Need Friends

But the slight smirk in his voice as he spoke told you otherwise. “Funny. I was there for at least four hours. Four dreadful hours. But I didn’t see you once.”

You cleared your throat, trying to focus on your book. “That’s funny, because I saw you.”

Theseus’ grimaced as he walked inside, removing his tie and flopping down on the sofa across from you. “Oh, god, you didn’t see me trip whilst dancing with Professor Quinn, did you?”

You looked at him over the edge of your book. “Nice try but you would never dance with Professor Quinn.”

Rather than looking defeated, however, Theseus gave you a coy grin. “Touche.”

Settling back into your book, you were thankful it hid most of your face when Theseus continued his sentence. “But you should know I’m an excellent dancer and also a gentleman. A gentleman never refuses a lady’s request to dance.”

Theseus chuckled as he watched you pause mid-flip of your page. “Want to tell me why you’re hiding in here? I thought you were excited to go?”

It took you a moment, but eventually you sighed and closed your book. It wasn’t all that entertaining if you were being completely honest with yourself. 

Although there was a friendly mocking tone to his face as he looked at you, probably waiting for some story you found too embarrassing to talk about – an ugly coloured dress that should have been burned two centuries earlier, probably. 

But there was still a worried kindness in his eyes, because he knew you’d been excited to go. He’d seen you with your friends, planning outfits and dates, practicing dances, breaking in heels that you wished to wear. 

So why on earth, at the height of the night, were you sitting alone in the common room, reading?

“I was,” you confirmed. “But plans changed.”

Theseus’ eyes scanned over your expression. Something tugged at his gut; there wasn’t some laugh-about-it-later story held in the secret corners of your mind. Something had…changed. 

Carefully, he sat up. “What changed?”

You’d managed to hold up a wall all night. It helped you were alone after your friends left Ravenclaw tower. You’d been waiting for a date who never intended to show. 

“Theseus.”

He could see the tears in your eyes and the shake of your chest as you tried to hold the walls up. He moved in an instant, taking a seat beside you and hugging you tight. 

“It’s alright,” he said, softly. 

With your book in your lap, you hugged Theseus back and let out a few tears. 

“I waited for an hour,” you admitted. “I waited for him to show and then I thought, maybe, he’d forgotten. By the time I went downstairs, I’d planned to keep my head high but then I found out he never intended to show up. He’d invited someone else and I found them…in a rather compromising position behind the court-yard.”

“He’s a jerk, Y/n.” 

“I know,” you nodded, sitting back a little. 

One of Theseus’ hands rested against the back of the sofa as he sat beside you, whilst his other hand reached out and gently swiped the stray tears from your eyes. You tried to smile, but your feelings were still hurt. 

“I know,” you repeated. “My tears are wasted on him.”

“Very much so,” Theseus said. “You didn’t deserve that- you don’t. And nobody could ever forget you.”

Against the book in your lap, you held his hand. “Thank you, Theseus.”

He nodded, silently saying ‘you’re welcome’. But then he smiled as he lightly squeezed your hand. “I mean it.”

And then, after a quiet moment of your gaze locked onto his, he stood and held out his hand. “Come on, then.”

You chuckled. “What are you doing?”

“Well, if you’d still like to go to the Yule Ball, I will accompany you.”

You stood. “That’s very kind of you, Theseus. But I think everyone is probably drunk off the spiked eggnog.”

He shrugged. “Then we shall have our own.”

“What are you-” You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him wave his wand around the room. 

The lights dimmed into candle flames, held in winter flowers that bloomed along the walls and ceilings. The warmth of the fire grew a little brighter as the ground beneath your feet transformed into a slightly harder surface than the mossy ground. 

After changing out of your Yule dress and back into your skirt and blouse, after you’d decided to try and hide away in the common room all evening, you’d failed to get dressed into your pajamas when you returned. 

So, from the sofa, a light dusting of snowflakes shook out and covered your skirt. Finally, from the ceiling, a twilight sky grew and let snow fall gently around both of you. 

“Theseus, this is…beautiful.” However, in the back of your mind, a question started to grow. 

If Theseus could do all of this with a simple wave of his wand…why had he needed your help with practicing his Charms only a few weeks ago?

Theseus smiled at you, pocketing his wand, and holding your hand before gently raising it. “Now, I know my mother taught myself and Newt that gentleman never refuse a lady’s request to dance. I’m hoping you were perhaps taught something like it.”

You smiled, a little nervously as you took a step towards him. “I might have been told a lady should accept a gentleman’s offer…so long as I consider him a gentle man.”

Theseus smiled, a little nervously. “And do you?”

Laying your free hand on his upper arm, you nodded. “I do.”

A gentle but caring smile washed over his mouth before he laid his hand around your waist and started leading you to the music you’d only just recognised was playing. 

Looking back on that night with Theseus, you figured maybe that was when you had fallen for him. 

But you couldn’t be too sure, because your friendship with him, although hadn’t been much to begin with, had only grown from that night onwards. 

The next day, you found out your date had found himself unknowingly stuck in the muddy fields of the Quidditch pitch. Even after the Charms professor managed to get him unstuck, it took him weeks before he was able to have mud no longer stick to his clothing or even him. 

A year later, Theseus graduated. A year after that, you did. 

He wrote to you, during his service in the war. Mostly, you worked undercover until an injury in the field left your bosses worried about losing one of their best assets, wanting to keep you alive. Instead, you ran the secret communications office. 

You were told Theseus had come to visit you in the hospital but he’d been called away before you’d woken up. 

As the days went on and promotions were given, ten years had passed since that night of the Yule Ball. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked with a smile as you found a familiar face sat at your desk. 

Theseus leaned back with that same smile that gave you a light and funny feeling in your stomach. 

“Can’t one just drop by to see their very good friend?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, playfully, and hummed. “Maybe,” you said as you closed the door behind you. “So long as that very good friend you speak of doesn’t already know of your ulterior motive.”

Theseus feigned shock and held a hand against his broad chest. Pushing himself from your desk, he slowly walked around it until he was face to face with you. “What ulterior motive could I possibly be hiding?”

You hummed once more, before looking into your bag and pulling out a single leaflet. “That you are in need of a date and, since whisperings of your rather mediocre attempt at finding one has left you with very minimal options.”

Theseus clicked his tongue with a slight tilt of his head. Lifting his head a little, he looked down and plucked the leaflet from your hand. 

There was barely three inches of room between both of you, so the quiet sound of his sigh of defeat filled you with both joy and another unnamed feeling that you could only describe as…wanting to hear it again. 

“It is meant to be rather fun,” he pointed out. “And it’s also for charity.”

You gave him a short look that hid a smile. “Fine. I’ll go with you. One one condition.”

Theseus smiled, but nodded, waiting for your condition. 

“You actually ask.”

It was his turn to give you a look. “Just for the record, I was about to ask.”

You nodded. “I know. But you would have danced around it and tried to paint a rather pretty picture of something that we both know can be incredibly tedious.”

Theseus smiled at you, his gaze tracing every angle and curve of your face. Then, taking a breath before he was knocked off his feet, he finally asked. 

“Would you please accompany me to Friday’s charity gala, as my date?”

You waited a moment before nodding with a polite smile. “Yes, Theseus. I’d be honoured.”

A smile of relief washed over him as he held his hand over his heart once more. He bent his knees a little, dramatically portraying the weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

You chuckled as he held onto your shoulders before kissing both of your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you laughed. “But I should tell you that your new assistant is looking for you. Apparently you have a meeting.”

Theseus stood tall once more, taking a small step back to let you pass and get to your desk. “Right, yes.”

“I will see you later, Theseus.”

He bowed his head as he left, trying to hide the redness you could probably see on his cheeks. “See you later.”

By the time Friday rolled around, you were nervous to say the least. 

You’d changed your outfit several times, consulted at least three books on how to style your hair, and spent almost ninety minutes doing your make-up. 

With a final few deep breaths as you checked yourself over in the mirror, you heard your doorbell ring. 

“It’s just a couple of hours,” you told yourself. “You can do this. It’ll be fine. Completely fine.”

And it was. 

Until you opened your front door and found Theseus standing on the doorstep, dressed in a tux and looking all kinds of handsome that shouldn’t have been legal. 

Theseus went to speak, but all words failed him as his eyes roamed across you before landing back on your own eyes. “You look…”

Theseus swallowed thickly and for a moment, you panicked. “Is it terrible? Oh, god. This is why I don’t– give me a second. I’ll try and find something-”

“No!” Theseus reached out for you quickly. “Sorry, no. It’s not terrible. I just wasn’t prepared for…” 

Theseus felt like he couldn’t breathe. But in no way did he feel suffocated. He knew you were beautiful. His feelings over the last decade or more had always felt stronger than those that he’d held for any other woman in his life. 

Parts of you always struck him whenever he got the chance to see you. Your smile, your laughter, the way you’d sigh at how bad his handwriting was. There were more moments than a few in a day where he found himself never wanting to look away from you. 

Mentally, he’d tried his best to prepare himself for the evening. He knew you’d be stunning. He knew you’d look at him with that simple but graceful smile and he’d feel so weak in his knees, he’d want to drop to them and pray to you as if you were the only Goddess he’d ever accept existing. 

But when you opened the door…

Nothing could have prepared him for your beauty. 

“You look stunning,” he told you. “Truly.”

“Oh.” 

Standing still, you took a moment to calm down from your raging internal panic. 

For a few moments, there was a silent tension. It would only build throughout the night, the longer you felt his eyes on you and he felt your hand on him. 

However, still standing on the doorstep, you both heard the sound of Big Ben ring out across the city night. “We should-”

Theseus nodded. “Right, we should-”

“Go,” you both agreed. 

As the night drew on, the same tension you’d both felt outside your home only seemed to grow. His smile and his laugh made you lightheaded. And by the time he’d held out his hand and led you effortlessly to the dancefloor, you were starting to feel overwhelmed. 

The memory of the Yule Ball flashed through your mind as your eyes remained fixed on his, dancing around the floor. 

Then you noticed the look in his eyes. 

“What?” You asked him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he smiled with a light shake of his head. “Just…remembering…things.”

You chuckled, a little nervously, because you had been doing the same. 

By the end of the night, the atmosphere around both of you was practically stabbing you in the back of your neck. Each light touch of his hand felt like it was burning your skin, but it wasn’t at all painful. 

“I think we need to talk,” Theseus said, finally breaking the tension as you both landed in your fireplace. 

He’d felt something change just before you walked with him onto the dancefloor, and ever since, that change had been weighing over both of you, wrapped in a cloud of fear. But he cared about you too much to let the Change change you both forever, and not in the way he so desperately wished. 

You’d practically ran out of the fireplace and around your home by the time he spoke up. 

“What about?” You asked, after downing a glass of water. 

Theseus scratched the back of his head. He could leave, but that would mean the noticeable tension would only grow into something possibly unbearable. 

“I think you know.”

You shook your head, but Theseus rushed forward. “Yes, yes, you do.”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” you said, nerves laced through your voice as you kept you back to him and moved around your home. 

With a wave of your wand, you tidied everything away. Dresses rushed back into the decorative box that lay besides your sofa, the jackets and shawls rushed past Theseus and headed to your stand by your front door. All the while, he practically chased you around your home. 

“Y/n, please.”

“We’re friends,” you said, lifting the brown paper bag filled with your new make-up products. You hurried past him, into your hallway and up the stairs. 

Theseus followed. 

“We shared a dance,” you said, reaching the landing and heading towards your bedroom. 

“That was all,” you finished, laying the bag on your vanity and pulling the shawl from your shoulders, feeling too hot and panicked. 

You could hear Theseus’ breath – he was trying to catch it as he remained at your bedroom door. His bow tie was loose, his coat open and his hair was a little messier than it had been when you’d first arrived home. 

“Was it?”

Trying to keep your breath steady, you slowly turned around and faced him. He was leaning with his arm against the side of your doorframe, looking just as terrified as you. “Yes.” 

“Liar.”

Truthfully, even you hadn’t convinced yourself when you’d answered ‘yes’. 

Looking at each other, trying to catch your breath from a night of tension, all it took was your name and a simple word to slip from his lips to have you moving across the room towards him. 

“Y/n…please…”

Pulling him in, you kissed him. 

With his arm still against the doorframe, his other pulled you in at your waist and turned you. Your back was against the wooden frame as he blocked you against it, kissing you back and never wishing to stop. 

You gasped a little as his teeth gently bit into your bottom lip, and then you felt him smile. You kissed him harder, pulling him in closer. 

With your hands sliding under his coat, you motioned for him to take it off. And he did so, barely breaking his kiss with you. 

With his coat and tie left stranded outside your bedroom door, you pulled him with you as you walked backwards into your bedroom. His hands grappled for your hips and waist as you removed his dinner jacket and waistcoat. 

You managed to get half of his shirt buttons undone before he crumpled your dress by your thighs and lifted you until your legs were wrapped around him. 

A few seconds passed and he had you pressed against one of your bedroom walls, his mouth trailing along your jaw, neck and exposed collar. 

“Theseus,” you breathed, pushing your hand through the back of his hair. You gasped a little as he found your pulse point and trailed his teeth across your soft skin before lightly sucking. 

He groaned in pleasure as you whispered his name again. His lips were fixed on your neck, but his hands; one held you in place whilst the other roamed along your body, igniting your skin that was still annoyingly covered by your dress. 

Moving his head, needing to feel his lips on yours again; he obliged. 

Without you having to say anything, Theseus started to move you over to your bed where he lay you down gently and kept kissing you. 

Your fingers moved quickly to undo the rest of his shirt buttons whilst his hands lifted your thighs and opened them a little. 

Under your dress, he gently squeezed at the soft flesh of your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“Theseus,” you breathed into the kiss. “Please. Please, touch me.”

Your underwear was already soaked through, which was more than a pleasure to find out. Finally touching you, you lifted your hips a little as he applied a little pressure and carefully curled his fingers inside of you. 

His breath quickened as he took you in, laying under him, both of you drunk on the kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told you. “So,” he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your neck. “So beautiful.”

By the time the sun had risen over the city, yourself and Theseus were lying together in a tangled mess of bedsheets and pillows, whilst both of your clothes lay thrown around the room. 

Your dress, from when he’d helped you stand on aching legs, was delicately thrown over the clothing divider in the corner of your room. His shirt was hanging on the post just beside it. His trousers lay crumbled on the floor, alongside his socks and shoes, as well as your own. 

You woke first, still sore and tired (but in the best way). Theseus was still lying beside you, sleeping. Though you doubted the sleeping part when you tried to move and the arm he had lay securely across you refused to let you leave. 

“Darling,” Theseus’ voice was deep and tired, but still somehow managed to have his playful edge laced throughout. 

Theseus didn’t have to open his eyes to see the smile you couldn’t even begin to hide, spread across your face. With his arm as he turned from his front to his side, he pulled you in closer to him, tangling his legs with yours. 

He’d carried feelings for you, for over ten years. And last night, things finally changed for the better. 

He wasn’t about to let you get away again. 

“It’s nearly twelve,” you told him. 

He blew a small raspberry, his eyes still closed. “It’s barely nine.”

He buried his face into your neck, carefully and slowly kissing and nipping at your skin. “I was meant to tidy my office today.”

“On the weekend?” His brows furrowed before he groaned, feeling you lightly drag your nails down his bare side and under the covers. “You’re such a nerd. I love it. But, you should know the Ministry doesn’t open until eleven on the weekends. And, since it’s only six-”

You giggled a little, leaning into his touch. “You just said it was nine.”

Theseus opened his eyes to look at you, just before rolling you onto your back. “It’s the weekend. We don’t have to move until Monday.”

“At all?”

He nodded. “At all.”

Only, you frowned. “That’s a shame.”

“Why-” 

Theseus didn’t need to finish his question, as in one swift movement, he was laying under you as you straddled his hips. Theseus laughed as you leaned above him, kissing him in between your words. “Because I-” Kiss. “Planned on-” Kiss. “Doing a lot-” Kiss. “Of moving.”

However, before you kissed him again, you quickly added; “After tidying my office.”

You tried to get up, but Theseus was too quick. “Ah, hey, no you, don’t-”

You laughed as he pulled you back into bed, rolling over you and keeping you in place. 

But right now, you’re about to add to your count of visits down there. Stephanie said, and you quote, “Someone effortless to spar with.” Now, you don’t know exactly what she meant by that, but you’re pretty sure she’s calling you weak? You’re determined to prove her wrong.

Over the years of knowing Stephanie, she’s taught you how to defend yourself in various situations, teaching you the techniques that her father taught her. Yeah, this is going to be a piece of cake.

You two settle onto the sparring mat, taking your positions. Stephanie adjusts her stance before saying, “And… start!” She immediately breaks your defensive stance, landing a soft hit to your shoulder. “Gotta be quicker than that, stupid.”

“Oh, shut up.” You put your arms up once again, settling into a fighting stance. You two dance around each other for a moment, trying to strategize. You push your arms under hers, landing a soft hit on her stomach. “Ow!”

“You know damn well that didn’t hurt.” She puts a hand over her heart dramatically, “You wound me.”

It’s just then that you two hear footsteps approaching. You don’t acknowledge them, until the person producing them speaks up. “You two sparring?” Jason.

You snap your head in his direction without even thinking about it. Completely dropping your defensive stance, Stephanie lands a hit to your shoulder once again, this time a little harder. “Ouch! What the hell, Steph?”

“Your fault, I win.” She says in a sing-song voice with a devious grin.

“Fair and square, I guess.” Jason says, while walking towards the industrial monitor’s. Right. Jason. Where do you even start with him. Jason, Jason, Jason. The name rings in your head.

It was about 3 years ago when you first saw Jason Todd. You and Stephanie were in the manor’s kitchen, gossiping about whatever was going on in your lives at the time. Honestly, you don’t remember what exactly you were talking about. All you can remember is Jason Todd casually strolling into the kitchen, like he owned the place.

The first thing you thought when you saw him was that you’ve never seen a face quite like that before. And god, those eyes. In that moment, you knew he was the one for you. The next thing you remember thinking was that this is Stephanie’s brother that you’re thinking about. Her previous words that her brother’s were strictly off limits wandered into your head. She even made you pinky swear to it.

And since then, you’ve tried your best to stay far, far away from Jason. Because you don’t know that you could ever stop yourself from shooting your shot if you had the chance.

So, when he decided to show his face in the cave right now, you stay silent. Completely ignoring his existence. Jason’s noticed how cold you are with him. How could he not? He noticed everything. He notices how you’re always sunshine and rainbows, but cloudy when he’s near.

Truth is, he loves being around you. Even though it’s usually just for a brief moment, until you inevitably flee. He loves your naturally bright demeanor and how it shines over his dark attitude. He thinks you may just be the prettiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, to be honest. But he also made a silent promise to Stephanie. He knows yourself off limits.

But he also notices how you avoid his gaze, how you somehow always have somewhere else to be when he enters the room.

He’s determined to get to the bottom of this. To right whatever it is that he did wrong. I mean, did he offend you or something? He doesn’t understand. But he needs to know.

But that’s where is plan ends. How is he supposed to get you alone to ask, when all you do is avoid him?

You’re painfully snapped back into reality when Jason and Stephanie start talking about their plans for patrol later. You lose your thoughts at the sound of his voice. The deepness to it. The darkness. Oh, you have got to get out of here.

You interject into their conversation, “I uh— I have to go get something.” Stephanie just looks at you, raising an eyebrow. You ignore her look, instantly turning away after you speak, speed walking as far as you can get from Jason’s presence.

Jason turns his body, watching as you walk away. And… there she goes. When he turns around, he sees Stephanie glaring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says “I’m gonna go. Don’t be stupid.” She really means more than what she’s saying with that. And she thinks Jason knows that. She doesn’t pretend like she doesn’t see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.

She knows how you act when you’re nervous. And boy, do you act nervous around Jason Todd. Stephanie tries her best to ignore it. Passing it off as your usual shy nature. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t see it.

As she enters her room, she sees you, sitting on her bed. Specifically, you, not just going to ‘grab something.’

“What are you doing in here?”

“Oh um— I was just… grabbing something.” You grab the first thing you see in your vicinity, which just so happens to be an empty glass on her night stand. Fuck. Not suspicious whatsoever.

“…Okay,” She says, drawing out the vowel at the end. Honestly, at this point she’s just going to ask straight up, “Soo, what was that back there?”

“What was what?” You ask, acting like you don’t know what she’s referring to. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb.” She gives you a knowing look.

“Okay— if I’m being honest,” you’re not, “Jason scares me a little bit.” You don’t really know why you chose to say that, but now you just have to roll with it. “He… scares you? How so?”

You feel like you’re about to drown in your own lies, “He’s just so… y’know?”

“So you didn’t actually say anything just then. How does he scare you?” Think, think, think. Now you have to keep up the lie. “He’s just intimidating. That’s all.”

Up until now, Stephanie swore that you had a crush on him or something ridiculous like that. She now realizes how wrong she (thinks she) was. How could she have been so blind? Obviously, you’re intimidated by him. Isn’t everyone?

She looks away, making a sour expression, “Hm. I see that, I guess. But just so you know, he’s like, the nicest person ever. He just looks like that.” You laugh at her wording.

“I’m sure,” Pretty damn sure, that is, “I just— I don’t mean to make things awkward. I just don’t ever know what to talk about with him there.”

She sits beside you now, “Hey. You don’t make anything awkward,” she pauses for a moment, “I have an idea.”

“Oh god, what is it.” You know exactly what she’s going to say. That’s what best friends do, right? “How about… we go somewhere with him? Like, to get coffee or something?”

You wish you could say no to her. But, you dug yourself in this hole, and now you’re stuck. “…Sure!” You say with your fakest smile, “That sounds… great.”

“Cool! It’s a date!” She says jokingly. You almost flinch at her choice of words. “Totally!”

A couple days pass since your conversation with Stephanie. In that time, she invited Jason to the cafe you guys frequent. Claiming that she’s ‘determined to mend whatever the hell is wrong with you two.’ He almost couldn’t believe that you agreed to do this.

You wanted to him to intrude on yours and Stephanie’s personal time? I mean, not that you have to ask him twice, but it just seems a little… unbelievable. Almost like a setup. Of course that’s where his mind goes.

Today’s the day that you’re going to hang out with them. You spend hours getting ready. Going from your bathroom to stare at yourself for the millionth time, to your bed to try and calm the hell down for a minute. You do this for hours, until you result to anxiously pacing around your room. And you do that until you hear your doorbell ring.

You make your way down stairs a little too fast, all while trying to calm your breathing. Once you’re at your door you just stand there for a second, walking in place to make it seem like you didn’t just flea your room at the thought of seeing Jason Todd.

You then open your door, revealing Stephanie and Jason on the other side. “Oh! You’re… both here. At my door.” You nervously laugh. “Yup!” Stephanie pulls you into a tight hug. She whispers in your ear quietly enough for Jason not to hear, “Just be yourself. You got this.”

You pull away, giving her a knowing look. Then you look at Jason. Should you… hug him? No! That would be weird, right? You settle for a quick, “Hey.”

“Hey.” He says with a boyish grin. He takes in your entire appearance. From your strangely perfect looking hair, all the way to your shoes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you got all dolled up for him. I mean, he spent longer than usual getting all ready for you. And boy, do you notice.

Stephanie breaks this seemingly awkward moment, “Okay! We should go.” She grabs your hand, pulling you into the direction of their car. As she’s pulling you, you turn around, shooting Jason a quick smile. He returns the favor.

The ride to the coffee shop is… awkward to say the least. Stephanie tries her best to fill the silence, giving you two both opportunities to talk about literally anything. But you both keep your responses brief, only furthering the awkwardness.

Once she parks, you practically hop out of the car while it’s still moving. You need some fresh air. The three of you walk into the shop, waiting in line. Stephanie’s in front of you two, leaving you to stand next to Jason. If you thought about it a bit more, you’d think she did that on purpose (she did).

You glance to your right side, where Jason’s standing. And he’s already looking at you. Both of you immediately turn your gazes back to the menu. You think about how upset Stephanie might be if you didn’t at least try to talk to him.

You turn to him once again, “So… what are you thinking of getting.” Jason’s brain stutters for a moment, “Y’know. My usual.”

You just laugh at his response, “No, I don’t know your usual.” You say, putting an extra little emphasis on that last word. “Right. Just black coffee.”

“You drink straight up black coffee? Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

“Guess I just give off that vibe.” He says with a laugh. “Guess so.”

When you three are up in line, Jason orders his usual, Stephanie gets the sweetest drink on the menu, and you… didn’t think about it. Shit. You were too caught up in all of Jason Todd’s glory.

The barista turns to you, “I’ll get… just a black coffee please.”

“Since when do you drink black coffee?” Never in all of her years has Stephanie seen you drink black coffee. “I’m trying something new?”

She just looks away with a suspicious look on her face. Once you guys have your drinks, you find a comfy spot to sit, tucked in the corner of the cafe. There’s three chairs at the table: Two on one side, and one on the other. Stephanie makes a conscious choice to sit in the single chair, leaving you and Jason to sit next to each other. You don’t audibly scoff, but you sure as hell do in your head.

Like the car ride here, the table is silent. Stephanie once again, decides to start up the conversation. She says your name, “You should tell Jason about that guy you were telling me about.”

Jason almost squints his eyes, ‘What guy?’ He thinks. “Right. So there’s this guy in my class that sits in front of me and he’s just always playing The Sims.”

“Jason, you love that game, right?” Stephanie gives him an urging look. “Love it? I haven’t played that since I was like, 13.” The urging look continues.

“Right. Yeah I love that game.” Jason says, with the slightest hint of sarcasm. You turn towards him, “Kinda sounds like you’re lying, Jason.” You say through a shy laugh.

He nervously stutters, “No— no! Well, yeah. Kinda.” He nervously scratches the back of his head. You and Stephanie are silent for a moment, until you both burst into laughter. After this, the conversation starts to flow a bit. This situation is starting to get far less awkward than how it started.

After a while of your coffee just sitting there untouched, Jason looks at your cup, then you, “You gonna drink that?”

“I— uh. Yeah. Totally.” You take a short, but almost painful sip of your drink. Your face sours. Jason takes in your expression and just laughs. Stephanie looks at you with a playful disdain, “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You put your drink down. You look at Jason, who’s looking at you (again). “You want this?” You say, scooting your drink towards him.

“Sure. I’ll take it.” Jason says with a laugh. He takes the cup, putting it up to his lips. His lips graze over the spot stained with your lipstick. Does this count as a first kiss?

He drinks the coffee with haste, like it’s nothing. You make a few snide comments, before returning to the now natural flow of the conversation. You three talk for almost an hour before night falls, and a soft gloomiest takes over the sky.

The car ride back to the manor is a lot less awkward than the car ride there. You’re asking Jason about his motorcycle, and he’s asking you about school. Stephanie’s silent for the most part, basking in the success of her mission to bring you two together.

Once you’re all back at the manor, Stephanie lets out a long sigh, “Yeah, I’m beat. I’m gonna go take a nap before patrol. See ya.” She makes her way up to her room, leaving you and Jason standing in the foyer.

“So…” You say, trying to fill the sudden silence.

“So.” Jason says, not really knowing what the fuck else to say. “That was fun… right?” You say, fingers nervously intertwined.

“Right. Could’ve sworn you hated me before today.” So, you’re talking about it. Okay. “Oh, shut up! I did not hate you.”

“Sure you didn’t. Your avoidance says otherwise.” He says, raising an eyebrow. You scour for ways to change the topic. “Um— I’m hungry. Where’s the kitchen?”

“You… don’t know where the kitchen is? You’re here like, everyday.”

“Right. No— yeah totally.” You say, turning off one foot, heading to the kitchen that you almost forgot existed for a minute. Jason follows you. Once you’re there, you open the fridge, trying to busy yourself. You’re not even really that hungry. You settle on Stephanie’s left overs from a couple days ago, purely out of nerves to look like you meant it.

You place the leftovers in the microwave, then turning back to Jason who’s leaning against the kitchen island. “You hungry? We can share the food?”

Out of pure excitement for something as simple as a domestic moment with you, Jason says, “Yeah. Starving, actually.” You give him a flat smile, “Cool.”

Once the food is done heating, you two settle in the dining room. You two fall into a casual conversation almost immediately. You honestly don’t know what took you so long to come around. Stephanie was right, he really is one of the nicest people ever. And this only fuels your puppy love more.

The conversation inevitably circles back to your past ‘disdain’ for him. Like he thought a couple days ago, he really is determined to get to the bottom of this. “You gonna tell me why you were really avoiding me?” He says with that deep, almost sultry voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I already told you Jason— I wasn’t avoiding you.” You say with a small laugh, taking another bite of your food.

“Yeah. Okay.” He says giving you a look. Yes, that look. Is this his attempt at flirting? Because he’s doing a damn good job at it. “You really wanna know?” You say with all your might. Here goes nothing. “Obviously.”

“Promise you won’t tell Steph. Or anyone, for that matter.” You hold out your pinky. He intertwines his with yours, “Pinky promise.”

You look down, nervously laughing, before basically whispering out, “I think you’re cute.”

“You what?” The way he says it almost makes you think you fucked up, that is, until he swiftly gets out of his chair, walks over to the other side of the table, and sits next to you. “You think I’m cute?”

You eagerly nod, and he just laughs. Shit. You just broke your promise of multiple years for this? Jason laughs, “Well, I think you’re pretty cute, too.” You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. You just giggle at his words, “Really?”

“Yes, really.” The two of you just laugh. Until the moment falls a bit more serious. You start to lean in for a kiss. I mean, you’ve already come this far, right? Might as well give it all away.

He begins to lean in. The two of you are so caught up in the moment that you don’t hear to footsteps approaching the dining room. You hear a small gasp. Both of you turn your heads at the same time, seeing none other than Stephanie standing in the entrance.

squinting down at his stupidly attractive face, you shake your head, “don’t be a smartass.” suddenly able to see the drool he left on your shirt you grimace with no malice. “ugh you got spit all over me you gremlin.”

he laughs aloud and pinches your side to make you jolt. “what this? it’s just drool.”

“same shit as spit.”

then he smiles, “no, spit is when i’m intentionally doing it. drool is mindless. see, i just love your tits even in my sleep.”

he leans over and bites you through your shirt. since you don’t wear a bra to sleep, you feel the press of his teeth completely and it makes you jolt and gasp again. you shove at his head and he just catches your wrists, still smiling at you.

the domesticated annoyance melts into something even more tender as his eyes seem to sparkle up at you. like he’s drinking in the sight of you like this but not consciously doing it. as though he could burn this memory into his soul and not flinch when his flesh form remembers.

you feel yourself fall into him when he raises your shirt over his head and ducks underneath.

“what’re you doing?” giggling as he presses wet kisses onto your abdomen. taking small bites enough to leave a little indent but not to break skin.

“shh it’s sunday baby.” he coos, “this is worship time.”

you’re still laughing and he’s making it up the valley of your breasts, bringing a hand under your shirt too. he gropes one of your breasts while the other takes familiarity in his mouth. suckling and moaning as though this was the best thing to ever happen to him. a laugh turns into a moan before you can stop it.

“shit— jay, i gotta study, come on.” you sigh but you really didn’t want him to move.

luckily he doesn’t because you don’t seem to stop him. he pulls your shirt up higher as higher until it comes off from over your head. unable to help it, your hands go into his hair and hold him there, humming as he groans against your skin. your back arches off the mattress and he decidedly perches you up a little higher with his hand slithering up your spine, stopping between your shoulders blades. bringing your chest closer to his mouth by pressing you right into him. he moans egregiously and sucks in pulses, making the most delicious pressure. he takes the opportunity to bite the flesh again. leaving teeth marks on your breast beside the reddish purple marks that were already forming.

he was purposefully giving you hickeys.

breathing through your teeth as you feel the graze of teeth a little harder, biting down and tonguing at you at the same time. when you tug at his hair, that’s enough for him to moan at the feeling and he looks up at you again, gauging your reaction.

when you finally get a look at your chest, it looked like you’d been punched by a bunch of little fists. shades of the galaxy—purple and blues with hints of red surfacing. you scoff and look at him. jason looks entirely sorry, his bottom lip sideways and his brows pressed low.

“oopsies baby i just meant to put a couple on there—”

you cut him off, “just a couple? i look like i’ve been beat up. oh my god, someone is gonna think i got jumped.”

he blinks and his expression falls, “who else sees your boobs?”

“no one?” you shove him but he just falls back ontop of you as if his bottom half wasn’t already slotted between your legs. regardless of what you’d just said, he’s still nuzzling into your skin like none of it mattered.

“good then. it’s my canvas.” he hums as he settles on the plush part in contentment. “five more minutes.”

you sigh, “three.”

“ten. and i’ll make you pancakes.”

pretending to think as your hands find their way into the hair at the nape of his neck again, he makes a small sound of approval. you use it to coax him more.

“eight and you have to make coffee too.”

he lifts his head so he’s face to face with you and squints before he pecks your lips. “i was gonna do that anyways.”

just as quickly as he got up, he settled back into the position he’s kept you in. though sleep tugged at you as the lazy sunday took full effect on more than just jason. and even though you debated him on how long you’d stay pliant under him, you both knew you could stay there forever.

bored and thinking of jason todd.

you're up there like some trophy. you don't even care to be there. but you're another one of bruce's charity cases. you can't turn your back on him now, not after all he's done for you.

but a sliver of hope is still embedded deep within your bones.

jason was your everything. still is. you would give up everything in your possession in a heartbeat if it meant you would be with your boy again.

it was always rather impossible to fight the way the corner of your mouth would lift when you saw him. like some unobscured schoolgirl with the most bizarre crush on the bad boy.

because that's exactly what you were.

you were just thirteen when you met, an innocent schoolgirl with your head fixed on just right. jason was another star pupil, but his behavior outside of school was what reeled you in: a studious boy in class, but a sentinel in the depths of gotham's alleyways.

one week had been particularly rough. three older boys taunted you, uttering the nastiest of things about how short your skirt was and how much of a 'whore' you were for wearing a button-up that hugged your blossoming curves.

and schools dared to blame the girls for their bodies, for being too distracting when they were the ones implementing these uniforms...right....

jason, ever the saint, came to your rescue like his life depended on it. a white streak of hair flashed before your eyes, guarding you from those who preyed upon you.

"leave her alone," his pre-pubescent voice echoed in the crammed space.

they continue their chiding, questioning why jason's coming to your defense as they laugh in his face.

"bet she's sucking his dick like a little slut in training," one chortles.

another chimes in: "or letting him use her like a little cock sleeve."

his fingers curl into his palms like muscle memory, and in the blink of an eye, he takes them on, his fists colliding with their figures. the one who stood quiet latched to you before you could even process it, tugging at the buttons of your blouse to expose your flesh.

the tears that kissed your cheeks were instantaneous, blurring your vision. but you jabbed your elbows into his side, trying your best to fend yourself against this ruffian. your jagged nails scratched at his face, digging into his skin with excessive force.

"damn bitch," he spits when your fist busts his lip, blood now dribbling down his chin.

adrenaline courses through your veins. your fingers tremble, disgusted with the way you had to hurt someone to protect yourself. jason's hand feels like a ghost on your bicep, tugging you from the scene before you.

"you have to run," he pleads. "come on! keep running and don't look back!"

and that motto had engraved itself into the essence of your being.

he was your salvation. you guys navigated the streets of the narrows together, bussing tables when you weren't knee-deep in textbooks or helping those in need. your parents eventually took him in, growing fed up with the way you followed his every move.

you were lucky to have jason in your life for only two years before he disappeared.

one day, he just stopped showing up.

completely unannounced.

you wondered for days on end if you'd done something to him. you'd written letter after letter ― enough to compile a book. your heart longed for him in a way you didn't know was possible.

you were only fifteen.

you started performing horribly in school, lashing out on your parents when they tried to pull you out of that headspace. you insisted that he would come back, flailing about like a mad person when anyone argued otherwise.

you ran away at some point, unable to bear the weight of jason's absence. you fell into substances, scraping together whatever money you had to make sure you could get your hands on something.

anything to numb the pain, to make you forget that the love of your life was truly gone.

and then bruce found you.

he found you earlier on in your twenties, taking you in without a second thought. it was odd, sure ― moving in with a man you barely knew, yet who was beyond willing to make sure you, at the very least, had a roof over your head. you started working as his secretary, obtaining paychecks that exceeded your skill set, but alfred just ushered you away as per bruce's request.

you were finally well-off to some degree, but it was lonely.

one too many nights, your arms clung to your figure, trying to mimic a hug. or you'd softly curl your fingers into the opposite palm, trying to nail the way jason would play with your smaller digits.

so, yes, it was lonely. but you were never alone.

when jason had finally clawed his way out of the lazarus pit, you were the second person on his mind. he wanted to kill bruce, torture him the way joker tortured him.

but then he rummaged his pockets to see if some semblance of his identity remained. when he pulled out a rusted necklace, a locket dangling in front of him, the better years of his life struck him.

he spent seven years in that hellhole, and he'd been damned to spend another seven years, or worse, the rest of his life without you.

so began his journey to find you. he stopped at nothing, but it drove him crazy how easy it was. bruce didn't attempt to conceal your identity by any means, displaying you to the public with no regard.

he watched you for months on end, sobbing into the red-stained alloy of his mask at the sight of you. you didn't smile most of the time, but when you did, it never met your eyes. and speaking of your eyes, they were drained of life. you cried yourself to sleep most nights, and oh, how he burned to hold you in his arms, to rock you to sleep, coo into your ear, and tell you that you're safe with him.

you didn't have many of your old belongings, but a strip from a photobooth sat wrinkled in the depths of your wallet. it was from the old diner you frequented and ended up bussing tables at with jason. you made it a point to jason that as best friends (you gave yourself the title; he just accepted it), you needed at least one proper photo together.

you quite literally dragged him over to the photobooth, plopping in beside him before pulling a series of silly faces. you completely threw him off, though, when you pressed your lips to his cheek, barely holding back a cheesy grin.

his heart stammered in his chest and it terrified him. his cheeks warmed up in seconds. he whispered your name like some secret, an onslaught of feelings bombarding him at once.

your thumb grazed his cheek right after, wiping off the residue of your lip gloss. you apologized quietly, trying to keep your smile at bay when he leaned into your touch. you didn't say anything else, only slipping out of the booth to grab the strip of photos.

"so cute!" you squealed, beaming like it was the greatest work of art you'd ever seen.

he pocketed his own strip of photos, cutting one out that night to fit into a locket he'd later gift you for your fifteenth birthday.

so when you slipped into a coffee shop to grab bruce's morning coffee and the strip of photos fell out of your wallet, he almost jumped out of the corner to pick it up for you. you stopped for a moment, almost hesitating to pick it up.

"ma'am, you still owe two bucks."

"right, sorry."

you shook your head, crumpling the photo into the pocket of your blazer. his heart mimicked the action, chest tightening at the sight of you.

but tonight was the night: bruce's annual gala.

you're there in a red gown, one that perfectly matches the shade of jason's mask.

surely it can't be a coincidence...right?

you're still as beautiful as ever. still the girl he was blown away by from way back in the narrows, yet a mature woman whom he longed to know. you wear the smile that you'd been practicing in the mirror, refusing to put bruce to shame. after all, alfred asked you to step into a more unsuspecting role tonight. bruce was uncovering a rather high-scale case, one that required absolute precision or else he'd blow it.

tonight, you'd be assuming the role of his lover, throwing off all of gotham, giving them something to talk about that would take the attention away from bruce.

when he steps up for a speech with you on his arm as opposed to leaving you off to the side, jason focuses, along with everyone else watching you two. bruce recites some half-assed speech before he turns to you, pulling you in closer by the waist to press a ceremonial kiss to your lips.

jason thinks he'll die on the spot, watching you with the man who left him for dead to begin with.

you barely even react, your skin crawling at the feeling of his lips on yours. you have to maintain your composure, though it feels like you're shrinking into yourself with each passing moment. the cheers that erupt around you make you feel even worse.

he waits til everyone fizzles out, hiding in the darkness on the tops of surrounding buildings. you're finally alone after some time, pouring yourself several rounds of scotch that you'd bargained for with alfred on behalf of your deal.

there's a faint thud behind you, but you're too busy to look back, too busy trying to get yourself wasted.

"i was told i'd find you here."

a voice reverberates through what sounds like tin. the glock strapped around your leg is whipped out in seconds, ready to confront the intruder. you jump to your feet, spinning around. platinum lenses flicker in front of you and you lower the gun.

"shit," you mutter low to yourself. "the hell are you doing here?"

he gets scared for a second, almost forgetting that the mask withheld his identity.

"i think i found something that belongs to you," his voice echoes, and as he steps closer, you can hear the way his breath hitches.

a tarnished necklace with a decently sized locket dangles in front of you. your eyebrows furrow.

"look, i'm not trying to disrespect the red hood, but that's not mine."

the laugh that he huffs through the mask scares you, making you jump in your spot.

"no, i'm sure it is," he insists, extending his arm further.

you take it skeptically, afraid that you'll upset the guy if you do anything else. your fingers are nimble, opening the locket with a soft pop.

then you see it. goosebumps prickle every inch of your body.

a faded, yet unmistakable photo of your lips pressed to jason's cheek sits neatly placed in its spot. it looks like it's been untouched for years ― unlike the actual locket, which has been eroded due to jason kissing it every night before he goes out on patrol.

"where did you find this?" you barely whisper.

your eyes follow the sound of the mask hissing. your throat closes up immediately.

"i've held on to it for seven years."

he wants to reach out, hold you, but the way you step back hurts, though he assumes he should've expected it.

"this isn't real. you're not real. this is-" you spiral, the sound of your heartbeat echoing louder in your ears. "you left. you're not my jason."

and you're right. he's not your jason anymore. but the fact that you even called him yours in the first place left room for him to leave completely satisfied.

but he pushes back.

the way he says your name is so gentle, like it'll break if he utters it any louder.

"i never left! i died." he sucks in a breath. "and he was the one who left me there to die."

"who?"

he grimaces, turning his face from yours.

"bruce."

you stare at him incredulously, scoffing.

"is this this some sick joke?" angry tears well in your eyes. "seven years. seven years!? not a phone call, a letter, a fucking sign that you were alive? i'm supposed to believe that you died and came back?"

your words are like ammo, pounding him as you seethed.

"how stupid do you think i am!? you could've told me that you wanted to leave, jason!" you inch toward him, the words dying on your tongue in a weak attempt at hitting his chest. "you were all i had in that horrible fucking town and you left."

he pulls you into his chest without hesitation, holding you there as sobs rack through you. neither of you moves, basking in this shitshow of a reunion after years of not getting to hold each other.

at some point, you pull away, ready to continue berating him. the question falls from your lips softly this time and his response is desperate, plea-like.

"i didn't leave you," his voice cracks.

he pulls back completely, stepping up into the spotlight that shone on bruce earlier. he hesitates, but he shrugs off his leather jacket, fingers undoing his gear with expertise. he takes a deep breath when he's in his undershirt, already noting the way your eyes roam the scars littering his arms.

he pulls the shirt over his head, unveiling the scar that runs down his torso.

the tears in your eyes pity him this time. and he hates it.

"after joker tortured me, he left me in that damn place with a bomb. i couldn't save myself. for once," he pauses, smiling to himself like it's a fond memory. "i couldn't fight back."

he steps down, his frame looming over yours.

"i died. and bruce was there. quite a damn sorry excuse for a man, because he left me there."

you finally catch the redness in his eyes, tears threatening to spill from them. they do roll down his cheeks when you hold his face, pressing your forehead to his.

"god, i'm so stupid. i'm sorry, jay," you whispered, your heart shattering at the thought of him fighting to survive that whole time and not being there for him, but rather just assuming that he left. "i'm so fucking sorry."

he laughs, broken.

"took all of that for you to believe me? what happened to the girl who used to believe everything that was said without thinking twice?"

your eyes flicker up from his chest, blinking softly.

"i think she died with you."

you shake your head, scoffing.

"but unlike you, i'm not so sure she's coming back."

it's quiet. too quiet. the sound of a pin dropping could echo in the room.

he holds your gaze, huffing a pained sound through his mouth. one hand grabs your jaw, tilting your face to his. he's looking at you, really examining you.

"don't say that," he gripes.

suddenly, you're both aware that he's shirtless and the proximity makes your head all fuzzy. he wasn't the scrawny boy you once knew. he was tall, built, covered in scars that told millions of stories.

your dress catches his eye again, subtly reminding him that you've always belonged to him. your eyes look anywhere but at his own, feeling like you're being set on fire.

"red, huh?" his voice drops as he toys with the strap.

you barely nod, entranced by the heat growing between you two. the weight of the tension grows unbearable, but he refuses to be robbed of any more time with you.

he nods to himself, pushing the strap down your shoulder, allowing his fingers to graze every curve on their way down to your hips.

"tell me to stop," he whispers, swallowing hard as his fingers remain idle. "tell me to stop right now, to leave. i promise, whatever you say-"

"shut up," you whisper breathlessly, throwing your hands to the back of his head to pull him into a searing kiss.

years of want and fear spill between the two of you. you melt into him with reckless abandon, ready to risk it all for him.

"never stop, jason. never ever in a million years." your hands slip, thumbs running along his cheekbones. "i spent too damn long waiting for you. make me forget."

you utter against his mouth with a certain sorrow, eyes beseeching, "make me forget the pain, jay. make me forget that i ever lived a life without you."

his eyes glance over you once before your feet are lifted off the ground, the coolness of the bartop seeping through your dress after he sets you down.

"you're killing me," he groans quietly before his lips quirk into a lopsided grin. "and i might actually die this time."

your lips meet in a hungrier kiss this time, tongues greeting one another like distant lovers. the heat radiating off him is ludicrous. his hands feel like furnaces, setting your skin ablaze with each lingering touch.

he moves with more fervor after your nails scratch up his arms and sink into his back. you're dying to get out of your clothes once his lips move to your jaw, trailing hot down your neck, collarbones, and your shoulders.

your nose bumps his jawline, your own breath ghosting over his neck. you sigh a bunch of "i missed yous" into him, pressing soft kisses to his skin. your legs wrap around the warmth of his torso, the slit of your dress riding up so high that you completely expose yourself to him.

his eyes drop to the space between you, darkening at the sight of lace red panties. the damp patch at the center has him on the brink of insanity. it's too much for him. too much for a man who fought for this very moment, who thought that it would never happen.

both of you are panting into each other, clouding the stuffy space even more. your eyelashes flutter when his hands grasp at your thighs, inching closer to your heat.

"jason," you hum, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

your mouth ticks upward for a split second when you hear a whimper low in his throat.

neither of you is going to admit it. both of you would rather die than outright mention that you're still virgins at the ripe age of twenty-two. instead, you guys keep it pushing; act like you know what you're doing.

he looks at you, silently asking for permission as his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear.

one curt nod isn't enough for him.

"i need to hear you say it."

he needs it for his own peace of mind. it's evident in the way he searches your eyes. he needs to know that he wasn't the only one who craved such intimacy after all these years. he needs to know that you want him just as much as he wants you.

"i want this. i want you, jason," you murmur. "take me."

he slides the garment down with reverence, watching the way your folds glisten with hooded eyelids. your skin burns up even more, the heat in your stomach multiplying when he licks his lips.

"now, jay. please," you mewl, chest heaving from the sheer intensity of his gaze alone. "i don't wanna waste another second."

your fingers dip into the waistbands of his bottoms, clumsily attempting to free him of his restraints. he chuckles low, aiding your eagerness, despite his initial shock at your forward movements.

his length hangs between his thighs, heavy and leaking with zeal. his eyes twinkle down at you as your tongue darts out to wet your lips, parting and closing as you take in the sight of him.

"i gotta feel you, jay," you murmur, eyes still fixed on his cock.

it makes his chest swell with a sense of pride, but also affection when he remembers that you'd be his first. a wave of panic washes over him, though, when he realizes he doesn't have a condom. you sense it, giggling.

"i don't have a-"

"i don't care. it's okay."

your impatience puts him on edge, but when he tugs on his length, running it through your folds a couple of times, he immediately succumbs to your welcoming heat.

your legs tighten around his waist, hips rocking into his with a sigh when his tip nudges at your entrance. you're already biting back your moans, but you hold onto his wrist, guiding him into you. the tip alone has you arching into him for more.

your face, however, contorts at the stretch despite your determination. he doesn't move, shutting his eyes in an attempt to keep himself from cumming on the spot. one hand finds your face, the other gripping your thigh like it's the only thing grounding him.

"breathe," he mutters.

it's mostly a reminder for you, but for him, too. he rubs soothing circles into your hip, both of you whimpering when he finally bottoms out. he doesn't move, just stays still as your walls morph to him.

"holy sh-it," your voice trembles, walls fluttering at the way he fills you up perfectly.

his forehead drops to yours again, breathing deeply. "gotta stop doing that or i might cum without getting to fuck you properly, sweetheart."

your heels press into the dimples of his back when you're finally somewhat familiar with the stretch, hips shifting closer to his. he barely pulls back, a shallow thrust pulling a deep gasp from your chest. he continues like that for a bit, only picking up the pace when you dig your nails into his shoulders and tell him to 'go faster.'

he hikes one leg further up his waist, angling even deeper into you. your insides feel like they're being warped to accommodate him, but hell, you're not complaining.

the hand that's holding your face shifts to the strap that still keeps your dress upright, pulling on the flimsy thing. your breasts spill past the fabric with a thoughtful yank, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples.

the moans that are elicited from your lips are nothing short of angelic, prompting deeper, slower ruts of his hips.

broken gasps echo between you two as your jaw falls slack. his lips find yours again, cock continuing to assault your gummy walls.

"asshole could never make you feel like this," he hums, eyebrows pinching together.

he doesn't say it with an ounce of envy, but with agony instead.

the way you cling to him and arch into him, the way his name drips from your tongue like a mantra is all the confirmation he needs.

it's only you and him. it only ever was you and him.

you were made for each other and no one can take that away.

he looks down at where you two meet and your eyes follow, clenching around him at the sight.

"i'm gonna cum, jay," your voice dances on the verge of a cry.

your hands fall to his waist, wrapped in the feeling of pleasure. his do the same, only he fixes the backs of your knees into the crooks of his elbows. his pace never falters, focused on getting you to that sweet release that have your legs shaking.

"let go, honey," he mumbles into your neck. "i've got you."

his voice coaxes you to that edge and it's better than you could've ever imagined.

your back arches until your chests meet, the vigor of your orgasm leaving you a trembling mess before him. the rhythmic fluttering of your walls brings about his own release embarrassingly quick, drawing him in like some vice. he spills into you with a shudder, a groan ripping from deep within.

the room stops spinning once your highs fade and reality sinks in.

all of these years and you thought you'd lost the best thing that had ever happened to you. one thing was sure going forward ― you were never letting him go. you were ready to risk everything for him, but you refused to lose him again.

he remains slumped against your chest, panting softly into your skin. your fingers smooth over a few stray scars across his back with a deep respect for all he's gone through. he tenses briefly, sighing before he softens back into your hold.

you've barely enjoyed his presence for all of five minutes, a deep voice rumbling through the doors of the venue. the way your name rolls off bruce's tongue now makes your skin crawl. you could never forgive him for what he did to jason.

reluctantly, you guide jason to stand up, both of you hissing when he pulls out.

"are you ready to go? you've been in there for over an hour!"

jason's hand falls to your wrist, clinging to you with a supplicating expression settled across his features.

"i just got you back. i finally got to hold you in my arms after seven years. don't go back to him," his voice breaks. "please."

your throat bobs as you swallow, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "wasn't considering it, kid."

you think your eyes are deceiving you when you see a bird perched on your open window. the light from the moon framing it perfectly, what catches your eye the most however is the neatly tied string around its neck.

there's a small scroll attached to it.

you should ignore it. how did this cute little thing go unnoticed by the plethora of guards lining the castle walls? it patiently waits for you, staring at you as it shakes its wings lightly waiting for you to take the string you are trying to ignore. it chirps when you raise a finger to scratch the top of its head.

there is only one person who could be writing to you these days.

you should not take it. it would be stupid to.

the bird flies away as soon as you rip the string from its neck. its gets shot down soon after departing your window.

your window closes with a soft click as you walk away from it. the scroll dances around your fingers as you play with it, still sealed.

your bed makes a small creak as you flop down onto it. the fabric swimming around you but your eyes are solely locked onto the wax of the small scroll. a small feather sigil sits in the center of it, your thumb lazily rubs over it.

you think of your father in the room next to you probably fast asleep by now. you think of your aunt probably in her bed chamber with the dornish hand on top of her. you think of your cousins littered around the rest of the castle. you should not open it, not for your sake but for theirs.

the seal breaks open unceremoniously. your hands are slow when they drag the scroll open to read over its contents. you were shocked to see it written in the common tongue. you did spend years learning his ancestors language to be able to communicate with him in secret after all. once you have read the letter it makes more sense why.

'i am thinking of you. i am always thinking of you.

if you are thinking of me meet me at our spot.

ill be waiting for you.'

no name is attached to it.

if this letter had been caught it would have simply looked like an innocent love letter and it could not be traced back to you. traced back to him.

your fingers trace over the words so many times they begin to smudge. you knew exactly who this was from. you knew exactly what spot he was referring to. a small little clearing near rosby on the edge of the reach looking over blackwater bay. there was a small cabin there, when you were younger you and him would sneak off to have a little getaway together. it was so nice for it to just be you and him, for the two of you to be able to pretend you could be something more. where neither of your families mattered. where it could just be you two, together.

you should throw it into the fire that roars in the corner of your room. act like you never received it. what if this is not the first time he had tried to write to you? how long had he been waiting there? how long will he wait there? you wonder how long you would wait there for him. as soon as the answer comes to mind you try not to think about it again.

before you know it you've throw off your nightgown and slipped into an outfit you haven't worn in far too long. you liked to sneak out with your cousin sometimes in the dark of night, you miss the laughter you would share as you walked through the crowded streets, the food the street vendors would only sell that late at night for the drunkards. instead now you have been confined into your room while he laid practically a corpse in his bed no laughter or fun memories to be found.

it would just be for a few days. if your aunt could sneak away somewhere why could you not do the same? you are not as important as she is, as her children are. what was the harm?

then after scratching this itch that's been gnawing at your soul for months now. you could finally be free from this torment that has been plaguing your mind. just this once, then you can be free.

you pack up your untouched dinner which was just some fruits and some bread in a bag you used to keep your jewelry in, leaving the fancy metal spread out on the table. you throw that into a bigger bag with a spare outfit plus a sleeping gown, all the coin you had on you, and a knife your cousin had given you for your nameday years ago.

you slip a letter to your father under his door before you sneak out into the night. you know he will understand in his own way. he hates this fight more than you do. if he could he would run away to but he is far too loyal to his sister. the guards were too busy guarding the actually important people. they will not catch you.

the guards outside are trickier but still as incompetent as the rest of them making being able to get outside the castle walls just as easy. there's still a crack in the wall hidden by boxes and barrels just as it was years ago, this is the exact same path you two would use to run off together. this time you are alone, sprinting as fast as you can far far away from the keep. you buy a horse when you get far enough away, when your legs begin to cry and ache for rest.

he sells it to you for cheap. shes old and slow. shes not a war horse so nobody wants her. shes perfect for what you need. if the man knows who you are he says nothing.

you ride until she gets too tired to move. you settle in a small clearing, barely able to keep your eyes open but you can't sleep knowing the dangers that lurk out on the roads and in the woods. the most you are able to get is a couple minutes of shut eye before a noise in the woods wake you. you continue the journey only a couple hours later after boredom begins to take over your body, you regret not taking a book.

the roads and woods are empty much to your relief so you are able to ride around without the heavy cloak covering your face. you only see a few travelers here and there, you exchange no words.

you are so focused on making sure you are not caught you do not even have time to think about what will happen when you get there. it does not even cross your mind this could be some trick, you are the daughter of the brother of the dowager queen. what good would it be to kidnap you?

its dark once again when the cabin comes into view. you can see the flicker of a fire inside.

you lazily tie the horse to a tree before making the walk over to the cabin. your hands shake as you fiddle around with your small bag. you don't know if its from nerves, exhaustion or hunger. you don't have time to care.

you raise your hand to knock on the door before freezing. you never used to knock why would you start now.

the door lets out a loud creak at your arrival. you slowly step in and breath in the familiar air, take in the sight of the familiar walls and furniture. it was nothing fancy, it looks similar to the everyday commoners house but you loved it because it was yours. and his.

the door slams shut. your hands grip at the strap of your bag as you finally spot him. he hasn't turned to look at you. he’s adding more wood to the roaring fire. he looks a little larger than the last time you saw him. you see his sword sitting on the table behind him, it looks like it was newly cleaned. his hair is wet, he likely had just gone to the waters to bath. the gray tunic he wore was covered in small dark wet spots, more forming as his hair dripped onto it.

"im home."

its what either of you used to say when had just come back from being out. this was not your home. but it felt like it more than any other place you had lived. if you had gone to wash yourself or he had gone to get some food you two always tried to greet each other when you got back. when you came home.

he turned his head, his side profile was always so stunning. you can see him fighting a smile from his face. he stands, turning to face you fully. he looks very different from the last time you saw him. his hair is long and curly, his shoulders and arms wider and bigger. but he is still the man you remember, the boy you still have that childish affection for.

he's in front of you before you know it. he reaches towards your bag and you let him take it from you. he places it gently on the table before turning back to you. you move to take off your cloak before you suddenly freeze. you had never worn something so ugly in front of him, you always tried to wear your best when you knew he would be around, you remember your father laughing at you when you insisted on wearing your nice dresses, you would also ignore the looks his sister gave you when you did.

he reaches for your cloak for you when you don't. he lays the fabric on the table next to your bag before stepping closer to you. he grabs your hands and brings them up to his face, stopping to kiss the skin of your palm before placing them on his cheeks.

"welcome home."

you collapse into him. your body finally catching up with the fact you haven't slept and eaten for awhile. his presence has lulled you back into that state for relaxation you always seem to get whenever he's around. he presses you tightly against him. your face nests into the crook of his neck while he presses his face into the side of your head, deeply breathing in your scent.

he gently lifts you off the ground and leads you to the bed. you fall asleep the second you hit the pillow with his arms wrapped around you.

the bed is cold when you wake. the sun is already nearly setting by the time you wake. his sword has disappeared but the fire his still roaring. he folded your cloak and had clearly gone through your bag. the spare clothes folded neatly next to the cloak and the bread and fruits you brought placed on a plate next to you. the knife you had brought laid on the kitchen counter covered in fish scales next to the newly cooked fish on the counter. you realized you had been changed into your sleeping gown. a flush of embarrassment rushes through your body as you realize he had changed you.

he comes back soon after you start picking at the nearly stale bread. he had the clothes you had been wearing in his hands, they were damp he had probably just washed them. he clips them onto a wire you had strung around the room the last time you were here to dry your clothes before picking up one of the fishes and bringing it over to you.

"you should eat."

you sit with your back against his chest in front of the fire while you eat. he massages your sides gently while the two of you sit in silence. its so peaceful here with just the sounds of the crackling fire and the birds chirping outside neither of you can break the silence. you should talk about it. about why you're here. about the war. about how you'll need to leave.

but you don't. after you're done eating you let him carry you back to the bed where he lies down with you. the two of you are laying face to face, he brings one of your legs to lay over his as he wraps his arms around you. "what did you do today?"

he hums his hands softly massaging your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. "just hunted a bit. then i washed some of our clothes. organized the place, i wanted to do it before you arrived but you showed up earlier than i expected." you place a kiss to his cheek with a soft hum, "im sorry."

he shushes you, pecking the skin around your face with kisses. "im just so happy you're here." kissing and touching each other skin is easy, because there's no commitment. you've never kissed his lips. because kissing his lips would mean committing to something more. something your family has never allowed you to have.

the two of you lay together in silence other than the sounds of soft pecks along your skin. soon enough his kisses stay longer on your skin. his hands grow tighter and roam more freely along your skin. you press yourself closer to him, your body burning as his lips begin to suckle at your neck.

his name leaves your lips in a desperate plea, unsure of what you're even asking for. he groan lightly as his hands run down your body to your legs where they slide up under your gown. he lightly nips at your collarbone while his hands play with the fabric of your underwear. the room suddenly full of your little whines and soft moans. you've never gone this far with him, you never let yourself dream of being this close to him.

his lips leave your skin as his forehead comes back to yours. his breath heavy as his fingers lightly dip under the fabric of your underwear. not dipping too low, but lightly toying with the hair as he loudly gulps, clearly trying to hold himself back. you say his name again. the two of you lock eyes.

your first kiss with him is full of hunger. full of years of desire that had been buried below the surface rising up like the tides and crashes over you two.

his fingers are cold when they push inside of you. they're nothing like your own. his are coarse from his years of sword work, they're longer and bigger. though you know he is getting no pleasure from this you could be fooled into thinking so by the way he is groaning into your lips.

he only pulls away from your lips when you reach you peak. you wish you could admire his blissed out face and swollen lips but your eyes squeeze shut as your body shakes from the pleasure pulsing through your body.

the two of you take a moment to catch your breaths. he presses a couple quick pecks into your lips as his wert hand moves your underwear down just far enough down your thighs to expose you. he pulls his own trousers down to his thighs, you look to at his hand lightly stroking his hard cock a needy whimper escaping your lips.

he shushes you lightly with a kiss as his free hand grips the leg you have throw over his waist pulling it even closer to him before he slips inside of you. its unceremonious in the best way. you don't ache or scream in agony. you feel full, you feel complete. your bodies rock together in a quiet symphony. the room fill up with the sounds of the creaking bed while jacaerys eagerly swallows every sound that tries to leave your throat. his hand grips your thigh tightly as he continues to rock into you.

his head falls to your shoulder when his hips begin to move more urgently. you let out a loud cry when you feel him spend inside of you as he bites your shoulder. yours follows quickly after his. once your heart stops racing you fall back asleep. when you wake the next morning he's still inside of you. he takes you again soon after you wake but he lets you lay on your back this time.

you spend that day blissfully together. you spend some time laying together at the waterside where he takes you in the sand, you tell him off with a smile about how gross you felt covered in sand. you take a very long soak in the water while he goes to hunt for some dinner. you offered to go with him but he refused, he was always the independent type. especially since he loved to prove to you he could provide for you.

he caught a hare that the two of you split that night. you feel asleep with a smile on your face as you feel him kiss all around you face. you were so happy just the two of you you had almost completely forgotten about the world outside.

almost.

"we'll need to go back soon." you had been so lost in bliss that his words froze you in your tracks. the plates you had been holding almost drop from you hands. it was early the next morning. you two had just finished eating and you were cleaning up while he was fiddling around with your knife. you should have known something was up. he had been much quieter this morning than usual.

you keep your back to him as you mindlessly stare at the empty plates. he's right. you should head back. your aunt is probably worried sick. you'll have to think of a creative story to come up with that you got kidnapped in some black camp. if you got pregnant you could say you were out for a few days something could have happened while you were sleeping. that would be simple enough. you would just have to cut yourself up a bit before you headed back.

"i do not want to leave you."

you flinch as his arms wrap your waist and his chin rests on your shoulder. "my love, what i meant is we need to return to dragonstone. together." you turn in his arms to face him, alarm clearly showing in your eyes while he looks calm as ever. the idea had crossed your mind of course it had. escaping the keep and running off somewhere else was always on your mind as you laid dormant in your cold room. but you couldn't dream of something like that, it would be foolish. this whole thing was foolish.

"but… my father…his sister." the implications of the words you're saying are not lost on him. they would look for you,not your father, he would cover for you for as long as he could. you would not be shocked if they had already fabricated some story about how his family had stolen you and done horrible things to you. maybe even killed you. "wouldn't everybody be worried about me?"

he's quiet for a moment. he has a small pout on his face and you try not to smile. he's thinking, probably too hard by the look on his face. his hands move to cup your face as his eyes glaze over with affection. “then I'll hold a funeral for them to attend so they think you’re gone forever.”

maybe the war has caused him to go a little crazy. it seemed like such a crazy idea when he first said it. so crazy to the point you actually look a step back from him and he flinched. yet the more you thought about it the less crazy it seemed. death was freedom in a sense. if they thought you were dead you would not have to return to that dreaded castle with those awful people. the war of who deserves the throne mattered not to you. the only thing that mattered to you was the person standing in front of you.

"my father is to be spared once all is said and done. and nobody on dragonstone is to know im there except those you truly trust." your father would likely know the truth of the matter. he knew the kind of man jacaerys was and the kind of girl you are. he would not tell on you. and you did not wish to deal with the dramatics of the people on dragonstone.

before you know it you're on your horses back. your bag once again wrapped around your body as your arms wrapped around jacaerys waist while he guides you to a large clearing where his beloved vermax was seeming sleeping. its been a long time since you've been on a dragon back, you were not too fond of it the height made your stomach curl.

yet somehow all the way high in the sky with jacaerys you feel at peace, just you and him above the clouds

Daeron doesn't feel comfortable having sex with you or touching you sexually when your trauma is so fresh. He doesn't want this to be something that makes you feel violated all over again, doesn't want to ruin things by rushing in before you're steady enough to know you're ready.

You're hypersexual and you keep waking from dreams/nightmares that leave you soaked but too repulsed to do anything about it, or so turned on that you touch yourself anyway and throw up afterwards because you feel filthy. You hate that even alone, thinking of things that are tender and wholly your fantasies, the feeling of arousal, of orgasm, leaves you feeling sick because your pleasure has not been clean or yours in so long. You want your body to belong to you again. The only place that feels safe to you is Daeron's arms.

You negotiate and settle on the idea that Daeron will hold you while you get yourself off, and talk you through it, because his voice and scent grounds you, keeps your mind from drifting into bad memories or just out of your body at the familiar sensations. It all feels… strangely thrilling and healing, the forced slowness — making out like teenagers and dry-humping, taking it by inches gives everything a different weight and significance and sometimes it feels as though you’re rewriting the past because it makes these things feel new to you. Wanting and being made to wait, being refused, instead of taken or worked up until your body is eager even if your mind isn’t. Mind and body together, for once, as the longing in your heart and head grows and grows until it eclipses the animal need of your body with something that feels sacred.

After you get off in his arms one time, Daeron cannot resist asking if he can clean your fingers, and you let him. he is so obviously affected by the taste of you that you’re a little shocked, curious. the feeling of his tongue and the way he groans, hips rocking instinctively against you, goes straight to your throbbing clit.

“Do you… do I really taste that good…?”

Daeron laughs, leans in and pauses long enough for you to refuse before kissing you and sharing the taste with you.

“What do you think?”

“I like that you taste like me,” you murmur. “But it doesn’t do anything for me on its own.”

“You taste—” he tells you, and his hand covers nearly a whole half of your head as he kisses you with almost feral intensity, “— fucking incredible. I could come just from eating you out.”

You think about his head between your thighs, his hips rolling against the bed while he whimpers and whines and digs his fingers into you.

“Do you want to?” you ask, breathless.

He stops. you feel him shift in some internal way, perhaps bracing against himself as he replies. “Don’t. Don’t ask that. We agreed—”

“But Aerion—” you blurt, inhale because his name always cuts your tongue on the way out. “He never— well, once— He didn’t do that. I haven’t. That’s…”

Daeron is very still, except for the rise and fall of his chest where you are huddled against him. It hitches, then quickens suddenly, as the thought seems to land that there is something — mostly — untouched by Aerion. Something for the two of you alone.

“Are you sure?”

His voice is shaking, eyes huge and nearly black as he searches your face for any hint of hesitation. his hand trembles where it cups your face, and you lean into it, letting the slow smile spread. You feel certainty settle into you, warm and steady and comfortable, the way it always seems to when Daeron is fraying at the seams — the same way it seems to for him when you’re coming apart, as if there’s some intrinsic balance between the two of you. You nip at the pad of flesh below his thumb and grin, and all the careful architecture of his abnegation collapses on itself in an instant.

He groans, kisses you, hard — harder than he meant to, because he softens it immediately and you can taste the apology. He shifts, curving his body over yours, weight braced on one arm and then both, and the knee he sets between your thighs. Breaks the kiss, balances himself on both knees as he grasps your hips, moves you up the bed until you’re half-sitting, half-laying against the mound of pillows against the headboard. Then he is kissing down your neck, scraping his teeth over your collarbone to trail open-mouthed kisses around one breast, your ribs, your belly.

There’s an intensity to it that he’s reigned in on every other occasion, and you realise that being given permission has snapped something in him. It frightens you for half a heartbeat, the way he’s not holding back, maybe cannot hold back, but he has buried his face against the soft swell of fat in your lower belly, nuzzling, and his thumbs are rubbing soothing crescents just inside your hipbones, and there is so much devotion in how he looks up at you before he settles between your thighs that the feeling is gone before it fully forms.

She lay in their great bed, propped against the pillows in a thin silk nightdress, her hair loose and gleaming in the candlelight. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Daeron crossed the room in unsteady strides, shedding his cloak and outer tunic as he went.

“My sweet petal,” he rasped, climbing onto the bed and crawling over her like a man starved. “It has been hellish without you.” His mouth found her neck at once, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate column of her throat, tasting the warmth of her skin.

She stirred, tilting her head to welcome him—then froze. Her eyes widened as she took in the fresh scar cutting across his cheek, raw and angry, ending where half his ear had been neatly sliced away.

“Gods, Daeron—what happened to you?” Her fingers lifted instinctively toward the wound.

He caught her wrist gently but firmly, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I wish not to discuss it right now, my love. I’ve had enough of blood and shame for one lifetime. All I want is to reunite with my sweet lady wife after days of pure torture without her.”

“You were hardly gone that long,” she murmured, though her voice had already softened. Her fingertips still traced the edge of the scar with careful tenderness. He winced at the contact but did not pull away.

“Going even a single day without your smile and your cunt is like a month without wine,” he muttered against her skin, voice rough with need. His hands tugged impatiently at the laces and silk of her nightdress, clumsy in his haste. “I crave your cunt greatly, my love, and I intend on having my fill of it now.”

With a low growl of frustration, he gave up on delicacy and simply shoved the silk up and off her body in one rushed motion. She gasped as the cool night air kissed her bare skin, a pretty flush blooming across her chest and cheeks at his blunt words.

Daeron’s mouth followed the path of his hands, hot and eager. He kissed down her throat, across her collarbone, then latched onto one breast with a needy groan. He filled his palms with the soft, heavy mounds, squeezing gently as his tongue swirled around the stiffening peak. She let out a sweet, breathy moan that went straight to his cock. He switched to the other breast, sucking harder, scraping his teeth lightly until her back arched off the bed.

Lower still he traveled, lips brushing over the gentle roundness of her stomach, hands caressing the plush flesh with open reverence. When he finally settled between her thighs, he hooked his arms beneath her legs and spread her wide, earning a startled little squirm.

“Ah… look at her,” he murmured, breath ghosting over her slick folds. “Weeping so prettily for me already. Poor thing missed me just as badly as I missed her.” He pressed a reverent kiss to her mound, then another just above her entrance, before his patience snapped.

He dove in with a hungry groan, tongue dragging through her folds and tasting her sweetness. “Fuck… sweeter than the finest liliac wine,” he rasped against her, the vibration making her hips jerk. He held her down with strong hands on her thighs and feasted—lapping, sucking, circling her swollen pearl with relentless devotion. Her fingers tangled in his silver hair, tugging hard as broken whimpers and gasps spilled from her lips.

“Daeron—oh gods—”

Her thighs began to tremble around his head. He redoubled his efforts, sucking her clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue until her whole body seized. She came with a sharp cry, flooding his mouth with her release. He moaned like a man tasting ambrosia and drank every drop, licking her through the aftershocks until she was twitching and oversensitive.

Only then did he pull back, lips shiny and breathing ragged. In one frantic motion he tore at his own remaining clothes, kicking breeches and smallclothes aside until he was as bare as she was. His cock stood hard and flushed, already leaking with need.

He crawled back up her body, settling between her still-trembling thighs. His scarred cheek brushed hers as he kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“Fuck… I’ve been dying to bury myself deep inside this sweet little cunny, petal,” he groaned, voice wrecked with need.

“Please, Dae…” she whimpered, hips rolling up desperately, trying to pull him in.

He kissed her again—slow, almost reverent—then notched the thick head of his cock against her dripping entrance. With one smooth, powerful thrust he sank into her tight heat, burying himself to the hilt. They both moaned, raw and relieved, as her walls fluttered and clenched around his throbbing length.

He stayed there for a long moment, savoring the perfect, wet grip of her cunt, letting her stretch around him. Then he began to move—slow, deep strokes that dragged along every sensitive spot inside her.

“Gods… feel how badly she needed me,” he growled, voice cocky and rough as his pace quickened. “Poor thing’s been neglected, hasn’t she? This greedy little cunt needs to be fucked at least once a day, doesn’t it, my love?”

She slapped his chest playfully, cheeks burning. “H-hush—”

Daeron smirked, wicked and bright. He caught her legs and folded them gently over his shoulders, changing the angle until he was driving even deeper. His hips snapped forward harder, faster, pounding into her with hungry, filthy need. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the chamber, mingling with her loud cries and his low groans.

Her nails dug into his arms, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach. Daeron’s head fell back, silver hair sticking to his sweat-dampened neck as he whined and cursed, chasing the pleasure only she could give him.

Daeron’s rhythm grew relentless, each powerful thrust driving deep enough to punch the breath from her lungs. Folded nearly in half beneath him, her knees pressed to her shoulders, she could do nothing but take every thick inch.

“I had intended to savor you,” he groaned, voice rough and strained, “but I so wish to fuck you right now, sweet girl…”

The confession seemed to snap what little restraint he had left. His hips snapped forward harder, faster, pounding into her with raw, hungry need. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the chamber, mingling with her loud cries and his low, broken groans.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he panted, sandy hair sticking to his sweat-damp neck. “So tight… so fucking wet. greedy thing.”

He drove into her with deep, punishing strokes, the new angle letting him grind against that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. One of his hands slipped between their bodies, thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing tight, slick circles.

Her back arched hard, nails digging into his arms and shoulders. “Dae— oh gods—”

“Come for me again,” he growled, voice wrecked with lust. “Milk my cock, petal. I want to feel this greedy little cunt squeezing me when I fill you up.”

The filthy words and relentless pace shattered her. Her walls clamped down around him as her orgasm crashed through her, thighs shaking violently while she cried out his name. Her cunt fluttered and pulsed wildly, pulling him even deeper.

Daeron’s rhythm faltered. “Seven hells— that’s it— fuck—”

With a guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of spend flooding her clenching heat. He kept moving through it in shallow, greedy thrusts, riding out every pulse until he was spent and trembling above her.

He carefully lowered her legs, then collapsed half on top of her, face buried in the crook of her neck. His cock was still nestled inside her as they both caught their breath.

As his mother's heir, Jace knew he was little more than a pawn to be moved around a board, a pawn made to enter into matches and alliances. His entire life, he had known his mother would choose his wife, and he would have little say in who that may be. His wife had been decided scarcely before he truly knew what marriage meant.  Alliances were built around him before he could even walk, but when war broke out, everything changed. The betrothal brokered between himself and Baela broke, and he was left traversing the realm, reminding lords and ladies of their oaths. Given his first taste of power and the opportunity to prove himself. And he did, he had houses pledging loyalty, support, and men. And then he arrived in Winterfell, and found himself leaving with more than the pledge of men and support, but with you as his wife. 

He had been struck by you the second he saw you, and wed you before the raven announcing your betrothal had even reached Dragonstone. Jace rationalised it easily: you were the half-sister of Cregan Stark, your mother was a Tully, and with you, not only came the North but the Riverlands too.  It was an advantageous match, and though his mother had been frustrated, she had wished to leave his hand as a leveraging tool in the war to come, she knew the alliance brought two kingdoms on her side.

The alliance was exactly what Rhaneyra needed, it brought strength, helped to stabilise her cause and made her heir happy. 

He loved you dearly. You were beautiful, a little too naive and idealistic, but Jace didn't mind that, no, he loved it. Loved how you observed everything, how you observed everything, how smart you were despite your ideals. His love for you was clear to anyone. So clear that when you arrived on Dragonback to Dragonstone, the rumours began almost immediately.

Rumours that he had only wed you after Cregan had caught Jace in your bed. Rumours that Jace had won the support of the north by sliding between your legs. Rumours that you were a northern whore. Those rumours had reached the smallfolk, including the dragon seeds of Dragonstone. 

Ulf the white had a strange sense about him. He was rude and proud and far too arrogant. He acted with a sense of entitlement, an entitlement that had only been gifted to him by the grace of his queen, and yet he took full advantage of it. Advantage enough to corner you. 

“It’s surprising Rhaenyra would keep you married to Jace,” Ulf spoke, leaning against the table of the library as he watched you closely. 

“Queen Rhaenyra, and Prince Jacaerys, ” you corrected, trying to focus on the book before you, and ignore the man and his unwelcome company “Why would she not permit me to remain married to my husband?” 

You looked up, locking eyes with Ulf, a feeling of discomfort washing through you at the look in his eyes. You searched around the room, eyes locking on the door, praying for Jace to hurry up and meet you as he had promised. Ulf smirked, his eyes trailing your body as he walked towards you, “We’ve all heard the truth, how you lured Jace into your bed.”

“That’s not true,” you gasped, standing up quickly, trying to move away from Ulf, who had seemed determined to get closer to you, “those are rumours, nothing more.” You continued to back away from him, your eyes looking to the door as it opened, revealing Jace.

Each step you took, Ulf seemed to follow, his eyes continuing to trail your body, “rumours?” He scoffed, “You're a whore,” 

“What did you just call her?” Jace demanded, his voice, the smile he had gifted you as he walked through the door long gone, as his face hardened at Ulfs words. 

“Jace-“ Ulf began, a cocky smile on his face. 

“Your grace,” Jace corrected, storming towards him, “you are acting above your station,” he spat, his voice like venom. “Now,” Jace spat, waking closer to Ulf, forcing him against the desk he had leaned on earlier. “What. Did. You. Call. My. Wife.” Jace's hand flew to Ulfs shirt, keeping him in place. 

You stood to the side watching as Ulf swallowed roughly, his cocky demeanour faltering. “I'm just calling her what she is,” he spat, leaning his head back as if to escape the glare Jace was giving him. 

“She is no whore!” Jace raged, pushing Ulf further into the table. “Apologise to her,” he spat,  his eye flickering to you, his face red from anger. 

“Jace,” you spoke, walking slowly towards him, your voice calm.

His eyes softened at your voice, but the scoff from Ulf had him turning his full attention back to you. He pushed him roughly back into the desk, “apologise,” he repeated, his hands balling into fists on Ulf's shirt. Ulf swallowed, his face flushed, but he made no effort to speak. Jace scoffed, moving back from the desk and slamming Ulf down, “Apologise or I shall have your tongue ripped from your mouth”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to yours as you slowly approached your hand reaching for Jace's shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you,” Jace seethed, slamming him down again. 

“I’m sorry!” Ulf shouted, his eyes pleading as he looked at you. 

“Jace, he’s not worth it, my love”, you muttered, your hands sliding to his shoulders and easing him off Ulf. 

“Get out of my sight,” Jace spat, pushing Ulf as he stumbled out of the library. “Fuck,” he mumbled, turning to face you and pulling you into his chest. “These lowborns claiming dragons are a disgrace,” Jace muttered “, they make a mockery of us, insult us and for what?” 

“My love,” you soothed, reaching to place a soft kiss on his lips, “they will be mere footnotes in history, you need not worry about them.”

“But what if they aren’t? They question the crown's legitimacy, they question my legitimacy,” he breathed, his head leaning against yours, his breath heavy as he spoke. “And to question you, my wife.” He scoffed, “How dare he, that mongrel." 

“My love, calm yourself”, you breathed, placing a soft kiss to his lips, “you will be a king, and they mere footnotes in history, you should not worry yourself,” you placed another kiss to his lips, “don’t waste your breath on them, you are worth so much more than them,” 

He smiled softly against you, his head still leaning against yours as he reached forward to kiss you, “What did I do to deserve someone as sweet as you?” He hummed, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“I only treat you how you have treated me”, you hummed, kissing him once more. “You are the prince every lady dreams of marrying,” you hummed, “I dreamt of a man like you every night.” 

Jace groaned at your words, turning you to sit on the desk, “too sweet for me,” he hummed, his hands moving to bunch your dress around your hips, “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he hummed, “how sweet you are, how sweet you taste,” kissing your lips between every word, “your cunt,” he groaned, dropping to his knees as he spoke, “all I can think of is the taste of your cunt” his breath ghosted your heat, a shiver shaking through you at the feeling, “how sweet it is, how perfect,” he groaned into you, pressing soft kisses to your thighs as his thumb reached for your bundle of nerves, rubbing soft circles as it his mouth slowly made its way to your cunt, his tongue swiping a through your folds.

“Jace,” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth, as he placed another lick down your slit. “Oh gods,” you moaned, as his fingers reached to spread your folds, groaning at the sight of how wet you were. His tongue placed another long lick across the length of your folds. His thumb still circling your clit as his tongue began to feast on you, lapping at your pussy, feasting on you, like a man starved. A loud moan tore through you, your hand falling from your mouth to grip the table as Jace hooked your legs around his head, his tongue fucking you. His hands reached to grip your waist, pulling you even closer to him. Your hips bucked into his face, riding his tongue as he feasted on you. 

Moans of pleasure echoed around the library as you rode his face, his fingers swapping with his tongue, a loud gasp tearing through you as his fingers slowly pushed into yo, “so good,” Jace groaned, his voice vibrating through your body, as a wave of pleasure began to wash over you, his fingers thrusting into you as your peak began to wash over you, your back arching off the desk, his name slipping from your lips as you came.

Jace slowly rose from between your thighs, pressing a slow, messy kiss to your lips. “I love the taste of you,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to him.

You hummed, your hands reaching to play with the curls on his head. “So sweet,” he groaned, “so perfect,” 

You smiled, tugging his hair to have him look at you, “You're sweet.” 

the sun was beating down on the worn-out lawn chairs outside your trailer, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer and your skin sticky.

daeron was already stripped down to his boxers, standing by the edge of the lake with his toes curling in the muddy water, looking like a lost puppy who'd just been kicked. "you comin' or what?" he called, his voice a little too loud for the quiet afternoon.

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your lips as you peeled off your tank top, letting it drop onto the grass. "i'm coming, i'm coming" you shot back, wading into the water just where it hit your chest.

the coolness was a relief, and daeron's eyes followed you, dark and hungry, like he was starving and you were the only meal in sight.

"had a weird dream last night," he said, splashing water at you, but his voice was soft, almost shy. "you were in it. again." he rubbed the back of his neck, looking away like he was embarrassed, which only made you want to mess with him more.

"yeah?" you swam a bit closer, the water sloshing around your boobs, your hands finding his hips. "what'd i do this time? run away to spain? crash your truck? or maybe i told you to get your shit together and stop drinking all that cheap beer?" you laughed, your fingers digging into his skin just enough to make him shiver.

"no," he breathed, his hands coming up to grip your arms, his knuckles white. "you were…you were choking me. not hard, just your hand on my throat, telling me what to do. and i liked it. fuck, i liked it so much." his voice cracked, and you could feel how hard he was already, his dick pressing against your thigh through the wet fabric of his boxers.

"you really gotta quit drinking all that beer," you teased, but your tone was lower now, more serious. you wrapped your fingers around his throat, not squeezing, just letting him feel the weight of your hand there.

he moaned, his head falling back, exposing the line of his throat. "i will- i promise honey," he whispered

your lips crashed against his, messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue. your other hand slid down his chest, past his stomach, until you were palming his dick through his boxers, feeling him twitch against your palm.

"you're so easy daeron..." you murmured against his mouth, your thumb rubbing over the head of his cock. you squeezed his throat just a little, and his hips jerked forward, a choked sound escaping his lips.

"only for you," he gasped, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush, the water sloshing around you both. "always only for you."

you pushed his boxers down further, and wrapped your legs around his waist. his dick slid against you, hot and hard, and you rocked your hips, teasing him, making him whine into your mouth.

"please, honey" he choked out, his eyes glazed over with lust. "please, i need it. need you. wanna fuck you so bad, right here- c'mon nobody's here..." his hands were gripping your ass, pulling you closer, and you could feel how desperate he was.

lining him up and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion. he groaned, his head falling forward onto your shoulder, his hips stuttering as he tried to thrust up into you. you set the pace, slow and torturous, your hand still on his throat, your other hand tangled in his wet hair.

the water splashing around you both. "you are so fucking big daeron- why are so big?" you squeezed his throat again, and his eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.

"i know m'sorry, m'sorry but you always take it so good." he gasped, his hips bucking wildly. the apology was pathetic and it made your cunt clench around him.

you started moving faster, bouncing on his dick in the cool lake water, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing in the quiet afternoon. "gonna be a good boy and let me use this cock?"

his response was a choked moan, his hands moving from your ass to your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

he wasn't trying to take over, just hold on, his grip a silent plea for more. "y-yeah," he stammered, his voice wrecked. "anything for you. fuck, i'll be so good for you."

your hand loosening on his throat just enough for him to take a proper breath before you tightened it again, a steady, possessive pressure. you set a languid pace, rising up slowly until just the head of his dick was inside you, then sinking back down just as slow, taking every inch of him until your hips met his. the water swirled around your torso, cool against your heated skin.

his head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "shit," he breathed, his eyes rolling back in his head. "you feel... fuck, you feel incredible." his hands on your hips guided you, not forcing, just matching your rhythm, helping you rock against him in a way that had you both gasping.

"please," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "please, honey, can i...can i touch you?" his hands flexed on your hips, itching to roam, to explore.

"you are touching me, baby," you teased, your thumb stroking over the side of his neck. "but if you wanna make it good for me, you better put those hands to work."

he didn't need to be told twice. one hand slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine, while the other moved between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit with an ease that spoke of practice. he rubbed slow, firm circles, the pressure just right, and you couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips.

"ohmygod!" you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. "d-daeron..m'gonna cum on your cock."

his response was a strangled groan, his fingers moving faster, his other hand gripping your hip tighter. "wanna feel you," he panted, his forehead resting against yours. "wanna feel you squeeze down and cum all over me. please- honey i want it please-"

his words were your undoing. with a cry, you threw your head back, your body convulsing as your orgasm washed over you, wave after wave of pleasure that left you shaking and breathless. he followed you over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside you, his cock pulsing deep within your still-clenching walls.

for a long moment, he just stood there, tangled together in the cool water, your foreheads pressed together as you both struggled to catch your breath. finally, you pulled back just enough to look at him, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on your lips.

daeron just hummed, a low, contented sound rumbling in his chest. his hands, which had been gripping you so tightly moments before, were now just resting on your hips, thumbs stroking gentle circles against your skin. he looked completely messy, hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen and parted, eyes hazy and unfocused.

you let out a soft laugh, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. "my legs feel like jello," you admitted, trying to shift your weight and wiggle your legs for effect. "and i'm pretty sure my panties are now a permanent part of this lake's ecosystem."

daeron snorted, a goofy, unattractive sound that you secretly loved. he looked down at his own predicament, his shorts still tangled around his ankles in the water, and flushed a deeper red. "shit," he muttered, trying to kick them off without much success. "forgot about those."

"very graceful." you teased, watching him struggle. you managed to let go of him and stand on the muddy lake floor to let him grab his boxers. he struggled to pull the damp boxers up his legs. it was a clumsy, awkward process, and you couldn't help but watch the muscles in his back tense and relax as he moved.

"need some help with that?" you teased, wading out of the water and onto the grassy bank.

"i got it," he called after you, his voice muffled by the fabric. you could hear him splashing around behind you.

you just laughed and kept walking, the grass soft and cool under your bare feet. you could feel his eyes on you, watching you walk away, and you made sure to put a little extra sway in your hips, just to tease him. you heard him stumble, then a soft curse, and you knew he'd tripped over his own feet, distracted by the sight of you.

"be careful," you called over your shoulder, not even bothering to look back.

you reached the small patch of worn grass near the weathered porch of your house. your clothes were scattered where you'd left them in a heap. you bent down, snatching his faded black band t-shirt from the pile.

it was still warm from the sun.

without a second thought, you pulled the shirt over your head right there in the open. the worn cotton was soft against your sensitive skin, falling to mid-thigh and completely swallowing your frame.

you turned around just as he was finally trudging out of the water, his boxers still damp and clinging awkwardly to his legs.

"i can feel it leaking out," you said after a moment, your voice quiet.

a flush crept up his neck, spreading across his cheeks, but he didn't look away.

TW: mentions of substance abuse and struggles with addiction

A/N: fuck it here is the Daeron drabble before the Daeron banner, my ocd can go fuck. it is 3x longer than it was supposed to be… whoops. based on the song “Blood Bank” by Bon Iver.

✧─────✧ 

you count the tiles on the floor because if you don't count them you'll start thinking again.

seventeen across. cracked near the coffee table. grout the color of old teeth.

you've been here six minutes. your coffee has gone lukewarm already but you keep drinking it anyway because the cup gives your hands somewhere to go. because otherwise they'll shake. because you don't entirely trust what they'll do empty.

the room smells like burnt coffee and wet wool and radiator heat. folding chairs creak whenever somebody shifts their weight. somebody coughs into their sleeve. somebody else keeps clicking a pen open and closed like they're trying not to crawl out of their own skin.

you know that feeling.

you've known it for months now. ever since—

no. not that.

your brain moves toward it and you shove it away so hard it almost makes you dizzy.

hi, my name is—

you say your name when it's your turn. your voice comes out normal enough that it startles you. steady. human. meanwhile your body feels like a house after a flood—everything warped slightly out of shape, swollen at the hinges.

someone talks about their mother. someone talks about not being able to get out of bed. you know that one. the negotiation you have with yourself every morning—the ceiling, then the wall, then maybe sitting up. then maybe brushing your teeth. then maybe becoming a person. 

you almost didn't come tonight. 

you came tonight because you ran out of ways to be alone with it and you still almost didn't. you sat in your car for forty minutes. you counted that too.

you don't know what you expected this place to be.

not this, probably.

not him.

he's sitting to your left. you don't notice him immediately. you feel him first somehow—the dense, exhausted gravity of another person barely holding themselves together.

you look over.

he's looking at the floor. jaw set. there's a scar on his cheek, pale and old, and a bruise around his left eye that isn't—the black eye is new. still that deep wine-purple that means days, not weeks. still a thing that happened and not a thing that's healing yet. his hands are wrapped around his knees and he's holding on the way you hold on. just barely.

he looks up.

catches you looking.

you brace for it—the polite smile, the pretending, the mutual agreement to become strangers again immediately—but it doesn't come. what comes instead is just recognition. bare and exhausted. like two people on a road who both know where it goes.

you don't smile. neither does he.

but something moves through you anyway. something that feels embarrassingly close to relief.

afterward it's snowing.

not hard. just that quiet snow that makes everything feel like it's being put to bed, like the world is trying to be gentle about something. 

people linger on the church steps smoking cigarettes they probably shouldn't be smoking anymore. somebody laughs too loudly. somebody cries in the parking lot with their arms folded tight across their chest.

you end up standing beside him without either of you deciding to.

up close, he smells faintly like laundry detergent failing to cover cigarette smoke.

his nose is pink from the cold.

you both stand there for a minute not saying anything.

then:

that was bleak as hell, he says.

it catches you so off guard you laugh once through your nose before you can stop yourself.

his mouth twitches a little at the sound. not quite a smile. more like he’s trying to remember how to wear one.

i'm daeron, he says after a second. six weeks.

you tell him your name.

still deciding if this whole thing is bullshit, you admit.

yeah, he says quietly. me too.

snow catches in his hair. melts there.

you don't know why you say the next part. maybe because it's late. maybe because he's looking at you like he can already see the shape of the wound anyway.

i think maybe some people are just built wrong, you say.

the words come out rougher than you intended.

you stare hard at the parking lot after, heat rushing up your neck immediately. like maybe if you don't look at him you can still pretend you didn't say it.

for a second he doesn't answer.

then:

i know, he says.

not reassuring. not dismissive. just true.

something about that almost undoes you right there on the church steps.

because he doesn't argue.

because he looks like somebody who knows exactly what it means to feel unfixable.

he glances toward the street.

i don't really want to go home yet.

he says it to the air more than to you. like the sentence escaped accidentally.

you understand it with horrifying immediacy.

yeah, you say softly. me neither.

✧─────✧ 

the convenience store is the only thing open. fluorescent and too-bright, outside of time. the coffee machine hums in the corner. somewhere near the back, a refrigerator motor rattles loudly and continuously.

you walk the aisles slowly because there's nowhere to be and the cold is still in your coat and it's something to do that isn't going home.

he stops at the candy. stands there for a long moment, considering it with more focus than should be possible for someone running on whatever he's running on. picks up a Twix. puts it back. picks it up again. there's something methodical about it, something almost careful, like this is a decision he's taking seriously because it's the one decision tonight he can actually make for himself. as small as it is.

you don't rush him.

you notice, without meaning to, the way his eyes don't go to the back of the store. the glass-doored fridges along the far wall. he's not looking at them. he's looking at the candy in his hand with that precise, deliberate focus—and you understand, suddenly, what it costs. the not-looking. the standing here with a Twix instead. six weeks of it.

at the register he pays for both of you before you can protest.

you almost do anyway. reflexively. because accepting things from people has started to feel dangerous somehow.

instead you let it happen.

outside, the snow has gentled further. soft flakes drifting sideways under the parking lot lights.

you sit in his car with the heat coming up through the vents, the windshield fogging slowly at the edges. you notice there's dried blood crusted on the edge of his steering wheel.

you pretend not to.

he breaks the Twix in half—doesn't ask, just breaks it, holds out your piece—and you take it, and you think: this is maybe the most uncomplicated thing anyone has done for you in so long you can't remember what came before it.

you eat it. he eats his. the car holds the quiet. it's strange how intimate silence becomes when nobody is trying to escape it.

he looks over at your hands in your lap, shaking from the cold. you hadn't realized.

you're freezing, he says softly.

before you can answer, he reaches over.

no hesitation. no awkwardness. just takes your hands carefully between his like it's the most natural thing in the world.

his palms are rough and startlingly warm.

he starts rubbing slow circles over your skin, steady and absent-minded, the way you'd warm something fragile.

you stop breathing for a second.

not because it's romantic.

because it isn't.

because it feels worse somehow.

because it feels gentle.

you cannot remember the last time someone touched you gently.

the realization moves through you slow and catastrophic.

you don't say anything.

he doesn't either.

outside the snow keeps falling in soft white sheets. the parking lot light catches against the scar running along his cheek. his head is bent slightly over your hands in concentration, like this matters.

like you matter.

your throat tightens so suddenly it hurts. there’s that specific pressure behind your eyes that means you are about to cry—not from sadness exactly, not from anything you could point to—just from this. just from someone noticing your hands were cold and doing something about it without making you ask.

you hold very still.

so does he.

nothing has changed.

you are going to go home to the same apartment, the same silence, the same long night waiting for you like it always does. nothing has been fixed. nothing has even been named right. whatever is broken in him is still broken. whatever is broken in you is still there too, living under the skin.

but this—

this small warm thing in the middle of the night—

feels unbearable suddenly.

you look out the windscreen hard enough to blur your own vision.

when he speaks again, his voice is very quiet.

sorry, he says softly, starting to pull away like he crossed a line.

no, you say too fast.

both of you freeze.

then, softer:

don't.

he stills.

your hands stay folded between his.

heat moving slowly back into your fingers. into your wrists. into parts of you that have been cold for so long you forgot they were cold at all.

neither of you say anything after that.

there is nothing to say that wouldn't ruin it.

years later, you will forget entire conversations from this period of your life. whole weeks lost to exhaustion and grief and survival. names. faces. days.

but you will remember this exactly.

the snow falling soft outside the car.

the taste of cheap chocolate.

the ache in your throat and behind your eyes.

and the precise heat of a near-stranger's hands holding yours like something worth saving.

✧─────✧