nice to see you here

ranya | she/her | 22 | cancer | infp | queer/ace

fandoms: dc, the pitt, marauders, hotd/got/akotsk

my inbox is always open :)

requests are more than welcome (except for smut)

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

cw: kissing, touching, allusions to past uncomfortable experiences, other than that fluffff, they're in love your honor, established relationship, no gender specific pronouns used, no y/n (reader referred to as you)

You like to feel like you’re breathing him in, with your hands splayed against the sides of his neck and thumbs brushing against his jaw. Nothing to build up to, no grinding or dry humping, or whatever it is that is done these days. Just the press of his lips against yours, the feel of tongues brushing and time slowing.

Jason’s hands were holding your waist, occasionally resting against your ribs or following the ridges of your spine. Flesh is squeezed, but no demand lies behind it. Just comfort. You could do this the whole evening; Drowning in Jason has become one of your favorite things to do. He smelled faintly of his body wash, gun powder, and something that was so innately him you want to bottle it up and bathe in it.

Over the course of your relationship, you’ve learned exactly what it is that makes him melt into you. One hand in his hair, nails that gently scratch his scalp, has him tense up for a moment and then readily relax into the sensation. A nip to his bottom lip elicits a sigh and a squeeze of your hips. A playful lick into his mouth grants you a soft, barely heard laugh that you could mistake for mere breathing. If kissing was a way to study a person, then Jason was your favorite subject.

Jason felt as if he was on a cloud, packed in cotton, dizzying warmth spreading through his whole being. There was no pressure behind this, no need for more, and maybe that was exactly what he needed. Maybe you were exactly what he needed. One of his hands rests against the small of your back now, to make sure you can’t stray far. He’s become addicted. Utterly and entirely hooked. The feel of your hand in his hair, your nose against his, the fact that none of his scars deter you from loving on him. Yeah, you’re never getting rid of this man—not that you would want to.

You feel the muscles in his shoulder ripple and his pulse flutter when you detach yourself from his lips briefly in favor of pressing kisses to his jaw and neck. No hickeys, no excessive amount of mouthing at the skin. Just… whatever feels natural in that moment and catching more of his scent to satisfy a need you cannot name. His lips were already parted slightly when you return to them. He anticipates each and every brush of yours on his with eagerness. 

If he was addicted to you, you were drunk on him. He was the vice that got you through the day, and the place that meant safety. When his hands move to the back of your thighs that were straddling his and squeezed, dread of this turning into something you didn’t anticipate filled your chest. The anxiety of him possibly flipping your positions lingers in your chest but for a moment. Remnants of past experiences, of others not being content with this form of intimacy, of previous partners wanting too much too fast. Not Jason, never Jason. He liked to savor and appreciate every form of proximity that you offer. 

You were Jason’s favorite thing he learned as much as he was yours. How gentle sweeps of his thumbs over your skin make your breath hitch, how holding your waist instead of your hips has you seek more and lean into his space. He knows the rhythm of tongue and no tongue you like. What is too much and how long you can take too little. His hands on your thighs are simply there to try and pull you closer, because chest to chest can never be close enough. He’d have you crawl inside of him if you could.

But even the biggest devotees need air, your lips disconnecting just so in order for you to take in shared breath. Your eyes flutter open to find him already looking at you, his blue irises almost swallowed by his pupils—not in lust but adoration. Because Jason Todd adores you, completely. He adores being with you, holding you, touching you, kissing you. And you adore him in return, and that’s all he needs. You helped him rediscover the comfort in other people. Showed him how to be vulnerable and not push you away. 

Staying by his side was the most devoted thing you could have done (in his opinion, that man lacks self confidence; you beg to differ on that one) and he wants to make sure that he can convey that through gazes and actions when words elude him. So, he dives back in when the rise and fall of your chest settles slightly, content if this was the last thing he’d get to do on earth.

yearner!jason x yearner!reader

summary: Jason and you have been pining after one another ever since Dick introduced you. Here’s an insight into 5 levels of your “friendship” and what will be known as Stage 1 of your relationship.

Based on my yearner!jason x yearner!reader blurb/drabble.

cw: reader referred to as she/her; fluff fluff fluff; you two are down bad for another and everybody but the both of you knows, even bruce knows; 5+1 trope cause I love it; grammar might be mediocre because I read this exactly two times; no y/n; a/n at the end teehee.

wc.: 3.8k

Level 1: Co-dependency

It’s an unusually sunny afternoon — for Gotham at least — and you find yourself stuck at the library, two hours deep into research for your paper. The air was horrible, stuffy with dust and the accumulated heat that refused to escape through the opened windows. It calls for an impending headache. You’re reading the same paragraph a third time without truly absorbing the words before giving up and reaching for the next book, hoping that a change of topic might refuel your concentration.

Just thinking about everybody else noticing, bets running on the duration of this mutual pining phase before one of you gets their shit together and tells it how it is. But alas, you are both as stubborn as you are in love.

You’ve met through Dick, who again met you through Barb; it’s a whole thing. But as soon as you and Jason clicked, you were inseparable. Rarely does one come across either of you without the other tagging along. Oh, Tim wants to go to the cinema with you? Jason’s been itching to watch that movie too! Roy wants to go out for a drink with Jason on a rare night without patrol? Suddenly Jason remembers you love that bar he chose and have been slumped with work, in need of a night off.

Neither of you sleeps alone in their apartment anymore. Never sharing a bed, of course. Jason insists on the couch, or the floor, so long as you take the bed. His back is fine, don’t worry…

You two notice as well, of course, you’re not oblivious, but it’s one thing to notice one’s own feelings and a whole other thing to speak them out loud. Of course, nobody gets Jason’s humor quite like you do, always a crinkle along your eyes when his sarcasm comes through. Jason always knows exactly which coffee (or tea) you crave when you’re grumpy or studying. Whenever you look over at him during group activities, his eyes seem to have found yours long before the thought even occurred to you, as if he was calling to you unconsciously, and vice versa. The others (safe Damian, who truly couldn’t care less he says— but secretly is your biggest shipper) were getting fed up with your “insufferable besotted gooey looks that make them want to throw up.” (They’re jealous.)

Red Hood was a whole different thing, however. You knew; being friends with more than a handful of vigilantes makes you connect the dots. As soon as you know, you’re the only one allowed to patch him up— Alfred gave you a crash course on suturing and first aid. Multiple times have you told Jason that you are the worst choice for medical assistance he could possibly make, but that doesn’t deter him. “You’re a fine choice, I trust you.”

I see confessing going multiple ways, but alas it’s up to you to decide.

Maybe Wally, whom you meet through one of the Bats, develops a flirty friendship with you. It’s all in good humor and never meant as more than the occasional comment. Wally speeds around and suddenly you say, “run slower so I can look at your ass properly.” Or you getting dressed up for the club and him whistling appreciatively (“Man, I’d like to be the guy that gets to see you like this every day”). Jason is seething, Dick is having the time of his life watching him. You’re getting ready for a group hangout, Jason sprawled on your bed with a crease between his brows, deep in thought when he blurts out. “I think I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t keep it inside anymore, not risking losing you to anybody else.

Or… Jason getting shot on patrol and it’s more blood than you’ve seen on him before. You’re panicking, he’s laughing. Then you’re quiet while digging out the bullet, possibly a little less careful than you could be. If he can laugh, he can take the pain. But then it doesn’t stop bleeding, and, while applying pressure with fresh gauze to it, you call Bruce in a panic. Jason’s getting woozy. With Alfred’s help you manage to contain the damage and suture the wound.

Bloody hands make you think, stuck in your head until Jason regains consciousness. “You scared me,” you whisper and he gives you a weak grin. “Sounds like you care for me.” “Well, I love you, obviously I fucking care for you.” It’s an accident, you barely notice, he does though. When you don’t hear a smart retort, you look up to find him staring at you with eyes full of wonder and disbelief. “Come again?” “What?” “You love me?” That’s when your words register with you as well. “Oh… yeah, I do.”

a/n: Just another random scenario I had in mind. Not proofread, just a word vomit really. Working/Brainstorming something longer, but my Bachelor thesis is kicking my ass atm lol

It’d probably be about him being reckless on patrol or something, usually that’s the only thing you two really fight about. He’s exhausted and you’re worried, so he gets snappy and defensive, expecting you to fight back. At first you do, but ten minutes into bickering, you just huff and turn around. With a quiet “you know what, Jason? Just do whatever you want, I don’t care anymore,” you head into the bedroom.

Cue the silence.

At first he tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, silent as well, but when he comes back from patrol the day after and the cold shoulder persists, he grows desperate. The usually comfortable quiet that settles between you after long days feels suffocating. He misses your voice, how you’d tell him about your day while making dinner, or complain about work. You decidedly ignore the looks he sends you, his eyes pitiably soft. He underestimated how much he needs to hear you talk to stay sane during the day; Beating up criminals was one way to stop his mind from spiralling, but you were his main way of coping.

“Princess, please,” he whispers at some point, next to you on the couch while you scroll through whatever streaming service you first landed on. Something in his tone makes you cave, the slight crack maybe, or the way his hands rub against his pants to get rid of the thin sheen of sweat that clings to his palms.

When you look back up again the instant relief that fills his chest is visible, he practically lights up. “I’m sorry for snapping, I know you care, I was exhausted. That’s not an excuse, sorry. Just don’t ignore me again, I can’t handle that.”

“Then take better care of yourself and don’t go out there acting like you have nobody waiting for you to make it back alive,” you grumble, glaring at him, although it lacks the heat now.

He nods, “I will, promise. Just keep talking, baby.”

The show you settled on to rewatch never gets played, Jason insistent on you talking to him until he has to go on patrol to make up for the hours he went without hearing your voice. He might call you while he’s out, addicted to the sound of you, and entirely dependent on you giving him the time of day.

a/n: i like pathetic loser boyfriend jason. he might be buff and hot but that man has zero game. he went from street kid to robin to dead to red hood. i think he’d feel incredibly lucky to have bagged anybody. so yeah, my headcanon is he wouldn’t be able to cope when you’d ignore him.

secondprince!jason who is content with the knowledge that the throne will go to Dick, spending most of his time sparring and training with the kingsguard.

secondprince!jason who prefers the library or the stables over feasts and balls, never one to overly socialize. He sticks mostly to those he knows, like Tim or Roy, one of the guards.

noble!reader who arrives in the capital when there’s talks of your sister marrying Dick.

noble!reader who seizes the opportunity of the vast library collection to spend every possible moment reading those tomes you cannot access in your castle.

secondprince!jason who spots you reading in an alcove one late evening after dinner, sticking to the shadows so to not disturb you. He spends more time secretly watching you than he would ever admit to anyone.

noble!reader who noticed him around half an hour into his watch, but decides to act as if they did not. Something about him stopped and intrigued you, having heard about him through rumours.

secondprince!jason who then notices you everywhere. In the dinner hall, in the gardens, the tourney held in honour of your family’s visit, his eyes magnetically finding your form.

noble!reader who approaches him first when they spot him training alone one day, curiously inquiring about sword techniques.

secondprince!jason who, after explaining, offers to teach you a few basics and finds himself nervous when that requires the both of you to stand close together.

secondprince!jason who joins you the next time he sees you in the library, reading quietly beside you before finding the courage to inquire about your book.

noble!reader and secondprince!jason who continue to bond over books and interest in the other’s other hobbies, spending most nights with talking.

secondprince!jason who, for the first time in his life, fantasizes about the possibility of marriage. he knew that he’d get married one day, probably a political marriage, but never dared to imagine what a marriage could be.

noble!reader who’s devastated when their father informs them of their sister’s marriage not happening due to reason he did not disclose with you, meaning you will have to return back to your home soon.

secondprince!jason who blurts out “marry me” when you mention your departure, far too fond and borderline dependent on your company after almost a month spent together.

noble!reader who’s surprised but ready to agree, admitting to having toyed with the thought but never dared to imagine in case her sister marries his older brother.

secondprince!jason and noble!reader who are ready to approach their fathers about the marriage when they overhear the king’s trusted advisor mention your father and jason’s having had a falling out over wedding negotiations.

secondprince!jason who promises noble!reader that he will talk to his father and do everything he can in order to be able to marry you, watching your carriage depart through the castle gates.

Jason Todd x gn!Reader

w.c.: 2.3k

summary: After six years of grief, you are confronted with old feelings and new beginnings

(Inspired by Would You Fall In Love With Me Again from Epic).

det./cw: none. mentions of reader cutting their hair once, but no pronouns or allusions to gender. no use of y/n. ambiguous ending.

A/N: honestly, ever since hearing that song, I kind of felt like it suited Jason. so this happened while procrastinating working on my bachelor thesis lol. excuse any grammatical errors, english is my second language :)

Would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I’ve done?

The things I cannot change, would you love me all the same?

I know that you’ve been waiting, waiting for love.

To Gotham, Jason Todd was the remnant of a memory, Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son. Lost to the city’s darkness.

To Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd was his biggest failure and greatest regret.

To you, Jason Todd is everything.

Is, not was, because something inside you refuses to forget him, to let go, despite everyone around you doing it.

How could you? He was your first love, and even six years following his death, you can’t fathom to lose that entirely. You tried denying it for the longest time after he was gone. A teenage infatuation, first boyfriend nostalgia, grieving a boy that died too young— but every excuse you could think up, your heart denied. Every effort of forgetting his face proved fruitless, the image ingrained in your mind and soul. 

Nevertheless, you continued to live, because if he couldn’t, you would. You finished high school, started university, and got a mediocre job at a café downtown to pay your bills. It’s stressful making ends meet while keeping up with classes, sleep losing priority, but it is a welcome distraction from having to think too much. You prefer the graveyard shift, because starting at five in the morning lets you attend classes in the afternoon. Or the closing shift from five to eleven when you have morning classes. The patrons are the most interesting to you during those times; people on their way to work, groups of drunk students looking for a dry place to wait for their taxi, Ron who lives two floors above the café— your favorite insomniac.

Your boss was shocked when you told her you wanted to work at night, no one in Gotham voluntarily did that. Not with the crime rates. That meant, however, shifts were calm, giving you the opportunity to cram for exams between customers.

Tonight was no different. Your laptop sits atop the counter, the introduction to a text your professor wants you to read until the next class half-heartedly highlighted, while you make a coffee for another college student indulging in late night studying at the back of the café. Most of the words you read barely register, but you cling to the hope that getting the gist of it was enough to not drown in the discussion. It’s simply too late for academic words to make any sense, but closing your laptop and giving up would shatter the illusion of productivity you could hide behind to quell your guilt. The premise of the topic sounds interesting enough, and if you just skim the paragraphs on the bus in the morning, you’re sure that you will do just fine. Hopefully. But maybe ten pm just became the hour of delusions.

You try concentrating for ten more minutes before giving up and turning around to clean the coffeemaker a few minutes early to busy your hands. It’s been quiet, not just inside the café, but the streets surrounding it too. The usual sirens that occasionally disturb the ambient of everlasting rain nigh ceased entirely about three months ago. Around the same time the news started reporting a new vigilante that had a more brutal approach than the ones you’d been used to.

Red Hood conquered Gotham’s crime scene quickly, clashing with Batman along the way but never harming civilians. His ways were different from the bat’s they say; ruthless and personal. You never pay much attention to that kind of news anymore. It was exciting when you were younger, but at some point, those individuals are part of Gotham as much as every other Gothamite was.

.

Your umbrella is lodged between your neck and shoulder while you fiddle with the key to lock up, cursing a little when it slips. The walk to your building was less than quiet but you preferred sticking to the main road and avoiding alleys as much as you could. General precaution. Especially when the air felt eerie, like somebody was watching you. Which seemed to always be the case here.

When you open the door to your apartment, it’s cold and the sound of rain is unusually loud. You were sure that you closed your living room window that morning before you left. You wrap both hands around your umbrella handle now, not that it makes such a great weapon. Peace of mind, you tell yourself. If you die, at least you die armed. A hulking figure greets you in the living room and it takes a lot of willpower not to shriek. The red helmet was turned to you, his arms crossed, the leather jacket pulling over them. You expected somebody robbing you, maybe threatening you for money when they realize that you have nothing of much value in your home. What you did not expect was Gotham’s newest vigilante stood by your window on an average Thursday.

Red Hood’s shoulders lock up, as if he was anticipating your arrival but not quite ready to actually face you, as if you were the one breaking in. The lack of visible facial expression made it difficult to read him.

“Is this the day I die?” A smooth way to address the masked guy looking like living murder. “No, too easy.” You can’t help but laugh a little. At least you’re killed by somebody with humor. “To what do I owe the pleasure then?” “Your window was unlocked.” You frown in bemusement. “And that… is a reason to climb through it.” “That is a hazard.” “Why is my personal safety so important to you?” If this whole situation wasn’t so absurd to you already, it would be now; Red Hood looked like he was anxious, shifting a little and looking around the room rather than at you. For an armed, dangerous man, he seemed almost awkward.

“Thought I’d come by and say hi.” The words are definitely not chosen carefully, more so blurted out in a rush of overwhelming need for them to get out. Like they have been sitting at the back of his mind for too long. Your brain took a few moments to understand what he said, struggling to tie sense to the admittance. “Do I know you?” “Used to.” When he doesn’t elaborate for what feels like an eternity, you clear your throat. “Well, that helmet makes it kind of impossible to know. But if you’re in one of my classes, please enlighten me how you do all this vigilante stuff and still manage to survive university.”

After another few tense moments of silence, one of his gloved hands raises to grasp his helmet, pressing a button you can’t see and taking it off with a quiet mechanical hiss.

The face it reveals seems unfamiliar at first, the apartment illuminated by nothing but the moon and the small lamp you turned on when you entered. Sharp lines, a few scars, black hair with a white streak as individual features seemed unknown to you, but when you reach his eyes, it’s as if a puzzle puts itself together. Suddenly, you can picture the fifteen-year-old boy you befriended in school, who asked you on a date clumsily one afternoon— whom you had to bury without a body to say goodbye to.

“Jason?” The sound of his name feels unfamiliar; you refused to utter it for years. His name was all you had left, not daring to use it carelessly. Seeing him in front of you, without the helmet, older and scarred both mentally and physically, but so unmistakably Jason, was enough to move your lips before your brain could catch up. Those eyes, clear, blue, and ever so soft when they looked at you was all you need to recognize him. He might change or alter himself, but eyes betray. They truly are the window to the soul, and Jason’s soul calls to yours as yours calls for his. You both felt it.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to look at you, helmet in hand. His boots tracked mud into your apartment and in another life, you would scold him for it. A life where this was his apartment as well, a life spent together. Now, you ignore it, worship the mud because it was he who dragged it inside. The mud was your sole anchor to reality. Proof that this wasn’t a dream.

“How?” Your voice shakes in tandem with your hands. “Long story.” The rasp in his words is clearer without the modulator of his helmet, striking. The only thing that hints at the turmoil of emotions he feels. His voice deepened over the years and suddenly, every change in him documented itself in your mind, trying to piece together what is familiar and what is new. “Red Hood?” “Longer story.” You nod, unsure what to say now.

“You shouldn’t sleep with your window open,” he fills the silence. You swear you can see his features twist in slight nervousness for a split-second. He’s been keeping track of you. “I get hot.” “A/C.” “Can’t afford one.” Silence again. Still charged, but less uncomfortable. Curious maybe, Jason eager to learn everything about you that he missed as well, even if he won’t allow himself to show it. “You cut your hair,” he notes next. “Spur of the moment.” “It suits you.” If you weren’t so baffled, you would be flattered, but now all you can do is nod and whisper thanks. Silence again.

“You got the growth spurt you wanted,” you hum now, encouraged in voicing your observations as well. He seems almost relieved when you speak, as if the mere cadence of your voice was allowing him to breathe. The corner of his mouth twitches into the slightest hint of a smile, you almost missed it. “But you need a haircut.” “Priorities.” “My lack of A/C beats your hair becoming unmanageable?” “Definitely.” You huff a laugh at that and his shoulders untense.

“Tea?” It’s a hopeful question.

“I have to get going.”

“Please?”

“Black,” he caves, not too reluctantly.

You smile and move to the small kitchen area to turn on the kettle and ready two cups. A million questions fight to force themselves out of your mouth. How was he alive? What happened exactly? What was his deal with Batman? Why come looking for you after all this time? You hold back, deciding to bask in the opportunity of being in his proximity again instead. This was not the moment to challenge fate and drive him away.

You don’t speak until the kettle was done. “Two sugars?” “You remember.” You shrug, “I remember a lot of things.” With your cups in hand, you hand him one and sip on yours. Neither of you knows what to say it seems, busying yourself with the tea. It’s too hot, you ignore it. Rather a burnt tongue than a bruised heart when the inevitable arises. He observes a few more things in your apartment. The pictures hanging around of your family and friends, the books on your shelf, the throw blanket he remembers from your childhood bedroom.

Courage grasps you five observations in. “Will you stay?” Here. With me. In my life. All these go unsaid, he knows what you mean and it was only a matter of time before you asked. Jason didn’t think coming here through, all he knew was he needed to see you. Watching from afar, imagining what you were like now, wasn’t enough. Just once, he told himself. Then he would vanish from your life, back to only being Red Hood. He didn’t even plan on revealing himself, fully prepared to stay Red Hood, lock Jason away, leave you in the belief that he died. He couldn’t, he’s always been weak when it came to you. He wishes nothing more than to say yes and make up for lost years, but your safety is priority. The Jason he was now was rotten, at least he believes he is.

“I’ve killed people,” he says instead. “I know.” “I fought Batman.” “I know.” “You shouldn’t trust me.” “I know.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” It’s almost desperate. “Like what?” “Like you would… fall in love with me again if I let you.” You look at him for a moment before replying. “I think I never stopped being in love with.” That makes him pause, brows furrowed. It’s been six years. You should have moved on, find somebody. You were teenagers back then, barely able to grasp the concept of love and yet here you were, still waiting for him. Jason doesn’t get it. Not with what he’s done, with the danger that follows him, the danger he was himself. You see every thought swimming through his mind. “I would fall in love with you over and over again, Jason. I tried moving on, I did. But no matter how long it’s been, it’ll always be you.”

“I’m not the same person I was before,” he replies, setting the cup down and taking his helmet in hand again. “Then let me get to know who you are now.”

You can see the shift in his eyes; the moment his guard breaks the slightest bit. When he considers it before stubbornness takes over.

“It’s too dangerous.” “Then why did you really come here?” You don’t receive an answer for that and after a few moments of tense eye contact, you turn to place the two empty cups in the sink only to hear the window close. He was gone when you turn back around, the only indication of somebody else having stood there the two muddy footprints on your floor. Then you spot an old flip phone balanced on the microwave, a single number in the contacts— and an SMS coming through.

poly!wolfstar x asexual!gn!reader

wc.: 1.3k

summary: After the early stages of relationship bliss, familiar insecurities start to eat at you…

det./cw.: description of feeling inadequate, discussions of asexuality, eatablished relationship, hurt/comfort, angst but not really angst yk? they love you very much, no use of y/n

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve ever written tbh (might delete it again), it’s very very self indulgent because I’ve been feeling a little off these past days and was craving reassurance in my sexuality after devouring most of the ace!reader content on here. Anywho, English is not my first language and I proof read this once maybe, so bear with me.

My participation in this fandom does not mean I support or agree with JKR, her opinions, or her values. I don’t.

Things with Sirius and Remus felt easy. After all, they say the honeymoon phase of relationships is light and bright. It was almost surreal, having long before decided that love was not in the picture for you, that the lack of sexual desire predestined you for a life of loneliness. But they proved you wrong, persisted, and won you over slowly.

But, after the rosy haze of early love clears a little, insecurities pave their way into heart and head. Joining a relationship after they established a rhythm was difficult, Sirius and Remus had been together for a while before falling in love with you. Not questioning your place in their hearts, especially when you question yourself daily as is, proved itself to be herculean. But maybe it’s your tendency to overthink pulling a prank on you. Maybe you just imagine them gravitating to one another in rooms, or laughing about jokes that have long been established between them, excluding you without the intention of doing so.

Sometimes, then, it feels like you have not quite surpassed the status of friends in more than the word, stuck in a limbo between platonic and truly romantic.

A spectator to their love rather than a participant in your own relationship.

These thoughts creep in during the small moments. When you watch them dance at a party like they can anticipate the other’s next movement, when they’re telling stories about their school days, when Sirius automatically orders Remus’s food, knowing his preference, and then turns to you to ask what you would like to have.

Or when they’re both late to dates, like now.

You prepared everything for a cozy night in: dinner, tea, a movie, a soft record in the background. They arrived almost an hour late with guilty apologies and soft kisses to your head. They ‘got caught up’ as Remus so delicately puts it, the blooming hickey on Sirius’s neck and the slight glow to them both telling you enough.

It’s not that you feel bad about them having sex, you would never dare to. Quite the contrary; You basked in the knowledge that while they loved and cared for you, they still had one another to love and care for, and to satiate those desires that you do not need to satiate yourself. That you cannot concentrate on the movie or Remus’s warm hand on your thigh lies solely with feeling less than, because they arrived late due to being caught up in one another. The movie’s picture blurs when your eyes lose focus, mind running in circles around the usual thoughts that plague you, that plagued you long before they entered your life in a contradicting storm of affection and mindfulness. If you were normal, you could have been there. Participated. Known what it feels like to be loved like that and not feel like they were afraid to touch you.

Remus notices the exact moment you zone out; he always does. His fingers squeeze your thigh gently. “Dove?” When you don’t reply, he repeats the affection, Sirius looking over as well now. You hum and look at him, shaking out of your spiral for a moment to give him your undivided attention.

“You okay? Seemed like we lost you there for a moment.”

“Oh, yes, sorry.” He smiles gently, “penny for your thoughts?” You return the smile, “not important.”

Now Sirius chimes in, “always important if it’s occupying your mind like that, lovely.”

With how they both look at you now, nothing but adoration reflected in their gaze, you feel your sinuses burn and tears push against your lash-line. “Sorry,” you mutter quickly and press your palms into your eyes, voice giving out halfway through the word. Suddenly it feels like you’re alone on a stage, spotlight bright and insistent on you sharing something with the audience that consists of your boyfriends. There’s a moment of silence before the couch dips on your other side as well, now sandwiched between both men.

“Take your time, focus on your breath,” Remus instructs gently, the way his fingers flex slightly on your thigh before retreating to his own to not crowd you the only indication of any inner distress he feels. Sirius is less subtle; you can feel him shift nervously beside you. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You just shake your head, not trusting your voice yet. It’s a curse, really, how it refuses to cooperate in moments when everybody expects you to articulate yourself. They give you the time you need, Sirius’s hand interlacing with one of yours in reassurance, lightly at first should you feel like you need to pull away, then more firmly when you don’t. Taking a moment to sort your thoughts, you grapple for a way to voice your feelings sensibly. “Are you two sure you want to be with me?” By the silence that follows, you’re sure to have caught them off guard. “Of course we are, dove. Why would you think we wouldn’t want to be with you?” You take a breath, using your free hand to wipe beneath your eyes. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just… not offering enough. Logically, I know you love me, you have told me as much, but I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.”

“You don’t need to do anything in particular to deserve our love,” Sirius’s thumb strokes over you’re the back of your hand when he says that, his tone softer than you expected. Your heart squeezes.

“Every moment you two share feels sacred, like it’s an honour to witness it. And then I ask myself how I deserve to be part of that, how will I ever know you two the way you know one another. I can’t participate in the most intimate moments. I can’t have sex. And just maybe… I’m too broken to be with.” You reply, voice barely above a whisper. No turning back now, you’ve laid out your most crucial insecurity before them to do with whatever they please to. To your surprise Sirius looks baffled, appalled almost, that you would talk about yourself like that. Remus’s face tightens minutely, but understanding fills his eyes.

“Knowing a person takes time. We don’t expect you to achieve that immediately, dove. That is the fun of a relationship – learning each other’s uniqueness. Being asexual does not mean you’re less worthy of getting to know and love us or be loved and known. It just means that we have to find ways to make you feel as appreciated and desired without sex. We should have properly asked what affection you feel comfortable with and learned your boundaries. I’m sorry if we made you feel like you’re not enough, and I’m sure being late today hasn’t helped much.” You nod, new tears filling your eyes. “I should have communicated that earlier.”

“It’s my fault, really,” Sirius chimes in in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I hold back so much when you’re close, I never know what to do with the urge to squeeze you that you give me, so poor Remus had to compensate.  Really ought to know what I’m allowed to do with you, lovely. I’ll go mad.” You laugh a little, squeezing his hand. “How about we start with cuddling and the occasional kiss?”