then, his attention – slowly, like in a movie – drifts to the table. Candles are still burning, the anniversary gift you made yourself still awaits for him. Dinner you prepared has long gone cold and your wine glass is empty – his, on the other hand, is full. Untouched.

Because he wasn't here.

It all dawns at him at once.

He missed your anniversary.

James clears his throat. "Honey..."

"Enjoyed your evening with boys?" You ask and James recoils at your snarky tone. You grab the tea towel and start drying off your arms.

"I...honey..." James tries and fails to explain himself. He runs his hand through his hair, fixes his askew glasses. His brain's working overtime, trying to come up with something sensible.

You turn around. Your face is dry – you've cried enough earlier, all while he was out with his teammates. "Every damn time, James."

His eyes widen. "...what?"

"You've been missing our dates for three months." You say flatly. "And for what? For games and interviews. All this bullshit."

James doesn't want to admit it hurts to hear you speak like this. He loves playing. He loves giving interviews. Were you never happy for him?

"Listen..." He tries again. Hopelessness is written all over his face.

"No, James. You listen. I understand you got famous. I really do. And despite it all, I'm happy for you." You smile, but it's a bitter smile. "But I'm tired. I don't think I'm strong enough to be a football star's girlfriend."

It's fair to say that James is speechless. And terrified. Quite frankly, he feels like his whole world is falling apart. And maybe it is.

"I've packed my things. I'll move out tomorrow." You add.

"Love..." James drops on his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting on your belly. "Don't leave me. I'll be better. I'll stop giving so many interviews and playing so much. I'll be good. For you."

You shake your head. Tears fill your eyes again, so you blink them away – you don't want to cry in front of him, to show him how much it hurts you to do this. But you have to – for your well-being. And for his too. He needs to sort his priorities out.

So slowly that James almost gets hopeful again, you unwrap his hands from your waist and step aside. He tries to block your way, touch you, do anything to prevent you from leaving, but you don't let him.

You leave the kitchen with a heavy heart. Heavier than ever before.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Now

The knocking on the door is loud in your otherwise quiet flat. You drag yourself out of your bed, wobble once before regaining your balance, and make your way to the hall. Your hands shake as you grab the handle and slowly open the door.

The sight of James, of the worry on his face, makes your eyes well up with tears.

"Oh, honey..." James murmurs, gathering you into his arms without any further questions. His heart aches as you start crying. "Shh, it's okay."

"I'm sorry for giving up on us." You mumble into his chest. You don't even know if he has heard you.

James shakes his head even though you can't see it.

"No. It was all my fault. I messed up." James admits. "But I'm gonna fix it."

"James..."

"Shh. Let's go sit down, yeah?"

James keeps your hand in his as you go to the living room. He sits down on the couch and you lie down, resting your head on his lap. James starts caressing your hair and you finally, after a very long week of worrying and being tense, relax.

"How far along?" James asks quietly as he runs his fingers through a particularly tangled part of your hair. You sigh.

"Ten weeks, so third month."

James hums in acknowledgement. You close your eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of what has happened in the past three months. James notices it, but doesn't really know what to do with this. He feels overwhelmed, too – and mad at himself for not trying harder when he still had the chance.

"So..." James hesitates for a moment. "You were already pregnant when you...broke up with me."

"Mhm. But I was just three weeks pregnant."

For the lack of better answer, James hums again. Your hand finds his. He squeezes your fingers reassuringly.

He prompts. "When did you find out?"

"A month ago."

James' heart sinks. You've known for so long and you didn't tell him? He understands it, at least he thinks he does, but it doesn't make it any easier to stomach. He wishes he knew, that he was there earlier to help you.

James decides to ask. "Why haven't you call me earlier?"

"Would you've come if I had?"

James is quick to answer.

"Of course. I got you pregnant, Y/N. I'm his or hers...dad. I wouldn't just leave you like that."

Despite all the grudges and hard feelings between you, you trust him. James has never been cruel or vicious – you know he would have come if you only had called.

But that's water under the bridge now.

What is important now is what next. What are you going to do with your pregnancy, with your child.

You break the silence. "James?"

James perks up at the sound of your voice. His hand, which was previously in your hair, has wandered down to your cheek, now mindlessly circling your skin. "Yeah?"

"I missed you." You confess.

James' gulp is very audible in the quiet room. His breathing speeds up, just a little, and so does yours. You feel tense and uncomfortable, like you've said something wrong or completely immoral – or maybe it's just your hormones acting up.

Silence stretches for a moment longer before James finally answers.

"I missed you, too, honey." It's accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his hand and you can feel yourself relax. James is careful and a bit unsure as he asks. "What are we going to do now?"

"Can we try again?"

"I'd like that." James says, weirdly vulnerable. A wave of love for him washes over you. "I'm sorry for being a shitty partner."

You whisper. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"You had every right to leave, Y/N." James says seriously.

"Or maybe i should've fought harder. I don't know, Jamie. Does it really matter?"

"I guess it doesn't." James murmurs. His hand is now on your collarbone, drawing random patterns on your skin. "But I'll be better. For you and for him. Or her."

You nod. "I don't doubt that, James."

────୨ৎ────

The man on the rooftop left an hour ago, was it two-hours? Was it three? Frank doesn’t remember how long ago he fired the shot, but he knows it’s been a while since the people of New York have been scrambling with its police: with a smug look on his face, he walked and walked until finally he reached a familiar street: a three-floor building with a bakery on the first floor. 

The bakery was closed and wouldn’t be open until 8 in the morning and yet, there he was knocking. He silently watched through the glasses of the bakery and finally lights were on and then, you. 

“What the hell, Frank? Was that you on the news?” You asked as you opened your bakery’s door as Frank grunted and entered. “Yea, what of it?” You looked at him in disbelief, as he sighed.

“You know what he does, peach.”

You sighed as you knew arguing with Frank about how he handles job will never change, you two passed by the kitchen of the bakery and went to your apartment as he glanced at your face. “You mad?”

Your silence was enough to answer Frank, it’s been a year since he’s with you, perhaps, in his own words, on how long you’ve been tolerating him. “You know what he does, sweetheart.” He took hold of your wrist as he leaned on the wall and pulled you closer. 

Your eyes met his: he looked like he was pleading, far from the things you’ve seen about him in the news. “I—I should be. But, he is quite an asshole.” Frank scoffed and nodded. “There she is.” You rolled your eyes as you removed his jacket and hung it on the wall.

“Good sale today, peach?” He asked.

“Quite. Your friend Matt stopped by again, asking for you.” He grunted and walked to the kitchen and took some water.

“What’d he tell ya this time?” 

“Nothing really.”

He hums as you walk towards him and take a drink as well. “You don’t really hate him that much, right?”

“He’s pain-in-the-ass, that’s who he is.” You slapped his chest and he shook his head, he looked down at you and pressed a kiss on your forehead. 

“Be nice, Frank. Be nice.” You told him as you looked up at him and wrapped your arms on his waist. “I am, red just doesn’t deserve it.” He leaned down and kissed you. His hands wandered on your waist as he pulled you closer, moments like this Frank asks himself if he deserves you, deserves this life with you. Micro told him he does while the kid in the blue and red suit tells him he did too but the ugly part of Frank’s mind haunts him every single time: it keeps telling him that you’ll eventually get tired, you’ll get hurt, and even worse get killed. 

His kiss deepens as he tries to memorize the taste of your lips—it tastes like peaches, sweet, and despite telling himself that war is his home: your lips somehow crept in his mind that your lips are much better, it feels so much better.

“Frank? You okay, baby?”

He nodded as his forehead rested into yours. “Yes, I am.” He tucked a hair in your ear and admired your face. He kissed your cheek and hummed. “Frank? Don’t lie to me. Are you okay?”

No. I am not. I’m fucking scared I will lose you too. He grunts and kisses your lips shortly. “I am. Get sum’ sleep…” Despite not buying it, you nodded, you kissed his nose and eyes as you told him: “Take a shower and you’ll sleep too, okay? Goodnight, Frank.” 

He watched you enter the room as you closed the door, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He doesn’t know why but somehow, when he was with you, all his walls fell down instantly. 

He still remembers the first time he met you, you were closing the bakery and he was bleeding in the alleyway—he woke up that day with the smell of tea; he somehow realized how waking up with tea is so much better than smelling the scent of gunpowder. 

He never liked tea, he liked coffee more, it tasted bitter, strong, and it fuels his morning: until you. The moment he wakes up with the scent of tea, he finds himself questioning everything he likes. He really tried to push you away but after weeks and months of pushing and pulling, he soon realized that he needs you more than you need him.

It pissed him off when he realized how much he cared, he’s the big bad punisher, he shouldn’t care. But how can he not care? All that you do to him breaks his walls and whatever Billy Russo broke, you somehow made it work again. Maybe it was the tea that made him finally live or maybe it was you?

Frank believes it’s the latter.

He finished showering and dried his hair, his hands drift on the scars across his body, a fresh scar settled on his upper left chest, he looked himself at the mirror and eyed your soap, lotion, skincare, and sponge on the bathroom: he somehow spaces it out, finds himself out of place, he looked at the scar again. 

He got that two months ago, it was from saving you: it was a robbery and he believed he was late but you kept assuring him he wasn’t. The robbery lasted for two hours and he killed every suspect, especially the guy who cut your arms, while he shared a fair amount of injury, the scar on his upper left chest reminds him that he has something, someone, to protect.

He left the bathroom and walked to the shared bed. He moved under the covers and you slowly slid to him as if it was second nature—with a sleepy sigh you rested your head on his chest. He settled and kissed your forehead. “Sleep nicely, Frankie.”

It was so easy to say but a year ago, the first time he laid on your bed, nightmare crept in and he almost killed you: you kept assuring him that he didn’t but that time, the marks of his hands painted on your neck: he was more scared of what he was becoming until your hand calmed him down. 

He didn’t sleep next to you for weeks until he realized how much sleep you’re missing—he was hesitant until you held him closely. It was the first real sleep he had as the nightmares died down every time you held him. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He held you close as your soft breathing sang a lullaby and guided him to sleep. A smile ghostly stays in your sleep as Frank finds himself looking forward to this moment every single day.

It’s been five hours since Frank last saw you, he went out to visit the cemetery for Maria and kids and when he came back, there’s no shadows of you: the bakery was still closed and your phone was resting soundly on the bedside. 

But the kitchen was a mess, it took a beating, it took a fight. Frank already assumed the worst, as he was breathing frantically, he prepared his guns and knives, whoever took the last remainder of his humanity would get killed; no words would stop him, he would punish them. 

Yet the human part of him was begging, praying—praying to the gods above if they still listen to him that you should be safe, you shouldn’t be hurt, and you should be okay. He huffed as he made a call, the phone rang three times and he angrily ended it; he dialed the number again and this time a familiar voice was heard.

“Hey, Frank! Long time, no talk. How’s—” 

“Lieberman, I need you to do something for me.”

David or Micro was currently in his house, chilling, with his kids. “Wow, not even a hello.”

Frank grunts mad. “This is fucking important!”

With a few angry grunts and mouthfuls from both parties, David was able to send coordinates that hopefully lead to you. Frank desperately wants to save you, if anything happens to you: he’ll burn down the entire city with him burning with it.

He drove at the coordinates that lead to a secluded and abandoned factory place: it was messed up and a part of him also knows that he is one of the reasons why you were bought there in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt haunting the punisher or maybe it was something else, something more human to Frank and less monster.

His mind was a mess but the only thing that rings in his ears is your laugh, oh, how he wishes he can simply sit at the sea and hear your voice, your giggle, and your stories: if he can, he would. But the selfish part of him wants this, the permanent solution to the rotten world.

As he walks toward the abandoned factory, he finds himself imagining the morning, how his arms draped on your waist and how your soft breathing echoes on the sheets. “Peach?” He whispered.

“Mhmmm. Five more minutes, Frank.”

Frank can only hum, a year ago; morning haunts Frank like a bad poison, it was as if he was hoping hell would wake him up, but when it comes to you? 

Hell can probably wait for more than five minutes.

Frank entered the abandoned factory building, the smell of molds and reek of time entered his nose as he remained light feet to search for you. He was geared up, the Big Bad Punisher is out for a hunt. He didn’t know how long ago he was walking or how many dead bodies kept dropping from the moment he began searching.

Quietly he moved, quietly he killed—but the pounding in his heart is louder than any bombs he had heard in the war, he needed you safe and he needed you okay. For it seemed like an hour, he saw you: all tied up and bruised. He wanted to kill everything and everyone.

“Baby?” His voice sounded so gloomy and scared.

When you hear Frank’s voice, you can’t help but glance slowly at him. He looked so worried but before Frank’s face was painted with relief, yours was replaced by panic. “Frank! You shouldn’t be here!” But before you can speak again, he untied you and scanned your face: you looked so scared—“Frank! Listen to me, you have to leave!” 

He was confused, did somebody hit your head?

“Peach, it’s me—Hey, you’re safe.” He whispered as the final rope came off. “No, Frank, you have to lea—“ Your voice died down in the sound of a gunshot, the next thing you know Frank’s left arm was shot. He was bleeding badly.

“You shouldn’t have come, Punisher. This thing of yours has been really mad being used as bait.” You immediately knelt down and assess Frank. The man walked closer, he looked clean—probably a syndicate, he had a big scar on his face. “You gave me this scar.” 

Frank immediately sat and checked on you. “I’m gonna get you out of here, ya’ hear me, peach?” He stood up and put you behind him. “I’m gonna make sure, you’re gonna be fucking safe.” 

It all happened in a blur, the fight seemed like a distant memory; here you are now tending his wounds as his blood stained the sofa and carpet. You were quiet as you patch him up. The sound of silence echoed, Frank was spiralling: maybe this is it, this is how it ends—you were used against him and now, he’ll lose you.

He can bear it. No, he can’t.

He can’t fucking lose someone again, he can’t lose anyone he cares about again. But it’ll keep them safe.

“Can we talk?”

Safe. Yes, safe Frank wants that for you, he wants you to be safe. As you finished with the bandage he stood up and took his shirt; he winced as he walked in the kitchen as you looked at his back. He took a deep sigh, he doesn’t deserve this. He needs you safe and the only way to do it is to let you—

“I refuse.” Your voice woke him in his trance. He looked at you confused. “I didn’t say anything.” You sighed as you walked over to him, the window near the kitchen shed some light onto the dim lit kitchen, the bruises of Frank were visible on the moon’s light while the gleam touched the cut on your lips—oh, he did that as well, didn’t he?—He prayed to the gods somewhere, that he’ll take the pain instead, not you.

“It’s my fault you were taken.”

You looked at him. “It isn’t.”

“It fucking is. They used you as leverage. Look, peach, if anything happens to you—I don’t know—I…I can’t lose this too.” His voice cracks and he looks at you pleading, as if he wishes his eyes will tell how shitty he is and how you deserve a softer home, a warmer home, a home where blood isn’t going to reek the sofa or the carpet: a home where the problem runs with flour and eggs.

You touched his face and leaned into your touch. “And you’re thinking of ending this? Push me away?” You asked, as his eyes dripped with guilt, he wouldn’t want that but if it’s the only way to keep you safe, he would in a heartbeat even if it breaks his.

“Frank? Look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Love, please look at me.” He finally did, your eyes matched the guilt in his but somehow yours was warmer, it felt so familiar and it scares him so much. As you gently spoke his name as if you were singing a lullaby, or him drinking the tea: it was home.

“If you walk away now, what do you think would happen to me?”

He looked at you. “You’ll be fucking safer.”

“Maybe that’s true. But our sourdough may not survive.” He was confused. “We made that together so, I think it’s really not nice to leave our baby, don’t you think?”

You walked closer. “Who’s gonna bring my groceries? Who’s gonna clean my coffee machines? Who’s gonna wake me up in the morning and tell me he burnt some waffles in hopes to surprise me for breakfast?” That tugged something in his heart. “Who’s gonna whisper to me goodnight? or kiss me in the morning? Who will give me flowers just because?”

Closer. “Who will make love to me, if everything’s so hard?” 

He leaned down to kiss you, as you kissed back, his hand dragged on your back as he pulled you closer, he needed to feel you, need you: he needed to know you’re alive, you’re safe, your heart is beating. Despite his injuries he carried you to the counter top as he devoured your lips, in need of air, he pulled away as he rested his forehead on yours.

You met his eyes and he finally spoke. “I’ll hurt you someday, I just know. I’m a fucking monster, ya’ hear me, peach?” He kissed your nose and stared at you as if he’s memorizing your face. 

“Monster, huh? Because you killed bad people? Is that it?” You whispered. “Baby, you don’t even know how I see you.” You hold out your hand and cup his face, you trace his face and touch the bruises with your fingertips. 

“I don’t see any monsters in here.” Your fingertips traced his cheeks as you planted a kiss. “You know what I see?” You kissed his nose.

“I see a man who keeps telling me that he’s annoyed to see Spiderman but somehow has a soft spot for the kid.”

Kiss.

“I see a man who always gives me flowers just because he wants to.”

Kiss.

“I see a man who gives me a foot massage whenever he comes home after his night job.”

He looked at you as fixed his hair. “I see a man who cares so much it hurts him.” You smiled. “I see a man who is way too grumpy to see he deserves this.” A light flickered in his eyes.

“I see a man, so disciplined. Kind. A man who loves me so much, despite…” You teared up and he was surprised as he felt his heart clenched. “Telling me he is a monster…his hands never once hurt me—they somehow kept saving me. I don’t think you’re a monster, Frank.”

A tear fell as he dived in and hugged you—inhaling your scent.

“I just see you and I love you.” 

Ah, maybe that’s what Frank forgot. He is still a person, a man: despite the cruelty of life, he deserves this. His hand quivered as he cupped your face and kissed you. “We’re okay?”

“More than okay, peach. More than okay.” He kissed you again as he tasted nothing but sweetness, like the tea, or like the pastries. His hand slid under your shirt as you pulled him closer. He looked at you as he traced his lips on your collarbone, your chest, and your stomach—as if he’s tasting every bit that makes you: you.

He nudged your knee as he knelt on the counter and looked up at you: you were everything to him—“Peach?” He kissed your thigh as you looked at him as if he’s asking for your forgiveness. “I’m all yours, Frank. All yours.” He nodded as he finally let himself unravel the sides of you that only he knows.

 For once, he finally realized that the roughness and callouses on his hands are not the mere measure of him being a monster, as the night dive deeper, he carried you to bed. As his hand traced every inch of your body, like the man he is. “I love you.” He breathed out as if that’s the only word he knows.

“I love you more.” He definitely knows. Despite knowing there’s a lot of scars and wounds that will leave him unforgiven, he knows one person that’ll see him as Frank Castle, underneath that skull painted vest of his: there’s a man and a lover.

The world may not be forgivable but as long as you see him as him. 

That’s more than enough to a man who simply loves too much, like Frank Castle.

oh, frank castle, know you are loved.

When James Potter asked you out for a date, you couldn’t believe it. At first you thought it was a dare or a stupid prank he and his friends used to do, then you had noticed his face when you had laughed.

He was serious.

And that’s how you started dating James Potter, Quidditch Captain and HeadBoy, one of the most popular guy of the whole school, especially because everyone knew him and his friends for the pranks they used to do, even if they started to stop that traditions with the years.

After all, even the Marauders were actually growing up and becoming more responsible, even if it was strange even thinking about it.

Dating James Potter was actually easier than you thought; he was always so busy with his Quidditch practices and with his duties as HeadBoy that you had found a day every week to spend time together, a whole day only for the two of you.

Sunday.

It didn’t matter if he had Quidditch matches, you were there with him before it and after it, so it did count as a date, after all. Besides, cheering for him was something that made his heart racing in happiness every time. He did love seeing you screaming his name, with his number written on your cheek.

It also happened that the two of you, to celebrate a victory of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, had sneaked out of the castle through a secret tunnel, going straight to Hogsmeade to grab some ButterBeer and some candies from Honeydukes.

One day, right after his Quidditch practice, you had planned to surprise him since it was his birthday. He was walking back to the castle with Sirius, his broomstick hold in his right hand as he talked. You were ready to jump out of the corner to surprise him with piece of cake, that you had taken from the kitchen, hold tightly in your hands, but you overheard his conversation and you stopped.

“How’s things going with y/n?”

Sirius’ question didn’t caught you off guard, after all even your friends used to ask you the same, to ask you if you were happy with James.

You smiled, ready to hear what he really thought of your relationship.

“Good, i guess” he said, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, she’s not Lily…”

At those words, you tensed, your breath caught in your throat, standing still, without moving a single muscles.

Lily Evans.

The biggest crush of James, the only witch he had fallen for, apart from you. Bud did he really fall for you?

Why was he comparing you to Lily if he was really over her?

Were you just a second choice to him? The girl he could have, while Lily was the girl he had always dreamed of?

“What do you mean?”

You would have squeezed Sirius’ hand if you weren’t overhearing their conversation, hiding behind a corner, where James and Sirius hadn’t arrived yet. They stopped walking, your heart beating fast as you waited for an explanation.

“Lily is what i’ve always wanted. She’s beautiful, incredibly smart and she’s amazing. I bet she could be defined the brightest witch of our year, maybe even of the century. Y/n… well… she’s just y/n.”

Just y/n?

Was it how he saw you?

“What’s wrong with her being herself?”

Asked Sirius, confused.

“Nothing. But she’s messy, and clumsy. She doesn’t understand none of the jokes i make, i always have to explain them to her. And… she’s cute, but she’s not like Lily, you know?”

Those were the words that really hurt you. Not the fact that he still felt something for Lily, because the first crush is different from any others and it’s normal to compare the others to the first crush, especially if that crush lasted for years.

But how he described you? That was… horrible.

With tears in your eyes, you silently walked away, using your want to make the cake disappear.

“Evanesco.” You whispered, tapping the cake with your wand.

Before you could change your mind and go talk to James to end things, you decided to have a full night of sleep first, to take some time to think.

James, in the meantime, was still explaining everything to Sirius.

“Y/n is not Lily, she’s completely different and i think that’s what i love of her. I don’t feel judged, i don’t feel like i have to prove something to her. Because she’s not perfect, she’s messy, clumsy, she’s not the best looking girl of the castle. I mean, she’s beautiful to my eyes, she’s absolutely stunning, but i don’t feel the pressure of being at her level, to be right for her, to be considered enough. With Lily… every time i tried to court her, something was always off, something was always wrong. My messy hair, then my words or the way i spoke. With y/n? She’s just like me, she’s full of imperfections, but those are what makes her perfect for me. We are perfect together, and that’s what matters.”

Sirius nodded, smiling softly. “That’s the most complicated thought i’ve ever heard mate.” He chuckled. “For a moment i thought you were going to tell me you don’t like y/n.”

James shook his head, smiling.

“God, no. I’m utterly in love with her.”

If only you had heard the whole conversation.

The next day, James walked inside the great hall, surprised to not see you there. He had hoped you would have organized something for him for the other night, after the quidditch practice, but you didn’t and James had no right to be angry about it. It was his birthday and you did wish him happy birthday in the morning, but he did hope to spend some more time with you after the practice, only to find out that you had already gone to bed when he walked inside the common room.

Not seeing you in the Great Hall for breakfast, though, was an alarm. Why weren’t you there? You had never missed breakfast, never. Not even when you were sick you had, because even when you shouldn’t have eaten, James was the one to bring some food into the hospital wing just for you.

And how angry Madame Pomfrey used to get when she found out.

“Did you see y/n?” James asked, sitting right in front of his friend Remus; he was always the first to get up in the morning, eating breakfast early to be able to study a little before classes. It was something nor Sirius or James had never done, but they got used to Remus just being Remus.

“I think she went to the library.” The brunette guy said, shrugging his shoulders and looking at the Head Boy.

“What? At this hour? Why?”

Something wasn’t right, but James didn’t know what. Why should you have gone to the library that early in the morning? You had never been an early bird, nor a girl that used to study before classes.

“I suppose she has homeworks to do, you know.” Remus simply said, looking at him. “Something you have too, i remind you.”

“Moony, please don’t. Don’t remind us.” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair.

James didn’t even touch food, he simply got up from his seat, ignoring his friends’ questions and marching towards the library to talk to you.

You were strange and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

He didn’t even have to step inside the library to see you, because he just met you outside, while you were leaving it. You were ready to go to class, James knew it because he remembered that you had Herbology for the first hour.

“Why didn’t you eat with me?” James didn’t want to lose time, he wanted to be direct, to be clear. He needed to understand what had happened.

”What, can’t i study now?” You simply replied, without even looking at him in the eyes.

And that was it.

James knew you were angry with him because you didn’t even look at him, you just avoided his gaze, willingly.

“What did i do?” He asked immediately, stepping closer to her, grabbing her arm before she could have walked away.

“James….”

“No, i want to know why you’re not even looking at me.”

You gulped, trying to avoid his gaze, trying to find a good lie. But what could you have said?

“Because i’m not Lily!” You raised your voice without even realizing, still wearing the scars caused by hearing what James really thought of you.

Clumsy.

Messy.

Not even beautiful, just cute.

Not Lily.

How could you be like her? She was damn perfect: perfect grades; perfect body; perfect personality. She was even kind and gentle! There wasn’t one thing that you could have defined as imperfect or bad about Lily. She was just the girlfriend everyone would have wanted, definitely the one James dreamed of.

“What are you even talking about?” James was really confused, why were you talking about Lily?

“Lily is perfect, while i’m just messy and clumsy, right? And she’s beautiful, she really is beautiful, so what am i? The second choice?”

And then, all of a sudden, James realized it.

You had overheard his conversation with Sirius, but if you had heard all of it, you would have known that he was actually trying to explain why he loved you, he wasn’t trying to denigrate you.

“Y/n, you… wait that’s not what… you’re not Lily, you’re right but…”

“No, i don’t want to hear a sigle word coming from you, you hear me?” Your voice interrupted him before he could actually explain himself , too angry and hurt to let him talk, to let him speak his truth. “Do you deny it? Do you deny saying those things?”

“No, i did say them but…”

James was trying so hard to talk to you, to actually do it. To explain everything, to explain you what he really wanted to say, but you were too angry to let him talk.

“No buts!” You raised your voice again, catching the attention of few students that were passing through. “You still love Lily, just admit it!”

“If you just let me explain to you…”

“Explain what? That you had used me? That i was nothing serious to you?!”

James started to got angry too, his frustration reaching the limit.

“Stop interrupting me, for Merlin’s beard!” He raised his voice, making you shutting up in silence. You had never heard him shouting like that, you had never heard or seen him like that. He took a deep breath, looking at you in the eyes. “Listen to me… i… i do love you, but you can’t behave like this. I want to build a future with you, even a family one day, but to do so, you have to trust me and you have to give me the chance to explain. You can’t just shout at me, we won’t solve anything like that.”

You stared at him, surprised to see him so calm after how he raised his voice; his words had hit a sweet spot inside you, because you suddenly started to calm down, letting him explain.

“I did say those things, but if you had overheard my conversation with Sirius till the end, you would have realized that i said i fell in love with your imperfections. With you being messy, and clumsy. I love you, all of you. And what i said to Sirius was that I’m thankful that you’re not like Lily, because your imperfections made you so perfect for me, your imperfections made me fell in love so hard for you. I do love you y/n, and if you don’t believe me, then i’ll drink the Veritaserum just to prove it to you!”

You simply stared at him, disbelief crossing your face as you finally hear his true feelings.

If you had just listened to him before…

“I’m stupid.” You whispered. “And i’m sorry, i’m really sorry.”

James was still slightly angry with you, especially because you thought that he was joking with you, that he was actually that type of guy, but as he looked into your eyes, he only saw how sad and guilt you were.

The HeadBoy sighed, then wrapped his arms around your body, holding you tightly

“Promise me you’ll come to me for an explanation next time.” He whispered. “I want to talk to you about your insecurities, don’t just go straight to a conclusion.”

You nodded, sighing and resting your head on his chest.

“I promise i will.” You whispered. “And i do love you so much.”

James smiled softly, leaving a kiss between your hair.

"Fuck." The curse fell from her lips involuntarily as she finally pried her eyes open to take a peek at the owner of the arm currently slung over her waist, "Bloody fuckin— fuck."

In bed next to her laid the man who was, not only her long time crush, but her brother's best friend. James Potter— black curls askew, glasses tossed off to the bedside table, the sun slanting against his dark skin, neck covered her marks, and that bullshit smug smile he apparently wore even in his sleep. To say she was distraught was an understatement. This kind of fuck up could put the time she single handedly lost fifty points for Slytherin to shame. If Sirius found her in his best friend's bed… she didn't even want to think about the repercussions. Her only saving grace was the curtains drawn around his bed that hid him from his roommate's view— her brother included.

Slowly, she slid his arm off of her so she could slip out of his bed, grab her clothes, make a run for it, and pray no one knew she was ever there. She quietly pushed open the curtains and moved off of the bed, slinking to the floor where she picked up the any clothing that wasn't on her nearly naked body. Underwear and pants were slipped on under the shirt she was thankfully wearing and anything else was just bunched into her arms as she readied her escape.

"Going so soon?" A groggy voice halted her in her steps. Not James, but Remus Lupin, her brother's boyfriend. Her head snapped up in his direction like a niffler caught in a purse, eyes darting between him and her sleeping brother causing Remus to chuckle softly, "Don't worry, he doesn't know. Although, I'd make a run for it before he wakes up." All she could reply with was a hurried nod and an anxious smile before practically apparating from the room.

The walk of shame back to the Slytherin dormitory felt even more treacherous than usual as she slipped on her shoes and socks between steps, pulled back her tangled hair once her hands were free, and do her best to not look as drunk as she still felt. She was lucky she woke up so early, the only other people walking through the castle at the moment were the ghosts— who were technically doing more floating than walking.

It wasn't until she reached the Slytherin common room that her situation finally sunk in. Last night, she had was she could only assume was a good shag with her brother's best friend. Worst of all was that she couldn't tell a soul (other than Remus, who'd caught her mid escape) because if anyone found out she, a Slytherin nobody, was shagging Gryffindor's golden boy… she was so unbelievably fucked.

"Flobberworm." She murmured the password tiredly as she reached the entrance to her common room, stepped through the stone doorway, and into the frigid dungeon of a common room. She needed a shower and bad. Normally, that's all she could think about when she walked back from a party, but this morning? All she could think about was her colossal screw up.

James fucking Potter. She hooked up with James Fleamont Potter. Fuck.

She did her best to ignore those pressing thoughts as she trudged through the common room and towards her dorm where she could shower away the odor of alcohol and regret that wafted from each of her steps. She knew that her mind would remain clouded until she could wash it all away.

Stepping into her dormitory, she glanced around at the sleeping faces of her cousins Bellatrix, Narsissa, and Andromeda. She would be thankful they were still sleeping if she didn't know it was only a matter of time before they began grilling her about her latest tryst. For now, she settled for being grateful that she a least had this temporary moment of silence.

She stepped further into the room, making her way towards the mahogany trunk at the foot of her bed where she kept her school robes. The dorm was larger than many of the other dorms— due likely to the fact that they were all daughters of the noble Black family. The room's decor only reflected that with its deep green curtains and black bedding, it was the pinnacle of high-class Slytherin design. Something she despised about being a Slytherin. Everything always had to be prim and proper— Merlin forbid she add any of her muggle music posters.

But, she'd digress.

She turned towards the bathroom with her fresh robes in hand and headed over to the shower for a clean slate to start her morning.

The hot water that washed over her aided in clearing her mind, her hair began to de-tangle, her salted skin shed its lust, and her body slowly awoke.

As the bathroom door creaked open and the sink began running, she bit back an exasperated sigh. Her cousins were starting to wake up, and with it, their questions.

"Another party?" Narsissa's soft voice, tense with disapproval cut through her peace, "You really need to stop attending those parties. You shouldn't be associating yourself with those people."

"My brother is one of those people." She replied tersely, not bothering to pause her shower in the slightest, "Your cousin, in case you forgot."

"Not since he left."

This gave her pause. Not since he left.

Sirius didn't leave, six years ago he was sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin like the rest of the Black family and he'd been effectively shunned by the family because of it— by everyone except his baby siblings, of course.

She didn't care enough to reply. Instead, she finished up her shower and moved on from it because the topic of Sirius was a tense one within their family. One she'd long since given up defending.

It was less than an hour before she'd found her usual seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, just across from her twin brother.

"Moring, Reg. Anything interesting in the news today?" She took a glance at the Daily Prophet in his hands, grabbing a piece of toast as she did so.

"Nothing good." Came his dry reply. Regulus had slowly morphed into this serious (no pun intended) no funny business man and it broke her heart. Her twin brother used to play into all of her antics and even had some playful ones of his own, but ever since Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, their house and parents had darkened even further than they already were.

That place was hardly a house. It could never be a home.

"Another party last night? You have to stop attending Gryffindor parties."

She let out a long groan, "Merlin, you're the second person to say that to me this morning. Lay off my case, I can party wherever I want." Although, considering the situation she found herself in this morning, she was actually considering avoiding Gryffindors as a whole from now on.

"Not when it's because of Barty."

She paused for a moment, looking up from her toast and glaring at her brother, "Don't bring him into this. This has nothing to do with that git. Fucking cheating liar."

"Watch your language, sister." Regulus murmured, no caring to look up from the paper. The paper that was promptly snatched from his fingers.

"You're done reading. Have a real conversation with me for once." The Daily Prophet was crumpled and slightly torn by its abduction, then tossed aside to an empty place on the dining table, "Has Barty said something to you? Is that why you keep bringing him up?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Fine." Regulus looked at her with a pitying gaze, sighing deeply, "He was being quite rude after hearing you were at another Gryffindor party— but that's all you're getting out of me."

A scoff sounded from her in an attempt to be unbothered, her gaze traveling down the table to Barty who was sitting with his asshole friends and laughing— probably making fun of a first year, "Yeah well, we're not together, so he needs to mind his own business."

She glanced over suddenly at the Great Hall doors as they swung open noisily, followed by a rowdy conversation between the Marauders— by extension, her lover from the previous night… aka her mistake of the century.

"Staring at James again?"

"Fuck, Reg. You need to let it go." She looked back to him, tenser than before as she bit back the information teetering off of her tongue, "I don't fancy him."

Regulus raised an inquisitive eyebrow, sensing the change in her tone. Something was different today when he mentioned James— like he'd touched a nerve. Normally, she'd blush like a school girl and try to brush off his comment, but not today. No, she acted like James had killed her beloved cat or something.

For once, Regulus chose not to comment.

That was until—

"Hey, Black."

Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned to find herself face to face with him. The very last person on the planet that she wished to talk to.

"James…" She stiffened slightly, leaning away from the proximity he forced on her, "Can I help you?"

James had this strange look on his face. A look she'd never seen before. Something like embarrassment? Shyness? Not only that, but the turtleneck sweater he more than likely stole from Remus barely covered the array of hickeys adorning his chestnut skin.

"I was uhm…" James took note of the smug look on Regulus's face staring at him from just across the table and attempted to reflect his usual cockiness, "I was hoping you'd take a walk with me. Had a couple questions about… muggle studies."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Oh, I was kind of in the middle—"

"I think our conversation had come to a healthy end, sister. Don't worry." Regulus smirked, looking up from the paper he'd managed to return to his grasp. Of course, his sister turned to give him a sharp glare, her chastising halting on her tongue only due to James.

"Wonderful, lets go then."

She could practically feel her eye twitch as she sent Regulus one last glare before following James away from the table and towards the doors of the Great Hall. She could feel her heart rate steadily rising as she followed closely behind him, letting the sleeves of her robes bunch up in her sweaty palms. James's cologne wafted behind him and into her direction, filling her senses with the warm cinnamon scent— her favorite scent.

Once they made it outside, James turned to walk backwards, facing her with a lopsided smile. That stupid fucking smile.

"Glad you came with me," he laughed sheepishly, nervously running his fingers through his messy curls, "Was worried for a minute there that you wouldn't, but… I really needed to talk to you about last night."

FUCK.

"Oh?" She cleared her throat, feigning innocence, brushing off the whole ordeal, "What about it?"

James's smile faltered, "Sorry? I just— do you not remember?" She cringed internally at his visible disappointment, but she couldn't help it. Sure, she had a huge crush on James, but what would Sirius think? He wouldn't take it well at all. She couldn't let that happen.

"Oh, you mean…" She let out a dismissive laugh, shrugging it off, "Don't worry. We were drunk off our arses. Meant nothing, right?"

Right?

"Right." James responded softly, his smile having completely disappeared, "Yeah, that's what I was going to say… just uhm, wanted to make sure you felt the same."

"Good."

"Good."

"Well," she straightened up, flattening out her now wrinkled sleeves, "I should get going if that's all."

"Sure, yeah." James murmured, his hands burying themselves in his pocket, closing himself off to her, "See you later."

"Yeah. See you."

As she walked away, she couldn't help the pit of guilt growing in her stomach. She knew that last night meant as much to him as it did to her. It was written clear across his face, but she knew she was doing this for him. She was protecting his friendship with her brother. Sirius would never forgive him if he found out.

Ever since that moment, she'd steered clear of James, but the guilt was eating her alive. It was like every time she closed her eyes she could picture that kicked puppy look on his face when she told him it didn't matter. She knew it mattered. It mattered to her. So fucking much. Just like all those times James had found her smoking a cigarette in the Astronomy tower after a big fight with Barty. He always seemed to know when she needed someone to lean on, but she'd ruined that by fucking him and then letting him down.

"I fucked up so bad, Rem." She murmured, sniffling between sips of her fire whiskey as she stared out at the sky from their seats in the Astronomy tower, "You should've seen the look on his face."

"I did." He scoffed softly, his scarred hand reaching out to take the bottle from from her, "Man sulked about for days."

She let out a long defeated groan, "Merlin, I'm such a terrible person, aren't I?" She sniffled again— the more she drank, the more emotional she grew towards the situation, "I mean… I really really fancy him, Remus. Like fucking infatuated, and yet I looked him dead in the face and told him that our hookup meant nothing."

"Oh, c'mon. It's not as bad as you think," Remus handed the bottle back over as he took a drag of his cigarette, "Certainly not irredeemable."

"Really? It feels pretty irredeemable to me."

The sound of giggling interrupted their conversation. Two people came up the stairs, whispering and giggling about god knows what until they reached the landing where her and Remus were sat. It was a random Hufflepuff girl and James. Drunk and horny.

"Oh, sorry. We didn't expect anyone to be in here…" The Hufflepuff girl giggled, clutching onto James's bicep like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

James looked like a deer caught in the headlights, swaying in place yet completely wide eyed, "Oh! Remus and…"

"We were just leaving," she interrupted him, taking Remus's cigarette and snubbing it out before shoving the fire whiskey into his hands and standing from the ground with pursed lips, "All yours." She barely waited for Remus to right himself and follow before setting off for the exit, knocking James's shoulder on her way out.

"Wait—" James's words fell short as the doors to the tower slammed shut with a ferocity only a broken heart could muster.

"Sorry, mate." Remus murmured, sending James an apologetic look before brushing past as well.

When Remus finally caught up to her, a few tears had reached her chin, streaking her cheeks with dark mascara.

How could she have been so naive as to believe that their hook up meant something to him. That look she'd interpreted as dejection was probably only a blow to his ego. He was known for being a ladies man, just like her brother. After giving up on his endeavors with Lily, James had taken the mantle of Gryffindor Casanova, sleeping around with anyone from any house that cared to pay him any attention. There she'd been,rejecting him whilst truly believing that there was a chance her feelings were reciprocated when he'd probably spent that very same night sleeping with some Hufflepuff boy or Gryffindor girl. She'd spent that night curled up in bed, teary eyed and guilty.

She felt like everything had come crashing down in one swift painful motion.

"Hey, don't let that get to you." Remus caught her elbow, halting her pace, "Listen, he's just trying to get over you. Trust—"

"Stop it. Just stop." She shrugged off his grip, pained eyes staring back at him, "It was stupid of me to think that he felt the same. I don't need you to try to convince me he's just repressing his feelings or something like that, okay? Just let me feel like an idiot for a bit and I'll be over it by the morning. It's fine."

It'd become routine.

Go to the Great Hall for breakfast, avoid James, go to class, avoid James, lunch, avoid James, more classes, avoid James, dinner, avoid James, then manage to sneak off to spend a few hours alone in the Astronomy tower smoking away a new pack of cigarettes she'd managed through someone at the Three Broomsticks.

So, tonight was just like any other night. She was two cigarettes deep, staring through the large telescope and searching for the constellations her brother's were named after. It was nice. Peaceful. If only it weren't for the nagging feeling in her chest that still regretted what happened with James. She wondered what might have happened if she'd just let him be honest instead of brushing of the situation as a whole, but then again, maybe she would still be just as disappointed as she is now.

She listened to the crackling of her burning cigarette as she pulled a long drag, letting the smoke linger in her lungs for a moment before exhaling it. With each drag, she placated that feeling further and further.

"Care to share a smoke?" James's surprisingly soft voice floated behind her, catching her off guard. He hadn't dared step foot in the Astronomy Tower since their run in just two weeks previous, but tonight he'd finally plucked up the courage. Whilst walking the grounds under the security of his invisibility cloak, he'd noticed the plume of smoke rising from the tower— it didn't take a genius to know who was up there.

She didn't turn around to look at him, just held out the cigarette as she continued to look through the telescope. She could smell that cinnamon cologne wafting towards her, so strong she didn't have to look to know how close he was.

"Can we talk?" James whispered, exhaling a cloud of smoke just off to her left, continuing even softer, "Please?"

Her eyes closed with a soft sigh. She didn't even have time to dread this moment because she didn't think it would happen. She'd spent weeks convincing herself that James didn't want to talk to her either. Yet now, here he stood just inches away and begging to talk.

"Sure." She remained looking out through the telescope, refusing to even peer in his direction.

"Merlin, can you at least fucking look at me?" James snapped suddenly, his hand smacking down against the balcony railing a bit harder than intended, startling her into looking at him, "I mean seriously, you've been avoiding me like the plague and it's ridiculous. I've done nothing wrong. You're the one who rejected me."

Her eyebrows raised slightly in shock. He was right, of course. She did effectively reject his advances after their hookup. She refused to see the signs as what they were and then punished him for it.

"I'm—"

"I'm not done." He leaned closer, his gaze desperate and intense, "For ages, I've been dropping hint after hint trying to test the waters with you. Finally, we confessed and hooked up with each other. Were we drunk? Yeah, but I thought it meant something. That was until I woke up and you were gone, then completely dismissed me when I tried to talk to you about it. You're a bloody liar, Black. You… you fucking hurt me more than Lily ever could have." His voice cracked slightly as his eyes grew glassy from pent up emotion, "Why'd you have to lie to me? Why did you tell me you felt the same?"

She stared at him incredulously for a long moment, beyond confused. She didn't remember a thing from that night. All she could recall was… oh.

"James." She whispered, shortening the distance between them, now looking just as desperate as him, "I'm so sorry. I didn't remember anything from that night. I woke up, saw I was in your bed, and freaked out. I had no recollection of confessing to you, I'm so terribly sorry." Merlin, she had to be the worst witch in Hogwarts.

"So, that's it then? It was a drunken confession you're taking back?" He asked dejectedly, lip trembling ever so slightly as he spoke.

"No!" She started, reaching forwards to take his face in her hands as she noticed his tears, "Oh god, please don't cry. I'm so sorry for being so stupid. Look, I was scared. I didn't think you felt the same, but then you pulled me out of the Great Hall to talk and I completely panicked. I thought maybe I was protecting your relationship with my brother. Fuck, I'm so sorry." Her stomach twisted as a single tear rolled down his cheek, tugging at her chest with a guilt so powerful she wanted to throw up, "I like you, James. Please believe me. I really really like you, I'm just miraculously stupid."

"You do?" He whispered pitifully, looking at her with that big brown doe eyed look that made even the strongest swoon.

"Yes. I do."

"You do." James's eyebrows knitted together with a sad yet relieved smile as he let out a soft laugh, "I'm so sorry for snapping at you."

She leaned in, her lips brushing just over his as she murmured, "Fuck off, it was deserved."

"Still."

"Still, it was deserved." She scoffed softly, bumping his nose with hers, "Shut up and kiss me, Potter."