Canon

You Adored Me Before – part 1, part 2

Thy Mission (+ aegon)

Forget-Me-Not*

Sweet, Wonderful You*

Thou Shalt Not Covet

Good as Gold*

Edge of Desire*

-> Show Me Your World

-> A Mother's Work

Play Your Hand

Dragons of the Same Fire

I Come To You A Sinner*

A God Among Men

A Kitten Among Dragons*

His Most Diligent Student

Atone (x rhaenyra)

A Moment's Reprieve*

Where Beggars Walk and The Lovers Swim

And Now You’re Here

King Aemond AU

The Ails of a Cup of Red

Humble Servant

The Way to a Man's Heart*

-> Lay Your Claim*

Modern AU

Étoile

Give You My Lovin’

Before You Go, Before I Am Lost to the Ether

Finally A Targaryen

Come and Play

University Series: Saltburn AU

The First Taste (+ michael gavey)

The First Time You Called Me Baby

Wandering Eyes

In This Warmth

Just You, Just Me: A Sex and the City inspired mini-series

Logan Howlett

- Logan noticed your strength before he noticed you. Not that you weren’t beautiful—hell, you were stunning—but the way you carried yourself was what first caught his eye. The way you moved, each step precise, controlled. The way you lifted things without a second thought, like the weight meant nothing. There was a familiarity in it, a recognition. Strength wasn’t something delicate to you—it was yours, it was part of you. And Logan, for all his years, had never met someone who made raw power look so damn effortless.

- He never outright commented on your muscles before you got together. Logan wasn’t the type to gush, wasn’t the type to openly admire. But he had a way of looking, of watching. The kind of gaze that lingered longer than it should, that flickered over your arms when you reached for something, that trailed down your back when you pulled your hair up. And when you caught him staring, when you raised a brow with that knowing smirk, he’d just grunt, shrug, and pretend like he hadn’t been completely captivated.

- When you finally got together, Logan wasn’t one for flowery words, but his actions spoke loud enough. He liked your strength, your power—respected it. Never treated you like you were delicate, never held back when you sparred, never told you to be less. And when you carried him once—effortlessly, like he weighed nothing—he had just chuckled low in his chest, looking up at you with something both amused and proud. "Well, ain’t that somethin’," he had murmured, his fingers tracing over your bicep. "Guess I ain’t the only tough one in this relationship."

- Logan had always been protective, but with you, it was different. He didn’t need to hover over you, didn’t need to step in when things got rough. And that—more than anything—was what made him fall harder. Because for the first time in too many years, he didn’t feel like he had to be the unshakable one. Didn’t feel like he had to bear the weight of the world alone. Because there you were—strong, unwavering, unbreakable. And Logan, against all odds, found himself leaning on you just as much as you leaned on him.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy had always been a man who appreciated beauty, and mon dieu, did he appreciate you. But it wasn’t just your face, wasn’t just the curve of your lips or the fire in your eyes. It was your presence, the way you moved with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing exactly what you were capable of. The first time he saw you lift something that would’ve made most men strain, he had whistled low, shaking his head with an easy smirk. "Ain’t never seen a belle quite like you before," he had murmured, red eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

- Before you got together, Remy flirted shamelessly—relentlessly. He had a thousand words to describe you, a thousand compliments dripping with his signature drawl. But there was a particular reverence when he spoke about your strength. "Bet you could lift me easy, cher," he’d tease, leaning in close, a smirk playing at his lips. And when you did—hoisted him up like he was nothing, spun him around just to prove a point—he had laughed, bright and wild, delighted. "Ah, mon amour, I think I just fell in love."

- Being with Remy meant endless praise, endless admiration. He liked to worship you, liked to trace his fingers along your muscles, liked to murmur in that honeyed voice of his about how magnifique you were. He wasn’t intimidated, wasn’t insecure. If anything, he thrived off it. "Damn shame you ain’t a thief like me," he’d joke, "we’d be unstoppable." And when you raised a brow, playful and sharp, he’d grin, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Ah, but I suppose I already stole your heart, non?"

- But more than the teasing, more than the flirting, Remy trusted you. And that was rare. He had spent his life learning not to depend on people, not to expect someone to catch him when he fell. But you—you—were a foundation he never expected. He knew that if the world crumbled beneath him, if everything he had ever built came crashing down, you’d be there. Unyielding, unshaken, as steady as the strength in your arms. And for once, Remy let himself rest in that certainty.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt had always seen strength as something that came in many forms. He had known warriors, had known fighters, had known people whose power was all sharp edges and destruction. But you—you—were different. You had the strength to shatter mountains, to bring men to their knees, and yet, there was kindness in you, softness in your touch. The first time he saw you lift something that should have been impossible, he had only blinked, tail curling behind him as he took it in. And then—"Mein Gott, you are incredible."

- He wasn’t shy about his admiration. Before you got together, he was fascinated by you. Would ask endless questions about how you trained, about how it felt to be that strong. He would watch you spar with awe, his golden eyes filled with open wonder. And sometimes, when he thought you wouldn’t notice, he’d reach out to trace the curve of your bicep, marveling at the sheer power beneath your skin. "It is amazing," he’d murmur, almost to himself. "You are amazing."

- When you finally got together, Kurt was constantly touching you—casual, affectionate, awestruck. His tail wrapped around your wrist, his hands traced over your arms, his head rested against your shoulder as if drawn to the very essence of you. "You make me feel safe," he admitted once, softly, as if the words carried too much weight. Because he had spent his life being the one who had to run, had to hide. And yet, here you were—unshakable, unwavering. His anchor in a world that had never truly held him still.

- But it wasn’t just admiration—it was joy. Because Kurt adored every part of you, from your strength to your heart. He would swing from the rafters and land gracefully in your arms, laughing as you caught him with ease. He would wrap himself around you, tail curling tight, whispering how lucky he was. "Strong and beautiful," he would say, grinning, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Truly, I am blessed." And you knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word.

Scott Summers

- Scott had always been disciplined, always respected strength—not just physical, but mental, emotional. And yet, when he first saw you, he had felt something entirely different. It wasn’t just admiration, wasn’t just respect. It was something deeper, something unshakable. You were powerful, in a way that demanded to be seen, in a way that made the air shift when you walked into a room. And Scott, for all his restraint, couldn’t help but watch.

- Before you got together, Scott tried to be subtle. Tried to focus on his work, on his responsibilities. But he noticed things. How you carried yourself. How you held back, always careful of your strength. And once—just once—when you lifted a fallen beam with nothing but a flick of your wrist, he had muttered, almost to himself, "I’ve never seen anyone like you before."

- When you were together, Scott wasn’t the type to say it outright, but his hands spoke for him. The way he’d squeeze your arm absently, the way his fingers would brush over your muscles in quiet appreciation. He didn’t need to say he was in awe—you could feel it in the way he touched you, in the way his breath hitched when you held him close. "You don’t have to protect me," he told you once. But the truth was—he liked that you could.

- And in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, Scott would sigh against your skin, holding you like you were the only steady thing in his world. Because for once, he didn’t have to be the strong one. For once, he could let go, knowing you would always be there to catch him.

Jean Grey

- Jean had always been drawn to the kind of strength that wasn’t just physical. The kind that was felt—a force in the room, a presence that demanded to be noticed. And you were all of that. It wasn’t just the muscles, though those were undeniably impressive. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you moved like the world had never once been heavy on your shoulders. The way you stood, solid, unwavering, as if nothing could break you. And Jean, for all her power, had never met someone who felt like a fortress.

- Before you got together, she tried to pretend she wasn’t completely fascinated by you. She was subtle about it, or at least she thought she was. But her eyes lingered too long when you sparred, and her fingers would brush over your arm under the guise of casual touches. And when you caught her staring, when you smirked at her in that knowing way, she would flush—an actual flush, pink dusting across her cheeks—and turn away, as if you hadn’t just caught her admiring every inch of you.

- When you were together, Jean loved touching you. It wasn’t just about attraction (though there was plenty of that). It was about feeling you, grounding herself in the solidity of you. She would lean into you absentmindedly, her fingers tracing the lines of your muscles as if committing them to memory. "You’re incredible," she’d murmur against your skin, like a quiet confession. Because for all her own power, for all the things she could do, there was something deeply comforting about your strength—about knowing that, for once, she could lean on someone else.

- And when the world threatened to pull her under, when the weight of her own mind grew too heavy, it was you she turned to. You, with arms strong enough to hold her when she broke. You, who didn’t flinch when her powers surged out of control. You, who simply stood, unshaken, and reminded her that she wasn’t alone. And Jean, for all the galaxies she could hold in her mind, knew that you were the one thing she would never let go of.

Ororo Munroe

- Ororo had always believed that true strength was as much about grace as it was about power. It was not just the ability to lift, to fight, to endure—but the ability to move through the world unshaken. And you—you embodied that. The first time she saw you, truly saw you, she had felt the air shift. Not from her own power, but from yours. You stood like an unmovable storm, like something carved from the earth itself. And Ororo, who had always commanded the sky, found herself mesmerized by the weight of you.

- Before you were together, Ororo watched. Quietly, curiously. She was not the type to be easily flustered, but there was something about you that made her pause. Not just the sheer strength of you, but the control—the way you handled yourself, never careless, never reckless. And when she finally spoke of it, when she traced a finger over your arm with quiet appreciation, she simply smiled and said, "There is power in you. A rare, beautiful kind."

- When you were together, Ororo was not shy in her admiration. She would rest her head against your shoulder, her hands lazily tracing the curve of your biceps as if she belonged there. She would stand beside you in battle, her eyes gleaming with pride when you fought like an unrelenting force of nature. And when the storms raged, when the skies darkened, it was you who kept her tethered—your strength the one thing that never wavered, even when the heavens roared.

- But most of all, Ororo trusted you. With her heart, with her fears, with the parts of her that few ever saw. Because she knew that you were not just strong in body—you were strong in soul. And for a woman who had spent her life carrying the weight of the skies, knowing that she could rest against you—steady, unyielding—was the greatest gift she had ever been given.

Rogue

- Rogue was used to being the dangerous one. The one who had to hold back, who had to be careful, who had to be afraid of her own strength. But you? You were the opposite. You were powerful, so powerful, and yet you carried yourself without hesitation, without fear. And that—that undid her. Because if anyone knew what it meant to fear your own power, it was her. And yet, when she looked at you, she saw someone who had mastered it. And Rogue, for all her bravado, had never wanted something more.

- Before you were together, she tried not to let it show. She played it cool, cracked jokes, teased you about being a "brick house." But there were moments, quiet moments, where her eyes would linger, where she would stare a little too long when you lifted something heavy with effortless ease. And when you caught her, when you grinned at her and flexed just to mess with her, she’d scoff, rolling her eyes—but the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

- When you were together, Rogue thrived on your strength. She would cling to you shamelessly, drape herself over you like you were the most comfortable thing in the world. She’d run her hands over your muscles with a smirk, murmuring, "Damn, sugar, y’could crush a man with these." And if you ever did carry her—effortless, like she weighed nothing—she would melt, her Southern drawl turning lazy and affectionate as she murmured, "Well ain’t that somethin’."

- But more than the admiration, more than the teasing, Rogue trusted you in a way she rarely trusted anyone. Because you never made her feel dangerous. You never treated her like something to be feared, never flinched when she touched you (through gloves, always). And when she was tired, when she was worn down from carrying the weight of what she was, you would hold her—strong, steady, safe. And for the first time in her life, Rogue knew what it felt like to rest.

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik had always respected power. He had seen too many people stripped of it, too many lives crushed under the weight of those who wielded it without mercy. And you—you were power incarnate. Not just in strength, but in presence. In the way you stood tall, in the way you carried yourself like you knew what you were capable of. And Erik, for all his cynicism, found himself captivated.

- Before you were together, Erik was not one for admiration—but he noticed. Not just the way you moved, the way your muscles tensed beneath your skin, but the way you never let anyone make you feel small. There was something almost magnetic about it, something that made him linger. And when he finally acknowledged it—when he stood before you, his gaze sharp and assessing—he simply said, "You are formidable." And from Erik, that was the highest compliment he could give.

- When you were together, Erik marveled at you in his own quiet way. He would trace his fingers over your arms absentmindedly, like he was memorizing the strength beneath your skin. He would watch you in battle, his lips curling into something almost proud as you tore through your enemies like a force of nature. "Beautiful," he would murmur under his breath. Not just your face, not just your form—but the raw power of you.

- But more than that, Erik trusted you. And that was rare. He had spent his life believing that trust was a weakness, that to rely on another was to invite betrayal. But you—you were different. You were unyielding, steady as steel. And Erik, against all odds, found himself leaning on you. Found himself allowing himself to rest. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he had found someone who could stand beside him, unbroken, unshaken. And Erik, for all his hardness, could not help but soften in your arms.

Charles Xavier

- Charles had always believed in strength beyond the physical—strength of mind, of will, of heart. He had known warriors with bodies made of steel but spirits fragile as glass. But you… you were different. There was power in you, undeniable, but it was not just the muscle beneath your skin. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you moved with purpose, the way you stood. And for a man who had spent his life surrounded by those who fought for survival, Charles found himself utterly captivated by the effortless strength that radiated from you.

- Before you were together, Charles tried to be subtle about his fascination. He was a gentleman, after all. But his gaze would linger when you entered a room, his thoughts lingering in admiration even when he forced himself to turn away. He had never been a man drawn to appearances alone, but there was something about the way you moved, the way your body was carved from pure discipline, that made his mind wander far too often. And when you caught him looking, when you smiled at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking, he had to suppress the warmth rising in his chest.

- When you were together, Charles found himself indulging in the wonder of you. His hands traced the planes of your arms absentmindedly as he spoke, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. He marveled at the way you held him—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally. For all his intelligence, for all his wisdom, Charles had spent much of his life feeling alone in his own mind. But with you, there was solidity. A quiet, unwavering strength that he could reach for, even in his weakest moments.

- And there were weak moments. Nights when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on his shoulders, when the echoes of voices in his mind threatened to drown him. And it was in those moments that you held him, steady and sure, reminding him that he did not have to carry everything alone. And Charles, who had spent so much of his life offering comfort to others, finally understood what it was to be held.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda knew power. Knew what it meant to be feared, to be called dangerous, to feel the weight of something terrible humming beneath her skin. But you—you were different. Your power was not chaos, not something unpredictable or unstable. It was firm, steady, as if the world itself could bend around you and you would not waver. And Wanda, for all her uncertainty, was drawn to that. To you.

- Before you were together, she was hesitant. She had been drawn to people before, but this was different. You were so strong, so certain, and she—she was made of fractured pieces barely holding together. But when you looked at her, you did not see fragility. You saw her. And that terrified her more than anything. So she avoided you, at least at first, pretending not to notice the way her heart stuttered whenever your hand brushed against hers, or the way she always felt safer when you were near.

- When you were together, Wanda clung to you in ways she had never clung to anyone before. She would rest against you, tracing patterns against your skin with absent fingers, as if memorizing the solidity of you. She would watch you lift things effortlessly, train with an intensity that left others exhausted, and she would smile—because there was something so beautiful about watching you exist in your own strength. And when you held her, when you wrapped those strong arms around her and whispered that she was safe, she believed it.

- And she needed that belief. There were days when the weight of her own power felt unbearable, when the voices of the past whispered in her mind that she was a danger, a mistake. But you—you never flinched. You never feared her, never hesitated when she reached for you. And when the world threatened to break her, it was you who reminded her that she was whole.

Pietro Maximoff

- Pietro was fast. Too fast for most people to keep up, too fast for most to even touch. His whole life had been a blur of motion, a race against the world that could never quite match his pace. But you—you were solid, immovable, a force of nature that did not bend to the chaos around you. And for the first time in his life, Pietro found himself slowing down. Just to watch you. Just to see.

- Before you were together, he teased. A lot. His flirting was constant, relentless, laced with cocky smirks and playful nudges. "Damn, sweetheart, you been liftin’ cars for fun or what?" He’d joke, even as his eyes traced the lines of muscle in open admiration. But beneath the teasing was something else—something quieter, something more real. Because Pietro wasn’t used to feeling small, but next to you, he did. And he liked it. More than he wanted to admit.

- When you were together, Pietro was all over you—always touching, always moving, always leaning into you like you were his personal anchor. He would drape himself over you dramatically, sighing, "Ugh, babe, I’m exhausted, carry me," just to get you to pick him up (which, of course, you could). He loved showing you off, bragging about how "his" partner could probably bench-press a truck. And if anyone dared to challenge your strength? Pietro would just cross his arms, smirk, and say, "Go ahead, try ‘em. See what happens."

- But more than anything, Pietro trusted you. You were a constant in a world that moved too fast for him, a foundation he could rest against without fear of falling. And for someone who had spent his life running, the idea of staying—of being held by someone who could handle him, who could match him—was the most terrifying, exhilarating thing he had ever known.

Hank McCoy

- Hank had spent his entire life being called a beast, a brute, something other than human. He had learned to compensate with wit, with charm, with intellect, but deep down, there was always a part of him that felt wrong—as if his body was something to be ashamed of. But then there was you. You, with your power, your strength, your undeniable presence. And yet, you never let it define you. And that… that changed everything.

- Before you were together, Hank admired you from a distance. He wasn’t the type to gawk, but he certainly noticed—the way your muscles flexed beneath your skin, the way you moved with an effortless grace that made even the most difficult tasks seem easy. And more than that, he noticed how unapologetic you were about it. There was no shame in your strength, no hesitance, no fear. And for someone who had spent so long struggling with his own form, that was… inspiring.

- When you were together, Hank was fascinated by you in ways he could hardly explain. He would trace his fingers over your arms as you lay beside him, murmuring quiet observations about muscle density and physiology, until you laughed and pulled him closer. He adored watching you work, watching you move, and whenever you lifted something heavy with ease, he would push his glasses up with a smirk and say, "An absolutely remarkable display of biomechanics, my dear."

- But more than admiration, more than fascination, Hank felt safe with you. Safe in a way he rarely felt with anyone. Because you never looked at him and saw something monstrous. You never recoiled from the sheer size of him, never treated his strength as something unnatural. And when he held you—when you let him rest his head against your shoulder, let him feel small for once—it was then that he truly understood what it meant to belong.

Emma Frost

- Emma Frost was not a woman easily impressed. She had walked among kings, controlled rooms with a glance, and brought entire empires to their knees with nothing but her mind. Beauty, strength, power—none of it was foreign to her. And yet, you caught her attention. Not because of your muscles alone—though she certainly noticed them—but because of how you carried them. Strength was so often loud, desperate for validation, but yours was effortless. Unapologetic. You did not beg the world to take notice, and that made her watch you all the more.

- Before you were together, she kept her intrigue quiet. Emma did not pine—it was simply beneath her. But oh, she indulged in little observations. The way your muscles tensed beneath your skin when you lifted something heavy. The way your body moved with a confidence that was neither arrogant nor overcompensating. She would make passing remarks, seemingly casual—"Darling, you do realize your physique is utterly devastating, don’t you?"—but beneath them, there was something undeniably real.

- When you were together, Emma became shameless in her adoration. She had always appreciated beauty, but with you, it was something else entirely. Her fingers would ghost over the lines of your arms as she spoke, as if mapping out the shape of you without thought. She would lounge against you in moments of quiet, resting her head on your shoulder with the ease of someone who knew she was untouchable—except by you. And though she would never say it outright, the way she sought your warmth, the way she traced your skin absentmindedly, spoke volumes.

- But more than that, Emma trusted you. And for a woman who trusted so few, that was everything. Because strength, to her, had never been a thing of brute force—it was control, presence, certainty. And when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on her shoulders, when old wounds whispered that she was alone, she would turn to you. To the body that could hold her without faltering. To the presence that made her feel, for once, like she did not have to be made of diamond just to survive.

Laura Kinney

- Laura had spent her life being told what she was. A weapon. A tool. Something created for violence and destruction. She had been conditioned to see strength as something brutal, something cold. But then there was you. You, with your muscles carved from discipline, from effort—not from programming or pain. And you were kind. Strong, but never cruel. Capable of destroying, yet choosing not to. And that fascinated her more than she could ever put into words.

- Before you were together, Laura was curious. She wouldn’t say much—she rarely did—but she would watch you. Studying the way you moved, the way you carried your strength without the arrogance she had come to expect from those who were powerful. And more than that, she tested you. She would throw herself at you in sparring matches, pushing, provoking, trying to see if there was any hidden brutality beneath your surface. But when you caught her wrists mid-strike and simply smirked, as if amused rather than threatened, something in her chest shifted.

- When you were together, Laura found herself drawn to you in ways she didn’t fully understand. She was not naturally affectionate, not soft in the way that others were. But she would press against you in moments of quiet, resting her head against your shoulder without a word. She would run her fingers over the scars on your skin, mapping them as if trying to understand how strength could exist without cruelty. And when she saw you lift something with ease, she would simply nod in approval—not impressed, not surprised, just quietly satisfied.

- And she needed you. More than she had ever needed anyone. Because for all her lethality, for all her sharpened edges, Laura had spent her life feeling like she was something wrong. But you never treated her as something broken. Never flinched when she was at her worst. And when nightmares clawed at the edges of her mind, when old ghosts whispered that she was nothing but a weapon, it was your arms—strong, steady, real—that held her together.

Wade Wilson

- Wade liked to joke that he wasn’t into muscles—he was into you. "The muscles are just an added bonus, babe," he’d say, grinning like a fool. But in truth? He adored them. Worshiped them, even. Not just because they made you look like some kind of Olympian demigod (though, yeah, that was definitely part of it), but because of what they meant. You were strong, but you never used that strength to hurt people. You were powerful, but never cruel. And for someone who had spent his life fighting monsters, you were the first thing that felt truly, undeniably safe.

- Before you were together, Wade was obnoxious about his attraction. Constant flirting. Endless commentary. "Damn, babe, I could probably do pull-ups on your biceps." He’d rest his chin on your shoulder, stare at your arms, and dramatically sigh, "It’s just unfair. It’s like Michelangelo sculpted you just to make the rest of us feel bad." But beneath all the jokes, there was something real. Because Wade wasn’t used to gentle strength. And every time you pulled him close without hesitation, every time you caught him without flinching, something in him softened.

- When you were together, Wade was obsessed. Absolutely, unapologetically obsessed. He would constantly poke at your muscles, squeezing your arms with a goofy grin. "I just wanna make sure they’re real," he’d say, as if you hadn’t already proven your strength a hundred times over. He loved that you could pick him up effortlessly, and he would take every opportunity to be carried around like a dramatic, oversized damsel in distress. "Sweep me off my feet, my hero!"

- But beneath all the jokes, beneath the constant teasing, Wade needed you in ways he would never fully admit. Because for all his bravado, for all his unkillable resilience, he had spent his life feeling like he was too much—too broken, too loud, too damaged to ever be held the way he wanted. But you? You never hesitated. Never pulled away. And when he curled against you after a long, brutal day, whispering the worst of his thoughts against your skin, you held him without a second thought. And in those moments, for the first time in forever, he felt whole.

Kitty Pryde

- Kitty was fast, clever, and always one step ahead of the world. She had spent her life dodging, slipping through walls, never quite staying still long enough for people to catch her. But you? You were solid. Unshakable. A presence that couldn’t be ignored. And she had never met anyone who made her want to pause—to stop running, to stop slipping away. Until you.

- Before you were together, Kitty found herself fascinated by you. She wasn’t subtle about it, either. "Okay, but seriously, how do you look like that?" she’d ask, poking at your arms with an impressed grin. She would watch you lift things effortlessly, her mind racing between admiration and the scientific curiosity of someone who had to understand how that kind of strength even worked. And when she caught herself staring a little too long, she would quickly phase through a wall to hide her flustered expression.

- When you were together, Kitty was delighted. She would climb onto your back without warning, grinning. "I have the strongest partner in the universe—why would I ever walk again?" She would grab your arms at random moments just to marvel at them, laughing as she wrapped her fingers around your biceps and said, "Okay, but seriously, do you think you could punch through a Sentinel? Like, just one punch?"

You started in the produce section, eyeing the dark red apples stacked neatly in pyramids. Jason liked apples, especially sliced up with peanut butter, and you didn’t have any at home. You grabbed a few, along with a small bag of clementines—they were on sale, and the idea of peeling one later sounded comforting. You added some spinach to the cart, though you weren’t ure what you’d do with it yet.

The next aisle had the coffee and teas. You hesitated in front of the shelves, scanning for Jason’s favorite blend. He always said he didn’t care what kind of coffee it was as long as it had caffeine, but you knew he liked the dark roast with the smoky flavor. So, you grabbed a bag and tossed it into the cart before picking up a box of black tea for yourself.

In the dairy section, you grabbed a carton of eggs and some milk, along with a tub of the fancy Greek yogurt Jason pretended to hate but always ate half of when you weren’t looking. You added a block of cheddar cheese too, because he always complained when you didn’t have any “real cheese” in the fridge.

Finally, you grabbed a loaf of bread and a box of pasta before heading to the candy aisle. You’d been eyeing the peppermint bark in the holiday section earlier but didn’t grab it. Now you plucked a small bar of it off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt.

The cart wasn’t full, but it was enough. Enough to get through the week, enough to stock your kitchen for the nights Jason decided to stay over and make himself at home. He didn’t live with you—not officially—but his presence lingered in your apartment like a second heartbeat.

You made my way to the registers, where the lines were moving slowly. It was late, but the store was still busy, the energy of people rushing to finish errands before closing time crackling faintly in the air. You took your place in line, watching other customers inch forward and fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

It wasn’t a bad day, you reminded yourself, just a heavy one. You would unload the groceries back at home, make some tea, and settle in for the evening. Maybe you’d call Jason later, hear his voice and let the rough warmth of it carry you into something softer. The thought made the corner of your mouth twitch up in the faintest smile. And maybe he could even stop by, spend the night.

That thought warmed your heart.

The line at the register moved slower than you expected, giving you too much time to stand there, awkwardly fiddling with your scarf and glancing at your cart. The apples and kettle chips sat next to each other, an odd little pairing that made you think of your boyfriend. He’d swipe one of each, snack in hand, smirking like he’d outsmarted the whole grocery system.

Finally, your turn came, and you pushed the cart forward. The cashier was a lanky teenager with a mop of greasy hair tucked under his name-tagged baseball cap. His name tag read Trevor, but his expression read bored in bold letters. He glanced up at you briefly, his eyes darting over your cart with the kind of disdain only a teenager could muster before going back to his phone.

“Hey,” you greeted the kid politely, smiling despite yourself as you began unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Yeah, hey,” Trevor muttered, clearly distracted as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He hit a button on the register with a little too much force and sighed loudly, like the very act of being here was an affront to his existence.

You handed over the loaf of bread first, thinking maybe you could set the pace for a smooth interaction. Trevor grabbed it and scanned it without a word.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked flatly, not bothering to meet your eyes.

“Um, paper, please.”

Trevor reached for the bags, shoving the bread in haphazardly before grabbing the apples next. The bag tipped slightly, the loaf threatening to crumple. You winced internally but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he scanned the rest of your items, you started to pull out your wallet. Your fingers fumbled for a moment as you searched for your debit card, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Do you, like, need the receipt?” Trevor mumbled under his nose, tossing it into the bag before you could answer.

“Um—yes, please,” you said quietly, slipping your card out of the wallet at last.

The teenager rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Next time, maybe have it ready? Kinda holding up the line.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. You froze for a moment, face flushing as you quickly swiped your card through the reader. Your hand trembled just enough to make you fumble again, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes as you hurried to finish.

Trevor didn’t respond to you anymore. “Next!”

You grabbed your bags as quickly as you could, your vision blurring slightly as you turned away from the register. Your chest felt tight, the weight of the embarrassing moment pressing against the bones of your ribs as you hurried out of the store.

By the time you reached your parked car, the tension had built to a boiling point. You set the bags down in the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The space felt safe, isolated from the world, and as soon as you were alone, the tears spilled over.

It wasn’t just the kid or his tone—it was everything. The way the week had dragged on endlessly, the tiny moments of frustration piling up like bricks until this one insignificant encounter became the tipping point.

You pressed your palms against the steering wheel, breathing uneven as the tears came in quiet, hot streams. They weren’t loud or desperate, just a release, a way to let go of the tension that had been weighing you down all day.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter. You wiped at your face with your sleeve, sniffing softly as you leaned back against the headrest. The worst of it was over, but the ache lingered, a reminder of how fragile the balance could be sometimes. What you needed now was something solid, something warm to remind you the world wasn’t as heavy as it seemed.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over his name for a moment before you pressed it. The line rang twice before his voice came through, low and rough but tinged with familiarity and care. Jason always had a way of grounding you, his voice a tether when the world felt too loud.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his tone already softer than usual. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, the weight in your chest started to ease.

“Hi,” you said, the word wobbling despite your best effort. “Are you busy?”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that told you he’d caught on. Jason’s voice shifted, quieter but firm, like a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m not busy. You okay? You sound . . . upset.”

You hesitated, the urge to downplay it bubbling up. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though you knew it wasn’t convincing. “Just . . . had a moment. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Jason interrupted gently, his voice like a steady anchor. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against the window now. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s stupid. A cashier was kind of rude, and it just . . . got to me. I cried about it in the car, and I feel better now, but I guess I just—” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hear you.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of pause that said he was listening, thinking about the best way to hold you from a distance. When he spoke again, his tone was warm and firm, a voice that could steady mountains.

“First of all, it’s not stupid,” he said. “People can be jerks, and it’s okay to feel what you feel. You don’t have to justify that to me—or to anyone.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always had a way of cutting through the noise in your head, finding the simplest truth in it all. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Just . . . sitting in the parking lot.”

He hummed softly, the sound almost like a purr through the receiver. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Take a deep breath for me—nice and slow. Can you do that?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you said softly, following his instruction. The air filled your lungs like it hadn’t in hours, grounding you.

“Good,” Jason praised. “Now, I’m on my way to you. Sit tight, and don’t you dare think about apologizing for needing me.”

“Jason,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t ‘Jason’ me, sweetheart. You’re my girl. That means if you need me, I’m there. Simple as that.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it was different—softer, less heavy. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and you could hear the faint sound of him grabbing his keys. “Now stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. And when I get there, I’m giving you a hug so big, you’re gonna forget what the cashier even looked like.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of it surprising you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jason said, his voice lighter now. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Just hang tight for me.”

The call ended, and though the ache hadn’t fully disappeared, it was quieter now, tempered by the knowledge that he was coming. Jason didn’t just make the world feel manageable—he made it feel safe, like no matter how overwhelming the little things got, he’d always be there to pull you back to solid ground.

Ten minutes later, a sharp, sudden knock on the car window startled you out of your thoughts. You jumped in the seat, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to look—and there he was, standing outside in the cold, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Jason’s cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink from the winter air, and he had one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other gesturing for you to roll the window down.

You blinked, processing his presence as he gave you a small, crooked smile through the glass. “Come on, sweetheart,” he called, his voice muffled but still rich and warm, like it carried all the heat you’d been missing. “You gonna let me freeze out here or what?”

Scrambling, you fumbled with the controls and rolled the window down halfway. “Jason? What are you doing here?” Your voice wavered between shock and something lighter, something closer to relief.

He gave a soft huff, his breath visible in the cold air. “You really think I was just gonna sit around after that phone call? Get outta the car, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the earlier tears still clinging to you, but his steady gaze left no room for argument. With a sigh, you grabbed your scarf and pushed the door open, stepping out into the biting cold.

As soon as you were standing in front of him, Jason’s hands found your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you closer towards him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and earnest, his green eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read all the parts of you you hadn’t said aloud.

You nodded, but the way your chin trembled betrayed me. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, even though the words felt flimsy. “I was feeling better after we talked, really. You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

Jason cut you off with a soft, knowing sound, one of his hands moving to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his knuckles warm against your cheek. “Yeah, I did,” his tone left no room for debate.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the cold wrapping around you but unable to penetrate the bubble of warmth his presence created. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you realized you had been leaning into his hand without thinking.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, the observation carrying no judgment, only quiet understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. Not ever.”

The lump in your throat returned, but it was smaller now, manageable. You took a shaky breath and gave him a faint smile. “I just felt stupid crying over something so little. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Jason’s brows knit together, his expression turning almost stern. “Hey,” he exclaimed, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “Your feelings aren’t little. And I told you—no matter what, I’m here. You don’t bother me, alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard as the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket. His sincerity had a way of melting through all the self-doubt you carried, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his steady presence.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his hand dropping to take yours instead. He laced your fingers together, his grip firm and grounding. “Now, give me your keys.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smirked, his nose still adorably rosy from the cold. “You’re not driving, sweetheart. Not when you’ve had a day like this. I’m taking you home.”

“You didn’t bring your bike?” you teased faintly, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason snorted. “In this weather? Hell no. Now quit stalling and hand ’em over.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the keys from your pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. He gave you an approving nod before tugging you toward the passenger side door.

“Come on,” he said, opening it for you like the gentleman he only pretended not to be. “Get in. I’ll crank the heat for you.”

As you slid into the seat, Jason closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements easy and confident despite the chill. When he settled in and started the car, the warmth of the heater began to fill the space, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely safe.

Jason reached over, brushing his hand across your thigh in a gesture so casual yet intimate it made your chest ache. “See? Already better,” he said, glancing at you with a lopsided grin.

You pursed your lips as you looked around the flat. “Well, I was trying for cosy vibes with holiday movies, I lit candles mostly for ambience but there’s a part of my brain that insists the temperature rose at least one degree in response, and hot cocoa.” You finished your sentence by lifting the mug in your hand.

“I appreciate the effort, but I have a feeling that the cocoa is the only effective strategy at this point.” 

You smirked at him as you lifted the many blankets off of your lap and made to stand. “I’ll go make you one.”

You were just about to step behind the couch when Remus’ hand involuntarily shot out and grabbed you by your elbow. “Hang on.” Remus laughed accusatively. “What are you wearing?”

Remus had the feeling you were aware you’d been caught as you took a moment to consider your answer before slowly pivoting on your sock-clad feet, smiling at him bashfully. 

“Erm, yeah…I took your sweatpants out of the laundry by mistake. Sorry.” 

But Remus didn’t release your arm and you didn’t appear to expect him to; staring him down for a beat before you deflated with a theatrical moan. “Fine. I’m layered, okay!? Is that what you wanted to hear?!” And with this, you pulled the waistband of Remus’ sweatpants that you had needed to roll numerous times away from your hips to expose another set of your own thick sweatpants underneath them. “And underneath these sweatpants are a pair of leggings. I had tried putting two pairs of my own sweatpants on, but it was too tight and the feeling of losing circulation only left me more cold so yeah, I went back into your room after already hijacking your bedding and helped myself to a pair of sweats. Okay? But any grievances will need to be taken up with my attorney, Rem, because I am cold and it was self-defence!” 

You paused abruptly then; a heat now evident in your face as you panted, and he only hoped that the heat was a welcome reprieve from the cold. 

“I’m cold.” You repeated quite pathetically, and Remus couldn’t help it anymore. He laughed. A big, deep, belly-aching laugh. 

“Oh, oh god, my poor girl.” He managed between laughs, reaching out and pulling you towards him by the shoulders; you swayed into him all too willingly, burrowing into him greedily even though he was sure his jacket was still cold with the fresh winter air. “M’so sorry you’ve been so cold.”

“You should be.” You whimpered into his chest, clearly chuffed at getting the sympathy you’d been looking for. “I’m very cold.”

“I bet.” He agreed, rubbing a few stripes up and down your back before pulling away from you; he could actually see you mourn the loss. “How about you make me some cocoa, and I’ll go change into comfies and meet you in that nest of blankets; we can pool together our resources.” The resource was warmth, but you clearly understood that when you went all but flying in the direction of the kitchen.

“Make haste, Lupin!” 

Remus wasn’t ashamed - not even a little - at the speed in which he ran to his room to change out of his work clothes and into his comfies, grabbing another one of his jumpers to throw in the dryer for you.

“Oh god, no. No, I’m sorry; it’s really not at all interesting, I feel so silly.”

“You’re not silly.” Remus countered quickly. “Would you like to join us?” 

You chewed on your lip as you considered the room, though Remus already knew your answer. “No, that’s okay. I’m really sorry to have interrupted. You guys have fun!”

And with one last wave and a bit of disappointment on James’ part for not getting to hear what had you so excited, you headed down the hall towards your bedroom. 

“She’s so sodding cute, Rem.” Lily told him, as if Remus wasn’t already aware how sodding cute you were.

“Is she always that excited to come home to see you?” Sirius added with a salacious wink. 

“Knock it off, you prat.” Remus scoffed as he tossed a crisp at him. 

Sirius held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m only asking! S’not every day you find a bird that eager to tell you about her day.” 

“Is she always so… excitable?” Peter asked then before taking a sip of his drink. James fielded that question.

“She’s very chatty.” He explained simply; not an ounce of judgement detected in his tone. “One night she was able to tell me a very thorough history of the pub we were sitting in. Did you know monks used to run it?” 

“She’s most excited to talk to Moony, though.” Marlene quipped - apparently not at all interested in the hops brewing monks - causing him to roll his eyes. “She’s never been that excited to talk to me.”

“No one’s ever been excited to talk to you, McKinnon.” Sirius volleyed, earning him another crisp in the side of the head. 

The group delved into chatter then, but Remus’ eyes migrated to the hallway you’d just disappeared down. He wasn’t sure what could have been so exciting about work that would have had you careening in here, though looking at the time, you had come home a bit late. Did something happen on your way home?

“Why don’t you go make sure she’s alright?” Lily offered him quietly then, and Remus was mortified to realise she’d been cognizant of his wandering mind as she offered him a knowing smirk. “Keeping that much excitement in can’t be good for a girl.” 

Remus huffed out a laugh, wiping his clammy hands off on his knees before standing and making his way down the hall.

He paused in front of your door and knocked gently, waiting to hear your responding ‘yeah?’ before he popped his head in.

He held onto the handle with one hand and the doorframe with the other, smiling widely when he noticed you had already changed into comfies and were curled up on your bed with your laptop set up in front of you. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course.” You agreed easily. “I don’t want to keep you from your company, though.”

“Oh, they don’t even realise I’m gone.” He scoffed as he perched on the edge of your bed, hand itching to reach out and brush the soft skin of your exposed knee. “What’re you watching tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Rem.” You chided tauntingly. “I’m saving Will & Grace for when we can watch together.”

“Good lass.” He nodded at you, following up with a wink when you flustered at his flirting. “What are you watching?”

“There’s a documentary about Penguins on Disney plus.” You admitted. “His name is Steven and I love him already.”

“I have friend’s over one night and you’re already replacing me.” He sighed, though his melancholy expression vanished completely at the sound of your bubbling laughter. “Does he at least treat you well?”

“You have nothing to worry about, Remus.” 

The two of you smiled at each other for a moment before Remus wondered if your cheeks were as warm as his were.

“So… what were you going to tell me when you got home?” Remus asked, and you let out a very excited gasp and actually slammed your laptop shut - he wondered then if that wasn’t half the reason your laptop gave you so many problems. 

“Okay! You know the bookstore we like so much? On-”

“Cecil, right.” Remus agreed, you nodded eagerly at him.

“Yes! So I don’t know if you’ve noticed the shop cat there? He’s usually on the second floor and lounges on top of the bookshelves.”

“How do you know?” He asked accusingly. “You can’t see the tops of the bookshelves.” 

“Sod off.” You laughed as you swatted at him; he pretended to sway from the force of your hit. “Anyway, the clerk said his name is Hemingway, but he never lets any of the patrons of the store pat him, just the staff!”

“Not on your watch.” Remus interjected.

“Certainly not! So I stopped by today after work with a little catnip mouse and a few kitty treats and we’ve become best friends.”

“Best friends?” Remus clarified, you beamed at him and nodded eagerly. “I have friend’s over one night and you-”

“Remus!” 

“See, dove, you tell me I have nothing to worry about, but it feels an awful lot like I should be worried.” 

“I think you might be a little harder to win over than Hemmingway, Rem. Unless you appreciate catnip mice and kitty treats? Because I have more in my bag.” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at you as though he were considering it, and you raised one of your eyebrows at him in challenge before a round of laughter from his friends reminded both of you that he actually had company over. 

“How about…” Remus started as he made to stand, walking backwards in the direction of your door so he could maintain eye contact with you “three episodes of Will & Grace tonight?” 

“Deal.” 

“Great.” He responded; tone far softer than he meant it to be as he hesitated in your doorway. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll meet you at 11? The usual place?” 

The usual place being your shared kitchen in your shared flat where the two of you would prepare popcorn and drinks in silence before moving to the living room together and sharing the loveseat in front of the TV. 

“Can’t wait.” He agreed with a smile before closing your door behind him and returning to his friends. 

“Your bird okay, Rem?” Marlene taunted as he returned to his seat. 

Remus scoffed and rolled his eyes. “My flatmate is fine, McKinnon; thanks for your concern.” He responded dryly. 

“What was she so excited to tell you?” James asked as he reshuffled a deck of cards to deal Remus in. 

“About some shop cat at a bookstore.” Remus explained, pausing at the dramatic gasp it elicited from James. 

“Hemingway!?” He all but squealed. 

“I-” Remus started, sharing a sideways look with Lily who already had her head in her hands. “Yes?”

“On Cecil Court?!” 

“...Yes?” Remus offered carefully.

“Oh my God!” James cheered as he stood - nearly flipping the coffee table over in his haste to get to you - and took off down the hall chanting your name in much the same way you’d been chanting Remus’ when you first arrived. 

“Where do you two find these people?” Peter chuckled as he picked up the now abandoned deck of cards. 

“You might have to fight Prongs for custody there, Rem.” Sirius added with a laugh. 

“I have a feeling James might lose that one.” Lily replied impishly. “Remus seems rather keen on keeping her around.”

And though Remus folded his lips over his teeth in an attempt not to smile, feeling his cheeks warm to near painful levels, he really couldn’t argue.