#i love you so much tiny detective

[stormagedoom]

🎉 💕  HAPPY BIRTHDAY GREAT DETECTIVE  💕 🎉

Not my best work , but I really wanted to draw somethig this year

[datcravat]

my piece for the @fragmentsoffatezine :)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Killua and the Power of Wishes

Okay going to try and make this coherent because the amount of wish association all through Killua's character development makes me want to chew plaster.

As a fair warning, this analysis ended up being long as hell, and I didn't even include everything I could've said. This is also just one lens to analyze Killua's story arc with, and I feel there are other valid interpretations of some of these moments. This is just one of mine, so keep that in mind please.

One last warning that this analysis does discuss emotional manipulation and abuse, as is par for Killua's background.

Let's set the stage with one important piece of info: Killua's birthday.

Killua's birthday is July 7th, the same day as Tanabata. Tanabata is a folklore-rich festival where according to legend, the two lovers, weaver Orihime and cowherd Hikoboshi, represented by the two stars, Vega and Altair, are allowed to reunite once a year after separation. A popular custom of Tanabata is to make wishes by writing them down on tanzaku, then hang it on a bamboo tree so that the wish might one day come true.

Tanabata is also known as the Star Festival. Please keep this in mind, because I'm going to come back to it.

To finish setting up the lens for this analysis, I'm going to need to dig into the game-changer scene for Killua's early characterization - his confrontation with Illumi at the end of the Hunter Exam, and specifically, the exact nature of Illumi's manipulation of him.

I say "game-changer" because it really is - up until this point, it's kind of fair to not fully know what to think about Killua. Certainly, he seems excited to hang out with Gon (he approached him first, after all) and he's friendly enough, but he's also arrogant and claims to be motivated mainly by boredom. For all intents and purposes, Killua seems set up to be Gon's dangerous yet charismatic rival... but then this scene happens and it completely turns it all on its head.

Because Killua may have mentioned his family was controlling before, but he seriously downplayed the severity of it - likely because he has no point of reference for how awful his situation actually is other than it makes him feel bad and trapped. Illumi's appearance immediately shifts our understanding of Killua from runaway murder kid with annoying murder family to straight-up victim of emotional abuse, and dissolves his cockiness instantly to terror.

What does all this have to do with wishes? Glad you asked. Let's look at some of Illumi's dialogue.

[ID: A screenshot from HxH episode 20 of the 2011 anime. Killua looks up, sweating and conflicted, as Illumi tells him "You don't want anything or wish for anything." End ID.]

This is the crux of Illumi's (and the family's) control. Killua's desires do not align with the family trade. They must be excised from him.

When Killua insists that he does have something that he really wants, Illumi says "Tell me what it is you want", in a mockery of a certain other sibling who would have helped fulfill this wish - Illumi asks only so he can completely dismantle it. And Killua isn't even really surprised at Illumi's words, just heartbroken. You can tell this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened.

Killua states his wish quite fervently; he really means it. But his words are not rebellious, nor cathartic. Instead, he answers Illumi quietly, as if fearful or ashamed, almost reminiscent of a sinner's confession.

[ID: Two screenshots from HxH episode 20 of the 2011 anime. In the first Killua looks down with a troubled expression, saying "I want to become friends with Gon...". In the second, his face is hidden as he stands with hands clenched at his sides with a spotlight on him. He says "I'm sick of killing people..." End ID.]

It's such an innocent, simple want.

And Illumi proceeds to make him feel like even something so simple is harmful and selfish of him... not to the family, but to Gon.

In a matter of a few minutes, Illumi breaks down Killua's wish by:

Acknowledging this desire, but twisting it into something that will inevitably fade over time, thereby causing Killua to doubt his own conviction and feelings -> "Gon is a novelty, a radiant presence who has piqued your curiosity. No more than that."

Acknowledging that Gon is someone important to Killua, and undermining this by telling him that by his very nature, he will eventually bring harm to Gon, which makes him feel as though Killua cannot trust himself to be a good friend -> "If you try to be friends with him, you will one day want to kill him... because you are, by nature, a murderer." (As a... delightful... bonus, this is also apparently how Silva and Illumi justify their treatment of Killua to him - "This is the essence of your existence and we taught you accordingly." Like they adapted to Killua's nature, instead of them molding Killua into who they wanted him to be.)

Delivering an ultimatum - to fight Illumi and win, or else Gon will die - that Killua is doomed to fail due to his upbringing and the needle in his head. Since Killua doesn't know about the needle, he assumes this is his own personal failure, something Illumi feeds into -> "You're just not qualified to make friends."

And it's the last point that breaks him. The first two shoot down Killua's present wish, but the last proceeds to shatter any hope he might've had of wishing for anything similar in the future - he has told him that his desires are weak, temporary, inherently dangerous to those around him, and worst of all, aren't enough on their own for him to deserve friendship and love from others. And the clincher: Killua feels like all of this is his own fault, that there is something inherently dangerous and wrong with him!

So, it doesn't even matter to Killua anymore if he fails the Hunter Exam. To him, he just failed the only test that mattered.

10/10 manipulation, Illumi. Fuck you, seriously.

Killua's character arc is mainly his quest and struggle to refute Illumi's arguments and to shake off the manipulation and the ways in which his family have molded and controlled him. And by far, the most difficult part of his conditioning to shake off is this idea that he is undeserving of anything more than what he is already given.

It's almost like the family has drilled it into him that wishes are dangerous. How interesting.

Thankfully, however, there are two parties to Killua's wish here - Gon, too, is a part of it, and it is not simply his reciprocated desire to be Killua's friend that saves him, but also his recognition of Killua's situation for what it is (notably, when no one else correctly identified the true issue).

"You know it wasn't his choice. You manipulated him, kidnapping his spirit!"

The ensuing Zoldyck family arc emphasizes that Gon is 100% correct: the main hold Killua's family has on him isn't physical - it's all emotional.

Killua breaks one of his shackles when Milluki threatens to have his new friends killed, but he only breaks the rest when Zeno tells him he's free to go. So, if Killua could break loose at any point, was this still a rescue like Gon said?

Well, yes - just because he absolutely could've broken out physically at any time, that does not mean he could just leave. That's the nature of situations such as this - it's not as simple as "just leaving". Support is necessary, as is actually having something tangible outside the situation to go to - otherwise there is little point to leaving at all. Gon (and Kurapika and Leorio) showing up to free Killua showed him that his wish was reciprocated and allowed him to break one cuff - this is the start of his journey, but he still has a long ways to go. Notably, he again hesitates and closes off when Silva asks what he wants.

[ID: Three panels from HxH chapter 42. In the first, Silva asks Killua "...would you like to see [Gon]?" Killua's expression is complicated in the next panel - he's closed off and uncertain. Silva continues "Be honest, Kil... what do you want?" End ID.]

Killua will backtalk and casually break his shackles and death glare his family... but he's too fearful to voice his wants aloud.

And once again, asked by his father what he wants, he is subtly set up to fail. His wish is granted, but made conditional - "Do not betray your friends", something Killua is regrettably set up to do by virtue of the needle in his head that he, again, doesn't know about. Silva fully expects him to fail and come back home, disillusioned, believing it's his own fault due to his "nature", and trusting in Silva still as a "reasonable" figure in his life.

This condition placed on his friendship is what drives much of Killua's fear and insecurity with regards to Gon for much of the series - the idea that Killua has to earn his right to friendship, and that if he doesn't, he will lose it, one way or another.

It really makes me wish that Killua had actually gotten to hear Gon's views on friendship from the beginning of the Zoldyck Family arc, because it entirely refutes this entire philosophy. He even outright refuses to go through the Testing Gates at first, purely because he thinks the sentiment of needing to prove yourself just to be friends is completely outrageous - he only relents because there is no other way.

[ID: Two screenshots from episodes 21 and 22 of the 2011 HxH anime adaptation. Gon looks up at Illumi and firmly states "[Killua] doesn't need to earn the right to be my friend!" In the second, Gon's face is seen in profile and close up as he asks "Why would you test your friends?" End ID.]

I doubt it would've truly prevented Killua's insecurity from manifesting even if he had heard this, to be honest - his issues with usefulness are very deep-rooted in his upbringing - but still, it would've been nice for him to hear, I think.

However, that's not to say that this exact sentiment doesn't come through in their interactions.

Gon, as Killua's friend, cares about what Killua actually wants and wants to make sure Killua knows that - and that's part of what makes the Whale Island conversation between them really important.

[ID: Two images, both of the same scene from HxH chapter 64, and episode 37 of the 2011 anime. In the manga panel, Gon has turned his head to look at Killua directly, who looks shocked and taken aback, to say "I like hanging out with you." In the anime screenshot, Gon has turned his whole body to face Killua, and says "I think it's fun to be with you." End ID.]

I see a lot of people chalk this up to just Gon being Gon, but it reads to me as much more deliberate than even his usual honesty. He's turned so he's looking directly at Killua, which is a sure way to make his words come across clearly. The lead up to this is Killua, again, not knowing or being able to vocalize what he wants. He doesn't have a goal to work towards like Gon, he only knows what he doesn't want - he's a mix of envious and admiring towards Gon, who knows what he wants and simply goes for it.

But this conversation makes it clear that they have a shared wish - they both want to be friends, and they'd both like to stay together. It's not about earning, to Gon, it's only about if they both want the same thing - mutual, not conditional. There's a nice almost call-and-response type dialogue here, where Gon asserts that he likes spending time with Killua (very directly lol), then shares that Killua is the first friend his age he's had. This prompts Killua to say that Gon is his first friend ever, and that he does have fun with him. And just like that, Gon replies "Then let's stay together!" and pointedly includes Killua's desire to find a goal in their, now shared, upcoming journey.

Overhead, a shooting star appears in the sky. A mutual wish is granted.

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 64. The night sky is full of stars. In the centre is a shooting star. End ID.]

Hm. Stars. Remember how I told you to keep that in mind, all the way back at the beginning? Their association with Tanabata, making a wish on a shooting star, etc. etc.?

Well, buckle up because this star is going to make you experience so much sadness now.

[ID: Panels from HxH chapter 286. The first is a conversation between Killua and Meleoron where Killua asserts he intends to "go down in flames with [Gon]". When Meleoron looks concerned, Killua brushes off the declaration as a joke. In the second image, Killua is turned away, his outline pale, as Meleoron thinks "Why... did you looks so sad... back there?" The last image is a cloudy night sky filled with stars. At the centre of the panel is a shooting star. End ID.]

Yeah, it makes its reappearance directly after Killua has "jokingly" resolved to die with Gon if it comes down to it, after "since it means nothing to you".

I am assured, in Japanese, the word choice here is 心中 (shinjuu), the word for double suicide, where the intent is to die at the same time in the same manner in order to be reunited in the afterlife. The implication here is that Killua, having increasingly grown insecure in his place by Gon's side but unable to voice this, knowing that Gon is hurtling down the path of no return, thinks back to their conversation under the stars where they both mutually wished to stay together and, because he believes that it is no longer possible for him to help Gon, has resolved to stay by his side in death, and after it.

...holy shit, kid.

[ID: Two screenshots from the 4th ending of the 2011 anime. In the first, Gon and Killua stand back to back as meteors fall around them. In the second, they stand facing away from the audience towards a body of water under a night sky filled with stars - Gon throws a stone, which flashes in the air like a shooting star. End ID.]

And of course, here's the shooting star again in the 2011 anime's Nagareboshi Kirari ending, as well as it being the subject of the song itself and rather explicitly referencing that wish to go on a journey together, to stay together, because... Madhouse hates us. I guess. :'(

What started off as a simple wish for a friend deepened into a wish to always stay by Gon's side. This is largely good at first! Killua is able to explore and experience genuine friendship, to get a taste for freedom, and use the power of his fervent wish to protect his dear friend in order to rid himself of Illumi's needle. However, the more Killua wants, the more he traps these wishes in monologues within his own head and does not voice them aloud. Part of it is that he already feels he's been given much more than he deserves - seeing himself as a creature of darkness and Gon as light - but a greater part of the issue here is not that Killua is afraid to wish for things, but that he is afraid wishing without "compensation" will inevitably lead to horrible repercussions - namely, losing who he loves.

In order to feel worthy of staying with Gon, of earning his friendship, Killua works hard to help Gon achieve his goals, taking on the role of wish grantor, growing to do practically anything needed to support him for seemingly nothing in return - but that's not 100% true. Killua wants at least some appreciation, whether he admits it or not - it's a security thing, and it also clearly makes him happy, even if he's not great at accepting it. He insists in Chimera Ant arc that friends don't need to thank friends, but this declaration always read as very sudden to me or like a rationalization, and it's relevant to remember that this is at the peak of Gon isolating himself and self-destructing before his eyes, and Killua's own insecurity regarding his importance to him.

Killua might not mind doing things without thanks, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to hear that Gon appreciates him. He clearly does appreciate verbal confirmation of their bond! We know this.

[ID: Two screenshots from the 2011 anime. The first is from episode 61. Killua smiles down at the ground with his hands in his pockets, the colours having gone soft and bright. The second is from episode 70 during the dodgeball match. Gon smiles determinedly in the foreground as Killua looks shocked next to him. End ID.]

Keeping all this in mind, Killua's story, or at least this part of it, couldn't have concluded in a better way than his rescue of Alluka, the wish grantor.

Now, I could probably write an entire other analysis on Alluka and Nanika alone, but for the sake of not making this any longer than I already have, I'm going to go through only a few points. Alluka is incomprehensible to her family because they make no attempt to understand her, with the exception of Killua. The only thing they do seem to understand, when explained to them, is the demands made after Nanika grants a wish - this, of course, fits neatly into their own predetermined views on "earning" and "punishment". However, beyond this, they make no attempt to understand her, and since her power is deemed dangerous and uncontrollable, she is locked away.

They are worried, first and foremost, that Alluka will bring harm to the family, and there's two ways in which this could be true:

As a function of failing to fulfill her requests, of course

Because she, just by existing, threatens the family's status quo

I stated at the beginning that Killua's desires do not align with those of the family business, and he's always apparently been more open to understanding others - he asks Alluka and Nanika questions to understand them, and treats them with respect, while his family are more so focused on subjugating anything that might be a threat. This is what Illumi tried to drill into Killua after all; never fight a superior opponent - everything is about assessments of relative strength, which leaves no room for open-mindedness or getting to know people.

Faced with a daughter who is clearly incomprehensibly powerful, and a son, the would-be inheritor of the family trade, who is showing a disturbing amount of willingness to befriend instead of retreat from her, the family made the decision to excise Alluka not just from where she could "harm" the family power-wise, but also likely to secure their control over Killua, who they then set about practically programming to not have any more wishes for himself, or at least to not be able to vocalize them without fear of loss or retribution.

The family's nickname for Killua is "Kil" or "Killu", which is deeply fascinating to me as a reader - nicknames are expressions of endearment, typically, and I actually don't doubt that here. Killua's family does love him, but their love comes with conditions. He must be molded into the perfect son, and every part of him that doesn't fit must be excised.

So: Killua's memories of Alluka are suppressed with the needle, and she is further cut from his life by dropping the "a" from his name (the Zoldyck children are named like a game of shiratori - Illumi -> Milluki -> Killua -> Alluka -> Kalluto). The nickname is also like a command or order "to kill", which is of course what they want him to do.

Saving Gon through saving Alluka and Nanika forces Killua to have to face down the last and hardest of Illumi's manipulations to shake, and that's the notion that a wish, that kindness and friendship and love, cannot be unconditional without severe repercussions - where the people he cares about get hurt because of him, something he cannot envision being forgiven for.

It's a little sad to me that after spending most of the series struggling against his family's teachings that they didn't lead to Killua betraying Gon at all, as he'd feared... but to him betraying Nanika, by sending her away.

Here is this little girl with a bloodstained past, incredibly powerful and dangerous and capable of amazing feats, treated as some evil thing by those who fear her. But she is kind at heart. Her true strength lies in healing, not killing. And she only takes commands from Killua.

Illumi thinks this is because Killua is the only one with control over her. Killua believes this is because she wants praise. They're both partially correct, but this is not the full reason Nanika does what Killua asks of her.

[ID: Two screenshots from episode 146 of the 2011 anime. In the first, Nanika smiles and says "I love Killua." In the second, Killua looks at her, stricken. End ID.]

Nanika loves him. Everyone has been trying to figure out all these complicated rules and conditions on her wish granting and why Killua is the one exception, but the answer is exceedingly simple. She loves him, and wants to do nice things for him so he can have his wishes granted. It's the only way she knows to get the love that she wants in turn.

Just like her brother, Nanika makes herself useful to earn love and appreciation from someone who accepted her when no one else did.

Even though he knows Nanika just wants to help, he still sees her presence as a danger to the person he sees as pure and innocent who must be protected. He sends her away because her "nature" is to be a threat to Alluka's safety, even if she doesn't intend to be. Killua's fear of Illumi and repercussions causes him to make a horrible mistake.

And Alluka tears into him for it.

[ID: A set of panels from HxH chapter 336. A furious Alluka glares and asks Killua if he made Nanika cry. When Killua stutters, she demands he apologize to her. End ID.]

You tell him, girl.

Oh hey, this looks a little familiar, huh?

"Apologize to Killua!" says Gon to Illumi after Illumi sends Killua away.

Nanika should not be the one punished for the actions of those trying to control her. She certainly shouldn't be forced to leave those she loves, or have to earn love from them.

And neither should Killua.

[ID: Three panels from HxH chapter 336. Alluka yells, tears in her eyes, "If you're going to protect me... you have to protect Nanika too!!" Killua looks shocked, then his eyes widen. End ID.]

It's interesting to me that this is the line that snaps Killua out of his fear enough for him to properly speak with Nanika and apologize. One party cannot receive all the protection, nor can the other only give and give limitlessly.

Killua makes it clear to Nanika when speaking with her that he will protect her, and that she doesn't need to earn affection from people by granting their wishes. He promises they will both be there for each other - Killua will praise her whenever she wants, and not just when she does something for him, but he also doesn't refuse Nanika's desire to grant his wishes. It's mutual, not conditional.

And on the heels of this "betrayal", Killua asks for what he never thought he could receive - forgiveness. And even though Nanika is clearly still very upset...

[ID: Two screenshots from episode 146. In the first, Nanika and Killua face each other, both of them teary. Nanika says "Kay." In the second, he has pulled her into a hug. Nanika is teary, her fingers gripping Killua's back tightly. End ID.]

...she doesn't even have to think about it.

I do think Killua still has a ways to go, but he is in a position right now to learn from his relationship with his sisters about balance - that love is not just selfless devotion, but also allowing those who love you to help you and make you happy too. I think that's what unconditional love is, in a way - supporting and working together with the people you love to make each other's wishes come true.

[akai-anna]

A neat little thing that I love from movie 4 (Captured in Her Eyes): in Tropical Land, Conan’s outfit echoing Shinichi’s iconic outfit.

This is The Outfit. Everyone who knows DetCo, Knows It, Remembers It.

And I love how Conan’s outfit has the same colours and casual, cozy feel of it. From the light blue of his shorts, through the yellow-green combo with the blue accent of his top (EVEN THE ORANGE APPEARS ON HIS SKATEBOARD!!!), to his iconic red sneakers!

The movie starts and ends in Tropical Land, and I absolutely adore how you can visually see the connection through his outfit.

[a-host-of-dancing-daffodils]

Okay Have some more shots of Poirot from 11.1 Mrs. McGinty's Dead because I Have Got It Bad For That Old Man & I Don't Care Who Knows It

Okay firstly? the LIGHTING in this scene are you KIDDING ME?? SO GOOD

Also He's So SHAPED

He smile :))))

Also I love it when he does that little *leans forward* thing:

& his Profile? okay? like. ???

He's just. Such a Good Looking Old Man

okay thank you for your attention

[sherlock-is-ace]

very important question... who wants to give me $120usd + whatever the shipping to argentina costs + whatever my goverment wants to charge in taxes so I can get the Sherlock Holmes Lego book nook that's coming out in June? dkjhgdkg

It's so cute! and the little figures are adorable!! It comes with a black Irene Adler with a real cute dress and a street urching they've named Paige 🥺

[creatureprofessor]

and yes, while i love this show dearly, i can also see where someone might draw the line that it's getting too scary/grim/gruesome for them, so I told my parents a bunch of times, even b4 showing them the 1st episode that it's gonna get worse from here (not in quality tho!) and they decided to stick around until ep8, and we agreed that okay, they won't stick around for the majority of the characters dying, people getting eaten and such, it's sufficient enough if I summarize the rest. They know what they'll miss like this (excellent acting and dialogues) but I didn't want to impose anything on them and ruin their holiday mood.

They already humored me & my enthusiastic efforts at subtitling enough, and I'm grateful for that. And after all, they did think the show itself is good, only that it's not their cup of tea towards the end. My father even said that some dialogues felt quite Shakespearean to him & that Crozier's speech at the hanging in ep8 was particularly good and well-acted.

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑. (𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧)

lily forces her help on james after discovering an unsent letter he wrote to you at the end of last year. it doesn’t exactly go as planned.

CW | characters are 17-18, lily is the best wingman, banter on banter, MDNI AFTER A CERTAIN POINT (there is a separate warning before it begins)

james potter x fem!reader | 18.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

AN | and so, 1-100 comes to an end, thank you so much to everyone who’s kept up with reading and supporting this series, i love you guys sm !! 🫶

There’s something about stepping back into the Great Hall after a summer away that always makes your stomach twist.

Maybe it’s the grandeur of it—four long house tables glittering under a sky enchanted to mirror the fading twilight—or maybe it’s the realisation that this is it. Seventh year. Your last first feast at Hogwarts. You glance around at the familiar faces, older now, and think how quickly everything’s changed, and how much it hasn't at all.

The Gryffindor table is buzzing, voices overlapping as friends greet each other, chatter about summer holidays, and sneak wary glances at the staff table where the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is already under intense scrutiny. You sit between Lily and Dorcas, with Marlene just opposite, her chin in her hand as she eyes the new teacher with suspicious intensity.

“I’m giving him a two weeks before he loses his temper,” Marlene says, not even blinking. “One, if he’s already had a mental breakdown before arriving,”

“You’re just bitter because Professor Lome never liked your essays,” Dorcas points out, stealing a bread roll from the centre plate before anyone else can. “He gave me full marks on that piece about curse detection,”

You’re half-listening, mostly looking around the room. It’s the same as ever, and yet not. Everyone’s taller. Slightly leaner. Tired in that way only seventeen-year-olds on the cusp of adulthood can be. The weight of NEWTs, of future plans, of knowing this is your last go at all of it.

The buzz of the hall dies down as Professor McGonagall stands at the staff table. The sorting ceremony has already taken place—little first-years blinking up at the ceiling, clutching their house badges like lifelines—and now it’s time for the usual announcements.

“Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts. A particular welcome to our first-years, who I hope will find these halls as challenging and rewarding as the generations before them,”

You tune out a bit as she goes through the basics: forbidden forest is still forbidden, Zonko’s products are still banned, and any students caught brewing illegal potions will be given detention and a strongly worded letter home.

Then, she straightens, and there's a tiny spark in her eye that sets everyone leaning forward.

“And now, I’m pleased to announce this year’s Head Boy and Head Girl of Gryffindor. A pair who will, I trust, represent the house and the student body with diligence and pride. Please join me in congratulating Lily Evans and James Potter.”

Silence.

Then—

“What?” Dorcas shrieks before she can stop herself, hand flying to cover her mouth.

Lily’s face is a perfect blend of composed and internally screaming. You can see it in the way she holds her posture just a touch too rigidly, in the slight widening of her eyes.

A few seats down, James has frozen. Mid-sip of pumpkin juice. You think he might choke on it.

The hall erupts in applause, mostly polite, some genuine. The Gryffindor table is particularly vocal—Sirius is cheering obnoxiously loud, Remus is clapping with amused restraint, and Peter looks like someone just told him Christmas has come early.

“Head Boy?” Marlene mouths, turning to stare at you and Lily like you’ve both gone mad. “Him?”

You glance at Lily, who is clearly experiencing an existential crisis in real-time.

James slowly sets his goblet down. “I—what?” he says weakly. “Me?”

“I… wasn’t told,” Lily says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I knew I got Head Girl, McGonagall owled me over the summer, but—him?”

You smother a laugh. “You okay, Lils?”

She glares at you. “No.”

James, for his part, finally seems to have processed the information. He sits a little straighter, shoulders back, trying for composed but mostly looking like he might be sick.

“I’m already Quidditch Captain,” he mutters to Sirius, who slaps him on the back with far too much enthusiasm.

“You’ll be brilliant,” Sirius grins. “Just think—power, responsibility, and even more excuses to boss people around.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You do realise it’s actual work, right? Prefect meetings, patrols, schedules…”

James pales slightly. “Bloody hell,”

You and the girls settle back into your seats as the feast begins properly. Food appears across the tables in a shimmer of golden light, and the scent of roast chicken and buttered potatoes fills the air. For a while, everyone’s distracted—eating, catching up, stealing sips of pumpkin juice between bites. The announcement lingers in the air though, rippling down the table in whispered disbelief and mild chaos.

You poke at your roasties, thoughts elsewhere. You’re happy for Lily—Head Girl is so her. She’s meticulous, clever, endlessly fair. But James? It’s not that he’s a bad student—he’s clever when he applies himself—but his reputation precedes him. Pranks. Detentions. A casual disregard for rules that somehow charmed most of the school and irritated the rest. You look down the table to where he’s now loudly panicking about his term planner.

“He’s actually worried about having too much to do,” Marlene says, eyebrows raised. “Is this a new personality shift or did he hit his head over the summer?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dorcas says through a mouthful of carrots. “Maybe this’ll actually knock the arrogance out of him. Or at least make him too busy to be annoying,”

Lily just stabs a pea with unnecessary force. “I’m going to murder Dumbledore.”

You snort, covering it with a cough. “Think of it this way—you get to boss him around,”

“Please,” she says dryly, “he’ll talk about the Marauders and Quidditch and I’ll be asleep by the third sentence,”

You laugh properly at that, and the sound feels good. Light. Familiar.

Marlene leans closer, dropping her voice. “Anyway, more important question—have you had any more letters?”

You blink. It takes you a second to realise what she’s referring to.

“Oh,” you say, slowly. “No. Not since the last one. You know, the one I got right before term ended,”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that means they’re all about to jump in.

“You’ve still got them, don’t you?” Dorcas says, eyes narrowing.

“Of course she does,” Lily says before you can speak. “She practically laminated the bloody things,”

You shove her shoulder with yours. “I did not. I just… kept them. They were nice,”

“Nice?” Marlene repeats. “They were poetry. Like, actual effort. Not ‘fancy you, meet me in the broom cupboard’—actual, personal, stupidly romantic letters,”

Dorcas sighs dreamily. “Still can’t believe we never figured out who it was. No hints? Nothing?”

You shake your head, and try not to let your disappointment show too much. “They just… stopped. That last one before summer hols—it was like a goodbye. Like they didn’t know what else to add,”

“Bit tragic,” Lily says softly, and despite her sarcasm earlier, you hear the real sympathy in it.

You shrug, reaching for a second helping of Yorkshire pudding to hide the sudden ache in your chest. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I didn’t even know who they were,”

“But they knew you,” Dorcas says. “Really well, apparently,”

The words make something twist inside you. Because she’s right.

Whoever they were, they did know you. The letters had come at your lowest points last year—when the pressure of coursework, the drama with Severus, and everything else felt like too much. Each letter had felt like a lifeline, like someone reaching across the void just to remind you that you weren’t invisible.

You miss that. You miss them.

“I just thought maybe,” you say quietly, “there’d be another one waiting. When we got back,”

The silence around your little corner of the table grows thick with understanding. No one says anything for a moment. Then Lily bumps your knee under the table.

“Well,” she says, with the kind of finality only she can manage, “maybe they’re just waiting for the right time,”

You nod, but you don’t believe it. Not really.

The conversation moves on. Marlene brings up the new Hogsmeade permission rules (apparently no more ‘mysterious illnesses’ to get out of going—thanks to a Slytherin who faked being poisoned last year). Dorcas starts planning the best window seat in the common room for her study spot, and Lily starts stress-talking about her NEWT timetable.

But your thoughts don’t quite leave the letters.

You wonder where they are now—your mystery writer. If they’re even still thinking about you. If they’re watching you across the Great Hall, debating whether or not to start again.

You hope so.

Even if you don’t say it out loud, not even to Lily.

Even if you’re pretending not to look toward the other end of the table for who it might be.

—

It becomes a weekly ritual. Every Wednesday night, Lily Evans storms back into the Gryffindor common room around ten-thirty, throws herself onto the armchair closest to the fire, and launches into a detailed monologue about the trials and tribulations of patrolling the corridors with James Potter.

And every Wednesday night, you, Marlene, and Dorcas do your best not to laugh too obviously.

“He just won’t shut up,” Lily declares one evening, halfway through untangling her scarf from her hair. “Every corridor, every stairwell, it’s Quidditch this, Marauders that—and not even mildly interesting Marauder tales. No, no. Apparently Sirius once managed to transfigure a Slytherin’s tie into a snake and got away with it by pretending it was a defence demonstration. That’s what I have to listen to for two hours,”

Dorcas, stretched out on the rug with a textbook balanced on her stomach, snorts. “Honestly, sounds like quality entertainment,”

“You do realise he’s trying to impress you, right?” Marlene adds, not looking up from her Ancient Runes homework.

Lily looks personally offended. “By telling me about how many nosebleeds they’ve collectively caused in the name of house pride?”

“Maybe he thinks violence is your love language,” Dorcas offers with a shrug.

You laugh softly but say nothing. Lily rolls her eyes and turns to you, as she often does.

“You would die. Honestly. You should swap with me sometime just to understand the suffering.”

“I’m not a prefect,” you remind her, amused.

She huffs. “Tragic. You’d actually hold a decent conversation. Meanwhile, I’ve learnt the entire 1974 Quidditch Cup roster twice, and I don’t even like Quidditch,”

Still, she doesn’t ask for a trade from any of the actual prefects. And despite the complaints, she never actually seems to loathe their time together—frustrated, yes. Exhausted, absolutely. But somewhere beneath it all is a sort of resigned affection she doesn’t quite admit to.

You often sit by the fire after she’s done ranting, book in your lap, mind somewhere else entirely.

Because while Lily battles James's endless rambling about goal strategies and prank logistics, your thoughts drift to the letters again and again.

You miss them.

More than you like to admit.

Even now, months after the last one, you still half-expect to find something tucked inside your Transfiguration book. Or a note slid under your pillow. That hopeful little ache has never quite gone away. You know it’s silly—it’s been so long, it’s probably over—but that connection, however brief and anonymous, was something you’d never really had before.

Whoever wrote those letters saw parts of you you didn’t think anyone noticed. They wrote like they knew what you needed to hear before you even knew it yourself.

And now… it’s just silence.

—

It’s late December when Lily finds it. Just a few days shy of the Christmas Holidays, when the castle starts to shift into that enchanted, warm glow of the holidays. Wreaths bloom along the walls, garlands wrap the banisters, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke.

It’s snowing outside, but the halls are still humming with end-of-term energy—homework, holiday plans, and whispered excitement about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

Lily’s rifling through James Potter’s satchel.

To be fair, she asked him where the patrol rota was, and he told her—somewhere in his bag. He’s halfway through an apple and elbow-deep in a discussion with Remus about whether or not the Gryffindor team needs a strategy change after Christmas.

She pulls out quills, broken Sugar Quill sticks, crumpled bits of paper, at least two spare ties, and—at the very bottom—a small, folded piece of parchment.

Gold foil.

Your name on the front.

She freezes.

It’s unmistakable. The handwriting is the same elegant, slanted script you used to show them, the same ink, the same careful fold. But this letter has never reached you.

Her eyes widen. Her breath catches.

She looks up at James.

Still talking.

Still completely unaware that in one careless second, he’s just given everything away.

Lily takes the letter. Quietly. Carefully. She tucks it into her robe pocket and says nothing. Not yet.

But she watches him all night. She watches the way his gaze flickers towards you sometimes across the common room. The way he gets unusually quiet when your name comes up.

Later that night, in the corridor outside the common room, she pounces.

“James.”

He jumps. “Bloody—Evans, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She crosses her arms. “I need to ask you something,”

“Okay…?”

She pulls the letter from her pocket.

He stops breathing.

“Is this yours?”

He tries—tries—to play dumb.

“I—uh—never seen that before in my life.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“No? Oh well, guess i’ll deliver it myself then,”

The way James snatches the letter from her hands you’d think it was his lifeline. It kind of was. “Don’t you dare—”

She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then:

“It was you.”

He nods, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“You were writing the letters all last year. All that time. While she was agonising over who it was.”

Another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I—” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I panicked, alright? I was going to. I really was. The last letter—I wrote it to finally tell her. Then I just… I bottled it. It felt too big. Too serious. I didn’t think she’d… you know. Want me.”

Lily stares at him.

“You absolute moron.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“She’s been miserable for months. She kept waiting for another letter, hoping you’d write again. Do you have any idea how much she—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“I didn’t think she liked me,” James mutters. “I mean, properly. Not just the letters. And not after everything—after how I was in fifth year—”

“You’ve changed.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if that matters.”

Lily looks at him, and something softens.

“It does. And for what it’s worth, I think she would want to know. But—” She holds up a finger before he can respond. “—If you want to be a coward, I won’t say a word. But if you want my silence, you’re going to have to make it worth it.”

James straightens. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll keep your secret—for now. But only if you actually do something about it. No more hiding. No more waiting. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me.”

James looks like someone’s just told him he has a shot at the World Cup.

“You’ll help me?”

She nods. “But only because I’m tired of watching her mope around like a ghost every time she checks her pillow for a letter that never comes.”

His expression shifts—hope blooming like a star behind his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, determined now. “Deal.”

Lily smiles.

—

The Christmas holidays was an odd time for both Lily and James. While a welcome respite from the usual whirlwind of school activities, they brought their own pressures. For Lily, it was the mounting anticipation of how to pull off her bold plan, and for James, it was the dawning realisation that he might just have a chance with you—but only if he didn’t screw it up.

It started innocently enough: a stack of parchment and a quill. The first few letters between them were brief and clumsy, full of the usual banter that you’d expect from James Potter. But with Lily’s encouragement and careful advice, his words began to take shape. She steered him, nudging him in the right direction.

There were moments of frustration—James was a disaster with anything that wasn’t a Quidditch strategy or prank, and this was, in his mind, far too serious to be a joke. But Lily stuck by him, offering a steady hand when his confidence faltered, teaching him how to make the words meaningful.

The tone of the letters shifted as they continued. At first, James wrote about what he thought you would want to hear—grand gestures, over-the-top declarations that, in hindsight, seemed ridiculous. But Lily patiently worked through them with him, showing him that it wasn’t about showiness—it was about connection. The real connection. The sort of connection that wasn’t about impressing you with his charm, but letting you see who he really was. She made him laugh, made him reflect on his own growth, and made him understand that this wasn’t just some passing fancy.

Their letters became a sort of symbiotic process. James would write something a bit too much, and Lily would dial it back with a comment about being too self-deprecating or too dramatic. He’d write again, taking into account her feedback. Then, Lily would send him back something that was genuinely thoughtful about what he could say to you—subtle things like, “She likes someone who listens, not just talks,” and “Remember, be genuine. It’s okay to be nervous.”

They’d find themselves exchanging letters, not just for the sake of figuring out what to say to you, but out of a shared sense of friendship, a bond that neither of them had expected to form.

They started to know each other better—not just as the Head Girl and the Head Boy, but as two people who were learning to be better versions of themselves. James began to appreciate Lily in a way that went beyond admiration—he respected her, her intelligence, her patience. She had a depth to her that he hadn’t quite realised before.

And Lily, for her part, couldn’t deny that James was more than just the loud, arrogant Quidditch star he used to be. He was thoughtful. He was kind. And beneath that cocky exterior, he was actually a lot more humble than anyone gave him credit for.

—

When the holidays ended and the students returned to Hogwarts, the air was thick with a sort of nervous energy. It was a fresh start after weeks away, and the school had a distinct feeling of a new term—new opportunities, new resolutions. It was also, for Lily, the moment when the plan she had been quietly constructing would need to unfold in full force.

As they returned to their regular routines, Lily began her work behind the scenes. It started innocently enough—casual conversations in the corridors, the library, and the common room. She would slip in little details about James—never overtly, but just enough to plant the seed in your mind.

“Did you hear about James helping that first-year with their transfiguration homework? I swear, he’s actually really good at it when he puts his mind to it,”

You had glanced up from your own work at the mention of James's name, frowning a little, because honestly, you hadn’t thought about him much. Not lately. He’d been busy with Quidditch, as usual. You couldn’t deny, though, that the idea of him being helpful—genuinely helpful—sounded out of character, even for him.

Over the next few days, Lily casually dropped more snippets into conversations. “James, honestly, I’m impressed with how he’s handled being Head Boy. He really seems to be taking it seriously. Even with Quidditch on his plate, he always makes time to help out,” She’d speak with genuine admiration, her voice unconsciously laced with warmth whenever she spoke of him.

At first, you dismissed it. It was all so subtle—so carefully orchestrated—that you barely noticed it happening. But the more Lily spoke, the more you began to pay attention.

One afternoon, you were walking down the corridor to the library when you spotted James on the far side of the hall, surrounded by first-years. You were about to look away when you saw him gently helping one of them with a stack of books, his hands steady, his voice low and encouraging. A completely different side to the usual cocky, mischief-driven James Potter. You’d never seen him like this before. You’d never seen anyone so engaged in something so simple.

That night, when you sat with the girls, Lily mentioned it casually. “James was really great today, helping the first years carry their books. He’s definitely grown up. It’s funny, isn’t it? We always think of him as the prankster, but there’s so much more to him than that. Honestly, I’m starting to see him in a new light,”

You were about to say something dismissive—something that would push the conversation away. But then, you stopped. There was something in the way she said it, so earnestly, that made you pause.

“Why do you keep talking about him like that?” Dorcas asked, raising an eyebrow at Lily.

Lily didn’t even bat an eyelash. She was smooth. “Why? What do you mean? He’s really changed, that’s all,”

“She has a bit of a point,” You immediately regret backing Lily. Why did you say that?

You weren’t sure what was happening to you. Why, when you closed your eyes that night, did your thoughts drift to James? Why, when you caught his smile in the corridor, did your heart feel like it skipped a beat? Why did you feel the need to brush your hair just right every time you passed him?

What was Lily doing to your head?

—

Lily Evans was a lot of things. Bright. Commanding. Intimidating when she wanted to be. But above all else, she was strategic. And once she caught on to the fact that you had—finally—developed something resembling a real, actual crush on James Potter, it was game over. For you.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“You need a break,” she said, as if that weren’t a suspicious statement from someone who had spent the last week stress-annotating every page of her Arithmancy textbook.

You glanced at her warily. “A break from what?”

“Studying. The common room. Yourself.” She sipped her tea primly. “We’re going to the library,”

“You think the library is a break?”

“Yes, because you’re not going alone this time,” she said. “We’ll revise together,”

You narrowed your eyes. “You hate revising with other people,”

“I don’t hate it,”

“You said—and I quote—‘group studying is a punishment for introverts who can’t read in silence.’”

Lily gave you her best innocent expression. “Wow. That doesn’t sound like me at all,”

Still, she wore you down. As she often did. And twenty minutes later you were being marched into the library under the pretense of productivity.

You weren’t entirely sure when you’d clocked it. Maybe it was the faint hum of nerves in Lily’s step, or the way she seemed to be leading you rather than walking beside you. But then you turned the corner near the back tables, and there he was.

James Potter. Sat alone at a table by the window, sunlight catching on his hair like it was doing it on purpose. His head was bowed, pencil tapping rhythmically against his lip as he read, and for once he looked almost serene. Normal. Thoughtful.

“Oh,” Lily said, not even bothering to feign surprise. “James. Didn’t see you there,”

He looked up, blinking at the both of you, then smiled—wide and easy. “Hey. Fancy running into you two,”

You turned to Lily with a look. She smiled sweetly and gestured to the empty chairs. “Plenty of room. Come on,”

You gave her a long-suffering sigh, but joined them. You didn’t miss the way James straightened up a little when you sat down. Or how he nudged his textbook closer to make space.

“We’re reviewing Potions,” Lily said, as if that was the plan all along. “James, you’re good at Potions, right?”

He gave a modest shrug. “Decent. Do you need help?”

She said nothing. Just looked at you. Pointedly.

“…Sure,” you mumbled, flipping open your book. “Why not.”

—

Later that week, it happened again.

You and Lily were walking down toward Herbology, cutting across the greenhouses when a burst of motion caught your eye near the Quidditch pitch.

James was there. Not flying, not showing off—but hovering gently just above the grass, alongside a very nervous-looking first year. The kid was wobbling on their broom, fists clenched white around the handle.

“Easy now,” James called, encouraging but calm. “Keep your knees loose. You’re thinking too hard. Let the broom do the work,”

“Is that Potter?” you asked, squinting.

Lily followed your gaze and made a noise like she’d just noticed. “Oh, yeah. I think he’s mentoring first years this term. Sweet, right?”

You turned back toward him. The wind ruffled his hair, and he reached out to steady the kid’s broom with a gentle hand, his voice low and kind and patient. It was… not a side of him you saw often. Or ever.

Your stomach did a thing.

Lily nudged you. “You’re staring,” she sang under her breath.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m observing,” you said flatly. “For science.”

“Sure. For science,”

—

By the third encounter, you were onto her.

This time, Lily “forgot” her notes in the Divination tower and asked you to come with her to get them. But when you reached the corridor, who was leaning against the wall chatting with Professor Sinistra?

That’s right.

James bloody Potter.

“…Hi?” he said, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Lily acted delighted. “Oh! James! What’re you doing up here?”

“Dropping off the star charts for Astronomy club,” he replied.

Lily gasped. “Look at you. Responsible and helpful,”

You turned your head slowly, muttering under your breath. “You planned this,”

“I absolutely did not,” Lily said, far too brightly.

You stared.

She smiled wider.

James, to his credit, just looked confused.

And maybe—maybe—a little hopeful.

—

Later, in the common room, you finally snapped.

“You’re setting me up,” you accused.

Lily beamed, completely unbothered. “Yes. And you’re welcome,”

“I didn’t ask for your interference,”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the sofa. “No, but I got tired of watching you pretend not to like him every time he breathed in your direction. So I decided to help you skip to the part where you realise he’s more than just a pretty face with Quidditch shoulders,”

You covered your face with a groan.

“Oh come on,” she said. “You like him,”

“No.”

“You do,”

You peeked between your fingers. “He was really sweet with that first year,”

Lily smirked. “I know,”

You slumped further into the cushions. “I hate how well this is working,”

“I’m a genius,” she said modestly.

And honestly? She kind of was.

—

It wasn’t long before Lily noticed that she didn’t have to nudge you in James's direction anymore. You started coming to her with your own observations. It started innocently enough.

“Did you see James helping that second-year with her Transfiguration homework today?” you asked, as you sat in the Gryffindor common room one chilly evening. “It was kind of… sweet,”

Lily's lips twitched in a knowing smile, but she hid it behind the book she was pretending to read. “Oh, really?” she asked casually, though her voice was laced with an almost imperceptible hint of amusement. “That sounds like him,”

And then, the more you noticed these things, the more you found yourself noticing him. The way his hair always fell in that messy way, no matter how much he tried to push it back. The way his eyes seemed to light up when he was talking about something he loved—Quidditch, of course, but also the way he spoke about his friends, his teammates. His honesty, unpolished but real. How, after all these years, you hadn’t truly seen him for what he was—someone who, despite his flaws, actually tried to do the right thing, even when he didn’t have to.

The realisation hit you slowly, like a wave creeping up the shore. You liked James Potter. You were attracted to him.

And that made you feel insane.

—

It was a Tuesday, and the usual hustle and bustle of Potions class filled the air as students shuffled into the dimly lit dungeon. You were seated next to Lily as usual, one row behind the Marauders, but that day, for some reason, your focus was nowhere near the task at hand. You were supposed to be preparing a Draught of Living Death, but your eyes kept straying to James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who were across the room, clearly engaged in some kind of prank plan.

It wasn’t even subtle. They were making faces at each other, stifling laughs, and it was so obvious that Professor Slughorn wasn’t even pretending to ignore them. You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you watched James pass something to Sirius behind his cauldron, a quick handoff of some joke ingredient that was almost certainly going to explode in someone’s face.

“You’re staring again,” Lily pointed out with a grin, her voice low enough so that no one else could hear.

You blinked, realising that she had caught you, yet again. “What? No I’m not, I’m paying attention!” You quickly turned your focus back to your potion, though it was already too late—the glint in Lily’s eyes told you that she knew the truth.

She raised an eyebrow, still looking amused, and shook her head. “It’s okay. I mean, I did call it though,”

You groaned, slumping in your seat, feeling your cheeks flush. “I’m insane,” you muttered to yourself, so quietly that only Lily could hear. “What am I supposed to do? He’s been a complete arse to me for years, and now I’m falling for him? I’m a lunatic. Someone, take me away to Mungo’s. Commit me now. I’m beyond saving,”

Lily’s laughter bubbled up, and she didn’t even try to hide it. “Oh, come on, you’re not insane. You just like him. It’s not the end of the world,”

You shot her a glare. “Lils, I hate him. I have hated him for six years. Six years! He’s loud, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant. And now I want to—what? Be all gooey-eyed at him?”

She shrugged, the smile still dancing on her lips. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know,”

“About him?” you said, pointing dramatically toward James, who was still engaging in some prank or another, his laugh unmistakable even from across the room. “What is wrong with me? Maybe I need a head examination. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about it altogether. Because this? This is crazy,”

Lily laughed again, a sound that was half sympathetic, half mocking. “I think you're being a little dramatic, don't you?”

“Drama's my middle name, Lils,” you muttered, sinking further into your seat, your face growing hot as you tried to ignore the fact that, even now, you could feel the pull of James Potter’s presence across the room. “Ugh. What do I even do? I can’t just talk to him. He’s so annoying. I can’t believe this is happening,”

Lily's tone turned more serious as she leaned a little closer, her voice softening. “Maybe… maybe you should start by just talking to him. Like, really talking. Not about Quidditch or anything that’s just… surface stuff. Maybe actually get to know him, without the whole cocky idiot routine he’s always doing,”

You frowned, looking over at James again, who had just leaned back in his chair, grinning at something Sirius had said. You shook your head, resisting the pull. “I don’t know, Lils. This whole thing is just… confusing,”

Lily sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, I get that. But you know, I think he’s just a little misunderstood. He’s not perfect—he never has been. But… I think he’s worth getting to know. And I don’t think you’d regret it, if you gave him a chance,”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you… are you implying something here?”

Lily raised her hands in mock surrender, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying… you should give him a chance to surprise you,”

You let out a long, dramatic groan. “What is wrong with me? I need help,”

—

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting in the Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore the noise around you. You were perched on the edge of the couch, pretending to study, but your mind was elsewhere entirely. Not on the anonymous love letters, but on James.

How had it happened? How had the most annoying person you’d ever met—someone who had spent years making fun of you, pranking you, and generally being an all-around nuisance—suddenly become someone you were seriously thinking about? It didn’t make sense. And yet, here you were, sighing over him like some lovesick fool.

“Everything okay?” Lily asked, sliding into the seat next to you. She had that familiar, knowing smile on her face—the one that made you feel like she could see straight through you. “You seem distracted,”

You let out a frustrated breath. “I’m an idiot,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “I’m an absolute, utter idiot,”

Lily laughed, clearly enjoying your inner turmoil. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just human,”

“Human, my arse,” you grumbled. “I’m supposed to be in control of my emotions. I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. And instead, I’m obsessing over James Potter. I mean, James Potter. What is wrong with me?”

Lily’s laugh was warm and understanding. She didn’t press you for more, though she did, at the back of your mind, know something you didn’t. She knew that you were slowly starting to see James for who he really was. And she knew that, when the time was right, it wouldn’t take much for him to see you for who you truly were, either.

But for now, all she had to do was sit back and watch the inevitable unfold.

—

By March, the weight of the upcoming mock NEWTs had hit Hogwarts like a bludger to the ribs. The once-lively Gryffindor common room was now filled with students hunched over parchment, quills scratching like beetles in the quiet, anxious air.

Even the usual chaos of the Marauders had simmered into a tense sort of focus—less pranks, more sighing, and an abundance of sugar quills chewed to bits while everyone tried to pretend they weren’t on the verge of collective academic collapse.

You’d taken to escaping the chaos by spending more time in the library, where the silence was less oppressive and the chances of being interrupted were, blessedly, low. There was something grounding about the musty scent of old books, the feel of parchment under your fingers, and the soft rustling of pages turning around you. Here, at least, you could pretend to have control over the mounting panic.

You didn’t expect to see him there.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The sky outside was grey and moody, a typical March sulk, and you’d made your way to the far side of the library looking for a quiet corner. Your bag was heavy on your shoulder, the strap digging into your collarbone, and your fingers were already ink-stained from a particularly ambitious essay you'd abandoned halfway through breakfast.

You turned down one of the aisles and paused.

James Potter sat alone at a study table, bent over a thick Potions textbook, hair sticking up in that ridiculous, familiar way, glasses slightly askew, brows furrowed in concentration. His quill tapped thoughtfully against his lips as he scanned a particularly long paragraph, completely unaware of your presence.

There were no Marauders in sight. No Sirius lolling about with a smirk, no Peter sneaking sweets, no Remus patiently annotating with colour-coded inks. Just James. Quiet. Focused. Normal.

It was weird.

You hovered there, unsure for a moment. James Potter was not someone you’d ever associated with solitude. He belonged in groups. In crowds. Loud, chaotic ones. He was a whirlwind of motion and noise and cheeky grins. But now—

Now, he just looked… Tired. Still. Almost soft.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And then, before your brain could talk your body out of it, you approached.

“Mind if I join you?”

James startled, looking up as though you’d just Apparated beside him. His expression shifted rapidly—surprise, confusion, and then something else entirely. Something warmer.

“Oh. Er—yeah! Yes, absolutely, yeah, course you can,” he stammered, quickly moving his things to make space for you, nearly knocking over his inkpot in the process. “Didn’t expect company,”

“I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you replied, sliding into the seat beside him and placing your books on the table. “Alone, I mean. No gaggle of mischief-makers in tow,”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, I figured I’d actually try to… I don’t know, pass transfiguration this year. Trying this whole ‘focus’ thing,”

You arched an eyebrow. “Look at you. All grown up and responsible,”

He mock-scowled at you. “Don’t make it weird,”

You smiled despite yourself. “I’m stressed about the Potions exam,” you admitted after a moment. “I feel like Slughorn could hand me a list of ingredients and I’d still forget what a bezoar does,”

James gave you a surprised, almost earnest look. “Do you want to revise together? I mean—I’m decent at Potions. Got a weird knack for it. I could help,”

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “You? Helping me revise?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, grinning now. “I can be serious when I want to be,”

“Can you?”

James snorted. “Okay, I try to be,”

You laughed, and somehow that broke the tension. The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm. You started with Potions, him explaining the nuances of antidotes and the precise slicing technique needed for Sopophorous beans.

His explanations were animated—hands gesturing as he talked, voice fluctuating with a kind of earnestness you’d never quite noticed before. It made sense why he was such a good Quidditch captain; there was something undeniably compelling about the way he communicated, even when it was just about brewing Draught of Peace.

He didn't mock you when you forgot something obvious. He didn't interrupt. He listened.

And when your hands brushed across the table, reaching for the same note at the same time, he didn't flinch away. He just smiled.

Then the subject drifted. From Potions to Charms. From Charms to Transfiguration. From school to House gossip to whether centaurs secretly judged the students during Care of Magical Creatures.

Somewhere along the way, the edges between awkward and easy blurred.

There were pauses, of course—comfortable silences where you simply worked, and longer ones filled with light teasing or surprising bursts of genuine conversation. Like when he told you about his mum’s obsession with over-feeding the stray street cat, or how Sirius once bewitched his bed curtains to play harp music every time someone said his name.

It was weird, how easy it was.

It was weirder, still, when you realised you’d lost track of time.

“Blimey,” James muttered, glancing at the high windows. “It’s practically dark out,”

You blinked, checking your watch. “We’re late for dinner,”

“I was supposed to meet the team for a strategy review,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.

As if summoned, Peter popped his head around the shelf with a harried expression. “There you are!” he said to James, and then looked at you, visibly surprised. “We thought you’d fallen in a cauldron or something,”

James gave an apologetic shrug. “Lost track of time,”

Peter eyed the two of you, then turned his gaze back on James and raised his eyebrows very pointedly. “Riiight,”

You and James exchanged a glance, and then you both gathered your things and followed Peter out.

—

When you entered the Great Hall late, your friends were all over you.

“Where were you?” Dorcas asked, half-standing.

“Don’t say the library,” Marlene warned. “We know you left for the library, but you didn’t come back for hours,”

“And with James Potter?” Dorcas added, now openly gaping.

You groaned, sliding into the seat beside Lily. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“It sounds like you two met up for a shag,” Marlene suggested, delighted.

“Absolutely not,” you said, head thunking dramatically onto the table. “He was helping me with potions. That’s all.”

Lily grinned, rubbing your back. “So you finally cracked, then?”

You peeked up at her with a groan. “I can’t stand how smug you look right now,”

Dorcas leaned in eagerly. “Wait—you like him?”

You sighed and sat up. “I begrudgingly have a crush on James Potter. There. I said it. I hate myself. I hate him. I hate everything. Kill me now.”

The table burst into laughter. Marlene actually clutched her chest. “I knew it. You’ve been making heart eyes for weeks,”

Lily looked positively radiant. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s only taken you, what? Seven years?”

You scowled. “This is the worst timeline.”

Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

—

Meanwhile, James was in the middle of a complete overshare.

“I panicked,” he said, flopping dramatically onto Sirius’ bed. “She just walked over and sat down. And then we actually talked. Like properly talked. And she laughed, Sirius. She laughed. At my jokes,”

Sirius grinned from where he was perched at the edge of Remus’s bed. “So you didn’t ruin it. Colour me shocked,”

James threw a pillow at him. “I’m being serious.”

“I’m being Sirius,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus groaned. “Not this again,”

Peter snorted, settling at the foot of his own bed. “So what now? You two just revise together like it’s no big deal?”

“She asked to join me,” James said, like it was still unbelievable. “And I didn’t mess it up. I even helped her with Potions,”

Sirius gave him a sly look. “You like her,”

“Yes,” James said, no hesitation. “Obviously. I’ve liked her for ages. And now she’s actually… noticing me. And it’s terrifying,”

“What happened to cool, confident James Potter?” Remus asked with a faint smile.

“He’s dead.” James exclaimed. “He doesn’t exist,”

Sirius cracked up laughing.

James groaned, grabbing another pillow. “Promise me you lot won’t screw this up for me,”

“Course not,” Remus said. “We want you to be happy,”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered. “I liked it better when he was hopeless,”

But he smiled anyway.

—

From that point on, library sessions became a thing.

At first, it was casual. A few times a week, whenever you happened to run into each other. Then Lily started suggesting you go together—“oh, James said he’d be in the library after dinner, you should head down,”—and it became routine.

You tried to tell yourself it was just studying. That was all.

But it wasn’t.

You and James talked about everything—from exam stress and professors to more personal things. Like how he hated how he used to treat people, especially you and Lily. How he couldn’t believe he’d wasted so much time being a prat. How he’d let his ego make choices he still regretted.

“I was a total wanker,” he said one evening, sitting across from you, fiddling with the end of his quill. “Back when you and Lily were still friends with Snape. I was just… angry all the time. Jealous, maybe. I don’t know. But I was awful. And I’m sorry,”

You blinked. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “That actually means a lot,”

He gave you a small smile. “I just—I want you to know I’m trying. Not just for you. For me, too,”

And you believed him.

Which was maybe the scariest part.

Because this—whatever this was—wasn’t just a passing crush anymore.

You were really starting to fall for James Potter.

—

It was a Friday afternoon, the eve of the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch final, and James Potter was, predictably, in full strategising mode. You’d barely sat down at your usual table in the library before he launched into a spirited rant about formations, wind direction, and something called “chaser rotation efficiency” like he hadn’t just spent the past two hours at practice already barking the same things at his team.

You, meanwhile, were fighting a losing battle against a headache and the slow, creeping guilt of having left your Potions essay untouched for two full days.

“—and I swear if McLaggen swerves left again when I signal right, I’m going to charm his broomstick to fly backwards—”

“I forgot my quill,” you interrupted, sighing dramatically and digging fruitlessly through your satchel. “Great. That’s perfect. That’s exactly what I needed today,”

“Oh—here,” James said, gesturing vaguely to his bag without pausing his train of thought. “There’s loads in there, probably. Knock yourself out,”

You slid his satchel toward you, still only half-listening as he rambled on, now something about wind tunnels and Ravenclaw’s new Keeper. You unzipped the bag and fished around, fingers grazing parchment, a broken sugar quill, and several unidentifiable sticky objects before landing on a whole bundle of rogue writing utensils.

And then—your fingers brushed something else.

Smooth. Firm. Familiar.

You pulled it out.

Gold-foiled parchment.

Your breath hitched.

It was folded and refolded a dozen times over, edges fraying, the once-glossy surface dulled and creased. There were small ink stains on the back. A faint smudge of what might have been chocolate. You didn’t even need to open it to know what it was.

But you did anyway.

You shouldn’t have. You knew that. But your hands acted faster than your brain, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes were scanning the page.

Your name was there, in that now-unmistakable handwriting. The curves and flicks that had haunted your thoughts for nearly a year. And the words—oh, the words. Soft and intimate and so completely James that you were stunned you hadn’t pieced it together before.

I know I said I wouldn’t write you anymore, but I’m afraid I can’t help myself. The truth is, I’ve been terrified of saying it out loud, of giving you something you don’t need or want. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve loved you for so long, in ways that I can’t even put into words. I’ve watched you, really watched you, every day, and I’ve noticed things about you that—

You were halfway through reading it when James looked up from his notes, mid-smirk.

“I know my bag’s a bit of a disaster zone, but come on—it can’t be that hard to find a—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

His smile dropped.

You slowly looked up, the letter still in your hands, your fingers clenched tight around the gold paper. Your voice, when it came, was a whisper. Distant.

“…It was you?”

Silence.

James stared at you.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

You saw it—the flicker of panic, the rapid calculations behind his eyes, the moment he considered denying it.

But he didn’t.

He just nodded. Once. Barely perceptible.

You rose from your seat with a quiet scrape of your chair.

“I— I need to go.”

“Wait—” James started, standing as if to follow you, but you were already gone.

You didn’t look back.

—

James slumped back into his seat like the air had been knocked out of him.

He felt like he might be sick.

He'd known it was a risk. He’d always known. That’s why he never sent that final letter. That’s why he buried it in the bottom of his bag with the other forgotten things. Because if you ever found out…

And now you had.

He ran both hands through his hair and groaned into the table.

Lily found him twenty minutes later, still in the library, head buried in his arms.

“James we need to— What happened?” she asked immediately, sliding into the seat beside him. “You look like someone hexed your soul out,”

James didn’t lift his head.

“She found the letter,”

“…What?”

James groaned again. “I had it in my bag and she went in for a quill and she found it. Read it. Said ‘It was you?’ and then just—left.”

Lily’s eyes widened.

“What? James, that wasn’t the plan—!”

“I know,” he said miserably. “Trust me.”

Lily didn’t wait for more. She stood, grabbed her bag, and strode from the library like a woman on a mission.

—

She found you in the girls’ dormitory, door slightly ajar, the room quiet except for the faint rustle of parchment and the erratic, uneven sounds of your breathing.

The gold-letter lay open on your duvet, surrounded by all the other ones you’d carefully saved. The edges were frayed and thumbed from how often you’d reread them, but now they were scattered like fallen leaves, forming a halo around your crossed legs.

You didn’t look up when Lily entered.

She sat beside you quietly.

For a while, there was only the sound of your sniffles and the occasional tear hitting paper.

“I feel insane,” you said eventually, voice shaking. “I— I didn’t think— I never imagined it would be him,”

Lily reached out gently, plucking a letter from the bedspread. “You mean to tell me you never noticed the handwriting?”

“I never thought to look,” you mumbled. “Why would I? It was James Potter. He was—he was awful for so long,”

“But he isn’t now,”

You looked at her then, eyes red, lips trembling. “No. He’s not,”

There was a long pause.

Lily tilted her head. “You really like him, don’t you?”

You groaned, flopping backwards onto your pillow with a dramatic sigh. “I guess! I don’t—I didn’t think I did, not like that, not really, not until recently, and now—now I don’t know what to do, Lily,”

Lily smiled gently. “It’s okay. It’s… a lot. I know that,”

“It’s so much,” you moaned. “It’s like my brain is having a meltdown. All the letters—I loved the letters, and now they’re his letters and it’s like this huge secret just blew up in my face and I think I want to cry but also yell but also maybe kiss him and I don’t know what order those things go in!”

Lily laughed softly. “That’s the grief talking,”

You sniffled. “Grief?”

“Yeah,” she said solemnly. “The five stages of realising you’ve been in love with James Potter,”

You gave her a look.

“I’m serious. Denial—you definitely had that one early. Anger? You stormed out of the library. Bargaining—we’re doing that now. Depression is when you go quiet and start rereading all his letters while questioning your entire existence. And acceptance—well,”

“I’m not at acceptance yet,” you insisted, even as your voice wobbled. “I’m still in a very dramatic spiral,”

“You’ll get there,” Lily said kindly. “Just… breathe, okay? You’re allowed to freak out. But this—this doesn’t have to be bad,”

“He lied to me,”

“He didn’t lie,” Lily said gently. “He just… couldn’t find the courage to tell you the truth,”

You fell quiet, chewing your lip. “Was this your plan all along?”

Lily hesitated. “Not this exact ending, but… I knew. For a while. And I may have nudged things along,”

You groaned again, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. “You kept it from me?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell,”

You peeked out. “He’s really upset, isn’t he?”

“Like a kicked puppy,”

—

James was falling apart.

The Marauders tried their best to be supportive.

Which, unfortunately, amounted to Sirius offering him chocolate, Remus recommending deep breathing exercises, and Peter saying things like, “Well, at least it’s out now?”

“Out?” James choked. “It’s out like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a greenhouse! She’s going to hate me,”

“You’re being dramatic,” Sirius said. “She likes you. Even I can see that,”

“She liked the version of me who wrote the letters,” James said. “Not the idiot who shoved them in a bag and hoped they never saw the light of day,”

“She liked you, mate,” Remus corrected. “You were being yourself in those letters. You just… didn’t know how to show it in person,”

James rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

“No,” Sirius said, surprisingly firm. “Not unless you give up now,”

James looked at him.

“You’ve come this far. She knows now. You can’t back down. Not unless you’re okay with always wondering what would’ve happened if you tried,”

James took a deep breath.

“I want to try,”

“Then try,” Remus said, clapping him on the shoulder.

—

You stayed up most of the night rereading the letters.

Every word hit differently now.

The soft musings. The little jokes. The genuine awe in the way he’d described you.

James Potter had written them all.

And somehow, that made your heart hurt in the most complicated, overwhelming, real way.

By morning, your mind was no clearer—but you knew one thing.

You needed to talk to him.

—

James didn’t wake up until nearly noon.

He jolted upright in bed with a strangled noise, heart racing, hair a chaotic mess of pillow creases and stress, the realisation slamming into his chest like a Bludger—he’d missed practice.

He’d missed practice.

On the day of the finals.

There was a beat of stunned silence in the common room, broken only by Peter’s stifled gasp as James scrambled down the stairs, knocking over a chair, his wand, and nearly himself in his blind panic.

“Shit—shit—shit—”

“James, mate, calm down,” came Sirius’s voice, too calm, too amused for the situation.

“I missed practice, Sirius! Finals practice! I'm the captain! I was supposed to run drills, go over the formations—McLaggen was probably leading it, and now the team’s going to think I don’t give a damn—”

“Breathe,” Remus added, flicking his wand to fix James’ mess of a hairdo mid-spiral.

“I can’t—breathe! I should be—kicked off the team, I should sub myself out—”

At that, Sirius sat up properly, ruffling a hand through his dark hair. “Okay, whoa, no. What are you on about?”

James didn’t answer. He was halfway dressed, chest still heaving, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even fasten the buttons.

“I mean it,” he muttered, voice lower now, harsher. “Maybe I shouldn’t play,”

“You’re literally the best Chaser in the school,” Peter said, face scrunched in confusion.

“I’m also a disaster. You didn’t see her face yesterday. She looked—like I’d broken her, or something. I can’t concentrate, I can’t think—I can’t lead the team if my brain’s stuck on whether or not I’ve ruined the only real shot I had with her,”

“James,” Sirius said carefully, sitting on the edge of one of the sofas. “You don’t have to ruin everything just because your crush found out you have feelings,”

James shot him a look. “It’s more than that and you know it,”

Sirius shrugged. “I do. I also know you’re being an idiot,”

“I panicked. I didn’t mean for her to find the letter—”

“No one thinks you did,” Remus said gently.

“Then why did she run?”

Sirius gave him a flat look. “I dunno, maybe because she’s been falling for you and just found out the sweet, romantic mystery boy she’s been dreaming about for a year is the same idiot who hexed her potions cauldron in fourth year? Maybe it was a lot?”

James dropped heavily into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

He muttered something into his palms that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate everything,”

Sirius stood. “You can’t sit this match out, Prongs,”

“I might make things worse,”

“You won’t,” Remus said.

“You’re just scared,” Sirius added. “And you should be. Feelings are terrifying. But you either play today and show her you’re still you, or you hide away and let her think she was right to walk away,”

James didn’t answer.

—

You were pacing the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room like a lunatic.

You’d spent half the night re-reading the letters again, still overwhelmed, still processing, but ultimately—and maybe most importantly—feeling guilty.

You hadn’t meant to run out on him like that. You did still care. A lot. Too much.

So you needed to say something. Maybe not everything. Maybe not a confession, not yet. But something.

You asked a third year if they’d seen James. They hadn’t.

You tried the Quidditch pitch. Empty.

Eventually, you made your way to the prefects dorms, hesitating at the door before quietly pushing it open.

“…sub myself out…”

You froze.

James was sitting on his bed, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, looking like the ghost of himself. Sirius was pacing. Remus and Peter were quiet. And then—

“Oh,” you blurted.

All four heads turned.

You immediately wanted to melt into the floor. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I was just—um—I came to wish you luck. For the match. Lily and I are gonna watch for Marlene, obviously, and I know you were really going on about it yesterday so… yeah.”

Your cheeks were burning. You tugged at the sleeve of your jumper and avoided eye contact like it would save you from death by embarrassment. “Anyway. Yeah. Good luck,”

You turned and practically sprinted out the door, pressing both palms to your face the moment it closed behind you.

Inside, there was a beat of silence.

Then Sirius’s slow, satisfied, “She so likes you,”

James didn’t believe it. But still—he sat up straighter. There was a faint flush in his cheeks, a tiny, hopeful ember reigniting.

He wasn’t going to sub himself out.

Not now he knew you were watching.

—

The match that afternoon was nothing short of brutal.

Ravenclaw had a reputation for smart plays and clever feints, and they came in swinging with strategy and speed. But James was a force. It was like someone had lit a fire under him—every pass was clean, every dodge intentional. He was focused. Sharp. Alive in a way he hadn’t been in days.

The crowd in the stands was on fire.

You’d never really been the biggest Quidditch enthusiast—not like Marlene or even Dorcas, who pretended to be bored most games but secretly had a very complex internal fantasy league ranking system. But today? You were completely, helplessly, entirely invested.

Your throat was raw from shouting. You didn’t even care that Lily kept elbowing you in the ribs every time you shrieked James’s name louder than was probably acceptable for someone not dating him. (Yet.)

“I’m sorry,” you rasped after the sixth time, cupping your hands over your mouth as James executed an absolutely outrageous dive to steal the Quaffle from a Ravenclaw Chaser. “But that was hot. That was so—Lily, did you see that—?”

Lily didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t grinning. “I saw it. The whole pitch saw it. You are so painfully gone for this boy it’s almost tragic,”

You shoved her shoulder, cheeks on fire, unable to wipe the dopey grin off your face. James was glowing—wind-swept, flushed, every movement clean and confident and completely alive. It was unfair how good he looked flying. Like it was something stitched into his DNA.

Gryffindor was ahead. Barely. And the entire stadium was one collective heartbeat waiting for the final move.

It came with a streak of red and gold as the Seeker bolted upward—Marlene’s signature move—and then a roar from the crowd when she clutched the Snitch in her hand, grinning like a maniac.

“Yes!” you and Lily screamed in unison, nearly falling over the bench in front of you.

Below, the team rushed to meet her midair, swarming in a tangle of hugs and back pats, and James—James looked up toward the stands, searching, scanning, finding you.

Your breath caught. He grinned, absolutely beaming, and you—without thinking—grinned back.

—

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing. It looked like every single student in the house had packed themselves in to celebrate the win. There were butterbeers flying, someone had enchanted the couches to bounce like trampolines, and music blasted from one corner where Sirius had commandeered the record player.

You tried to stay off to the side with Lily and the other girls, laughing and pretending to be just another teammate’s supporter, not the girl who had maybe-sort-of-definitely admitted feelings for the captain.

But they were not having it.

“Go talk to him,” Dorcas demanded, poking you hard in the ribs.

“He just won the Cup, obviously you have to congratulate him,” Mary added, dragging you a few steps forward.

“I will! Just—” You resisted, flustered. “I need a second. Or ten.”

You didn’t get ten.

Because moments later, James appeared near the fireplace, sweaty and still in uniform, laughing at something Sirius said, absolutely radiant. And the girls all but shoved you in his direction.

You stumbled a bit, clutching your butterbeer like a life raft. He noticed you instantly.

His smile faltered. Just slightly.

You walked the rest of the way on your own, heart hammering like a snitch in your chest.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” James replied, voice quieter than usual.

You stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sirius, bless his idiotic timing, called from across the room. “Oi! If you’re gonna stare at each other all night, at least do it while snogging! Save us all the agony!”

You blinked. James blinked. Your face caught fire.

You coughed, trying to rally. “Congratulatio—”

“I like you.”

You blinked again. He was staring at you now, so intently, like you were the only person in the room. The words spilled out of him like they’d been waiting on his tongue for weeks.

“A lot. It might not even be liking anymore—I think I might actually be in love with you. Which is terrifying, obviously. I mean, do you know how scary that is? I didn’t mean to say that just now but it’s true and now it’s out there and I can’t take it back and I am so definitely panicking right now what am I doing—”

“James.”

He stopped.

You took a step closer.

“I like you too.”

Silence.

Then James let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh and maybe a choke. “You do?”

“I do,”

“Like, like-like me?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning now. “Do you want me to write it in a letter that I’ll never send to you?”

“Okay, wow,” James let out a short laugh, one your grateful breaks the tension a little. “Too soon, too soon,”

He looks at you with unbridled affection as you return the laugh with an unapologic “Sorry,”, and he can’t seem to help himself.

“We should kiss now, right? Wait—should I have asked that? That sounded stupid—so stupid—oh my God, what is wrong with me, I’m gonna go cry in a corner—”

You interrupted him the only way that made sense.

You kissed him.

He froze for half a second—just long enough to register that it was actually happening—and then he melted into it like he’d been waiting forever. His hands hovered for a moment before settling, warm and firm, at your waist. His mouth was soft, gentle, hesitant in the best way, like he was afraid he’d wake up and realise this was all a dream.

But it wasn’t. It was very, very real.

And, unfortunately, also very public.

“Oi! You’re in public, you know!” came Marlene’s unmistakable cackle from across the room.

You broke the kiss, face flaming as you realised—oh no—everyone had seen.

Like… everyone.

James looked equally shellshocked. You both stared at the cheering, whooping, laughing room of Gryffindors, then at each other.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

James laughed, looping his arms around your shoulders and holding you tight, radiating smug glee.

“No can do,” he said into your hair. “I’ve been waiting years for this,”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he grinned, “you like me anyway.”

You looked up at him. “Unfortunately.”

And yeah, okay—maybe it was chaotic, and soft, and totally unplanned—but your first kiss with James Potter was exactly as ridiculous and wonderful as it should’ve been.

Lily caught your eye across the common room after the commotion of the kiss settled into a hundred knowing glances and too-loud whispers. She made a very obvious, very exaggerated “go!” motion with both hands, then shoved her way across the crowd to reach you.

“We are not doing this in front of thirty nosy Gryffindors,” she said under her breath, looping her arm through yours and all but dragging you toward the dorms.

“Wait, what’s happening—”

“Privacy, darling. Trust me,”

She glanced back at James, who was still slightly dazed, and jerked her head at him. “Potter. Move,”

He blinked. “Yeah—yep—coming.”

“Also,” she added over her shoulder to the room at large, “if anyone so much as breathes near the Head Boy’s dorm in the next hour, I will personally hex your toes off,”

There was a smattering of laughter, but everyone—whether out of respect or fear—gave a collective nod of understanding.

You didn’t even fight her on it. You let her guide you through the winding corridors until James was unlocking the door to his private dorm, a quiet space tucked away on the top floor of Gryffindor Tower.

He stepped aside to let you in first. You walked in slowly, half-expecting something chaotic, like prank supplies or an entire wall of Quidditch posters—but the room was surprisingly clean. A little messy around the edges, sure—a few rogue socks, a quill left in an ink bottle too long—but warm. Lived in. His.

“Your curtains don’t match,” you said, for lack of anything better.

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Peter charmed them once to be the colours of the Weird Sisters and I’ve never managed to get them back properly,”

You nodded slowly. “Cool,”

A pause.

Then—

“You’ve liked me since fourth year?”

It slipped out without warning. You hadn’t meant to say it, not so quickly, but the words burned in your chest. That letter, the gold-foiled parchment, the confession—it was still vibrating through you.

James looked startled, but only for a second. He nodded once, soft and certain.

“Yeah,”

You swallowed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “Because I was a little idiot. Arrogant. Immature. A menace, honestly. You hated me,”

“I didn’t—hate you,”

“You did,”

“…Okay, a little, maybe,”

That made him laugh.

“But honestly— I didn’t think I deserved to like you back then,” he said. “You were smart. And kind. And so real. You were always thinking about things, you saw people. I was just the loud idiot on a broom,”

You were quiet, because hearing it like that—laid out so plainly—made your heart ache.

He was in front of you now, barely a foot away. You thought he was going to kiss you again, but he didn’t.

Instead, James reached up and gently cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs grazing the apple of your cheeks like you were made of glass and starlight. And then he just looked at you. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, “how much you make me feel.”

You couldn’t speak.

So instead, you leaned up and kissed him.

This time, there was no chaos. No crowd. No interruptions. Just you, and James, and the warmth of something blooming between your ribs.

It was slow—achingly so—your lips brushing his like a question. He exhaled into you, a soft, broken sound, and kissed you back like you were the answer.

It was… everything.

The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove itself. One that said: I see you. I’m here. I want this.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, you murmured, “Thank you,”

He pulled back just slightly, brow furrowing. “For what?”

You looked up at him, heart thundering.

“You didn’t make this some huge thing. You didn’t… turn it into a game, or a bet, or something loud and performative. You liked me. And you didn’t hide it, but you didn’t push me either. You just… were. You were you.” You blinked. “Thank you for being you,”

James’s face crumpled just a little, like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other curling behind your neck like he needed the anchor.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“I don’t think you know,” he said hoarsely, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,”

You smiled, dizzy with it all. “Well. Get used to it,”

His lips brushed yours again, so soft it was almost nothing. “I’m really, really in love with you,”

Your breath caught.

“I know,” you whispered.

And then you kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

-MDNI FROM THIS POINT ONWARD.-

It started soft—careful, like you were both still testing the weight of the moment. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, something precious, something he’d been terrified of holding wrong for years. But each time your mouths met again, the kiss deepened. Grew bolder. A little less hesitant. A little more sure.

Your fingers tangled in his hair—so soft, so stupidly soft—and James let out a noise against your mouth that had your heart stuttering in your chest. The hand cupping your cheek slid down, fingers grazing your jaw, your neck, until it found the curve of your waist and settled there, grounding you.

He was warm. Too warm. Like every inch of him was heat and adrenaline and the barely-contained relief of finally, finally having this.

You tugged him closer.

He didn’t hesitate.

Your back met the edge of the desk behind you, his chest flush with yours, and suddenly there was no air left between your bodies. Just the solid, real weight of him—every inch as solid and strong as you’d imagined when he walked through the halls like the sun had chosen him to orbit around. But here, like this, he was just James. And he was looking at you like he could drown in the sight of you.

His thumb brushed along your hipbone, under the hem of your shirt, and your whole body lit up like you’d been cursed—like every nerve ending had just remembered it was alive.

“Are we—?” he started to ask, breathless.

You kissed him again before he could finish. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “But don’t stop,”

James definitely didn’t stop.

His hands wandered with a careful hunger—like he wanted to memorise the shape of you, not just with touch but with reverence. His mouth followed the same path, trailing kisses from the corner of your lips down the line of your jaw to the soft skin beneath your ear. When he whispered your name there, barely audible, your knees buckled.

You gripped his shirt, fisting the fabric at his chest to stay steady. “God, you’re—” You stopped yourself before the rest could fall out, but the look in his eyes said he’d heard the whole thing anyway.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something—maybe something funny, maybe something devastating—but you kissed him before he had the chance. This time slower, more deliberate, your mouths fitting together like puzzle pieces that had always been waiting for the right alignment.

And it worked. Somehow, it just worked.

The kind of kiss that felt like you’d been chasing it your whole life.

James groaned softly into your mouth, and that noise did something catastrophic to your brain. One of his hands slid up your back, fingers spread wide like he was trying to anchor himself to you, and when you opened your eyes for half a second to look at him, you found him already watching you—eyes blown wide with want, with feeling, with everything.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your skin. “For so long,”

James kissed you like a man starved after that—still gentle, always careful, but no longer pulling back.

It was clumsy in places, breathless in others. Too many teeth in one kiss, your shoulder knocking into a stack of textbooks in another. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

You were on fire.

And James was the match, the spark, the sun itself.

At some point, his forehead pressed to yours. You both just breathed. Hard. Laughing softly between gasps, because of course it was James who made kissing this addictive and this stupid.

You were lost in him.

In the feel of every inch of him pressed against you—his hips pinning you to the edge of the desk, his body surrounding you like a forcefield of lean muscle and freckled skin.

Heat was unfurling like liquid fire in your veins, but his mouth still traced over your jawline and across your cheek like he couldn’t stop. Like you were precious.

You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tugging hard enough to bring his gaze back to yours and then holding it, your breath hitching when you caught that look in his eyes, and his hips moved—just once, and just a little—and god, what that did to you. How it sent desire flashing like a lightning bolt down your spine to pool low in your stomach, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from gasping out loud.

His fingers curled around your hips, digging into the soft flesh through your jeans, and then he pulled you closer like he couldn’t get enough. Closer still, until you were practically draped over the desk, your thighs parted and hips flush with his, and he was devouring you—his touch, his kiss, with no sign of being full.

God, he wanted everything.

His hands mapped out the line of your waist, your ribs, your spine, and everywhere you could feel the warm, rough slide of his touch you burned for more. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could feel it pulsing through your skin, and when you rolled your hips up towards his you were just as surprised by the noise you made as James was.

He inhaled sharply, swearing softly, and there would have been time to be embarrassed if you weren’t too busy being turned to mush.

“God that was hot,” James practically breathes out the words, hungry eyes half hidden behind fog-covered lenses as they drag down your body.

He looked utterly ruined already. Hair a mess from you running your fingers through it, shirt rumpled from when you couldn’t keep yourself from touching him. Wanting him.

You reached up to cup his face on impulse, your fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, before sliding your fingers across the arms of his glasses, delicately pulling them from his face. “D’you need these?”

The smirk that spreads across his face is just a little bit smug, but it still does things to you. “Depends,” he said, still breathless. “Are we planning on doing anything that would necessitate me being able to see?”

You laugh, dropping both your voices, and it comes out sounding rough. “Maybe not,” you say, slipping the specs into the front pocket of his shirt. “Do you need to be able to see to kiss me?”

His eyes are half-lidded, and you could count each of his eyelashes from the way he’s looking at you, lips still swollen from a few minutes ago. “No,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his mouth over yours again, “but it does help with the view.”

He took your chin with his finger, tilting your face up so he could take in the sight of you properly. A slow-burning warmth unfurled in your stomach—no, lower than that, and for a few seconds you were both just looking, and it felt almost more intimate than the last few minutes.

“God, you’re… blurry,” he whispered, and you can’t help the sharp laugh that echoes out of your throat.

“Bugger off,” you said, without any real intent behind it. You weren’t even sure why you were acting so shy—maybe you were just overwhelmed by the situation, the feelings, or the way being with James just felt. Whatever the reason, he seemed to find your nervousness amusing.

He chuckled, dipping his head to press a kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, right there at the edge of your jaw where you were softest. “I’m kidding,” he murmured. “I’m nearsighted. And you’re definitely close enough for me to see,”

He pulled back just enough for the smirk to return, the tips of his fingers grazing over the strip of exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waist of your jeans and sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth was still curved in that maddeningly smug smile, but his voice was so low when he continued to talk. “I’m gonna take your shirt off now, okay?”

The question comes out quiet and gentle, but there’s a heat to it too. Asking what you want, asking what you’ll let him have.

You manage a breathless, “okay,” and his gaze is still fixed on you when he lets his hands slide up under your shirt, calloused fingers dancing over the bare skin of your waist.

Every point of contact seemed to sizzle, nerve endings you didn’t even know you had sparking alive beneath his touch. You felt like you were trembling, like every breath hit was a jolt of pure, liquid feeling.

His eyes were still trained on your face as he drew your shirt over your head, gaze drifting across your exposed chest with an unabashed—and kind of feral—kind of reverence. “God, you’re perfect—”

He pressed a kiss to the spot just below your collarbone, and you could feel the rasp of a day’s worth of stubble against your skin, burning down to your very bones. Both his hands splayed across your ribcage, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your body by touch.

You can hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when his fingers catch the edge of your bra, and he’s already murmuring again, his voice a low, wrecked sound against your bare skin. “Can I take this off too?”

You answer by helping him fumble with the hooks, the heat from his skin and his gaze almost too much to bear. By the time it hits the floor somewhere behind you, his mouth has found the delicate, thrumming hollow of your neck, and his hands are wandering lower. Across your stomach, tracing over your curves to slide across your hipbone and dip under the waist of your jeans.

Any coherent thoughts you’d been clinging on to up until this point were gone, lost in a haze of heat and want. Every touch was electric, his mouth searing a path down your neck, across your shoulder, across the bare skin of your collarbone, until he’d left a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along the apex of your breasts.

“You sound so good,” he whispered, the words catching against your skin. “Taste so good.”

He was everywhere, surrounding you, all his attention on the body under his touch. His nose grazed the sensitive skin just above your nipple, just a gentle brush at first, and then he flicked the tip of his tongue across the peak of your breast and every nerve in your body went white hot.

“God—” the single syllable comes out as a broken gasp. A plea, maybe, a wordless begging for more.

He chuckled softly, a dangerous, wicked sound, and then he closed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. It felt like he’d lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, like it was all you could do to breathe, and he wasn’t even finished. One of his hands was still holding your hip—steadying you as he switched his attention to the other, teeth scraping just enough to make the heat in your belly flare brighter, deeper, all of your muscles tensing at once.

Every part of you felt like it was on fire, and you were so empty. The ache between your thighs was insistent, demanding attention you couldn’t give it. You let out a breathless whine, shifting to try and get some friction, and when he raised his head to look at you, eyes all half-lidded and mouth still slightly slick, you thought you might actually go insane.

You were so caught up in the moment that it took a second longer than it should’ve to notice the cocky smile plastered across his face. He was watching you writhe under his touch like it was the best show he’d ever seen.

“You good up there?” he said teasingly. “Look like you’re about to combust.”

“Bastard,” you managed, and it sounded as breathless as you felt. You reached up to bury a hand in his hair, tugging on handfuls of messy waves and relishing in the way he cursed softly under his breath. “You’re a goddamn tease.”

He gave the underside of your breast one last wet kiss, then started pressing a line of kisses up your body towards your mouth. “A tease, am I?” He said between kisses, his voice still low and rough. “I don’t know, sounds more like I’m trying my best to be a gentleman instead of rushing into the action,”

“Some gentleman,” you laughed, and that time it came out more of a gasp than anything else. He’d drawn himself up to full height, looking down at you with a smirk that was half amused and half smug, and god, he was handsome. “You’ve got me half naked on your desk, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of gentlemanly,”

“That’s not my fault,” he said, mock-offended, and you let out a bark of laughter. “You’re the one who started it. With the shirt, and the kissing. All my good intentions went right out the window,”

You were still giggling—his hand was now tracing idle circles on your hip, gentle and tender—but his touch was driving you insane. He was everywhere, burning through your skin, and all it did was make the heat beneath your ribs worse. You took a deep, shaking breath, trying to slow down your heart.

Your voice came out much more timid than you expected. “You’d probably better finish what you started, then.”

His eyes caught yours, and the smile that spread across his face sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Are you asking me to take your pants off, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes at the endearment, but it was impossible to stay irritated with the way your heart was jumping into your throat. “I’m asking you to take your pants off, actually,”

He raised an eyebrow, expression still cocky but edged with a touch of surprise. He looked so good like that—glasses missing, mouth pink and kiss-swollen, eyes fixed on your every move. “Consider it done,”

He took your chin in one hand, his touch almost teasing, tilting your head back to give himself full access to the line of your neck. His other hand drifted to rest on your side, pulling you away from the desk to push you over to his four-poster instead.

It was a bit undignified, stumbling backwards while he was still glued to your neck, but somehow you both managed to land in a heap on the mattress, with him on top. The sheets rustled in protest, and god, you could just feel his weight on top of you, pinning you to the mattress and setting fire to every point of contact.

You barely even noticed him pulling off his own shirt and pants, your mind too clouded with desire to pay attention. You just watched, taking in the sight of his bare chest and the sharp planes of his muscles, his lean and strong and all you could do was reach up to run your hands down across his shoulders—over the freckles and moles and scars that covered his skin.

He let out a strangled sound when your hands slid over the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fixed on your face, his whole body rigid under your touch as the fabric drags down his thighs. He was breathless, his breathing coming fast and shallow, but he still managed to speak.

“You seem to be missing a few things, if you haven’t noticed.” His voice was still that same, annoyingly smooth, but there was a rasp to it too. Like talking was suddenly more difficult than it should have been.

And yeah, okay, he had a point. You hadn’t even realised you were still wearing jeans until now, but it was quickly becoming an issue. He was still pinning you to the mattress, but you managed to lift your hips up under him enough to reach the zipper on your pants.

He sat back on his heels, watching you struggle out of your jeans—he reached down to help when your legs got tangled, and you swore the smirk on his face when he got the second leg off was almost wolfish. “Careful, there, you almost kneed me in the bollocks.”

“Too bad, I was aiming for them.”

He laughed, running a hand up your bare thigh, fingers tracing across the edge of your underwear and making your whole body burn. “Nice knickers.”

“Shut up,” you said, but your voice was already hoarse, half from the effort of talking and half from the way every little touch seemed to send lightning straight to the pit of your stomach. “You literally have snitches on your boxers, you’re not allowed to make fun of me,”

“For your information, they’re my lucky boxers,” he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the entire world. “And they seem to be working,”

You were about to comment on the ridiculousness of that statement, but then he let his hand brush over the damp patch in your panties and every thought in your head evaporated in about ten seconds flat. “Oh, fuck—”

His touch was agonising. Just a single, gentle stroke traced across the edge of your underwear, but it felt like being set on fire. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, still watching your face like the world’s most beautiful train wreck, and the way he’s smirking is just a little bit cruel. “Is this all because of me?”

You should’ve found the teasing infuriating—maybe even patronising, but your head was spinning and you were so turned on you couldn’t think straight. “You know it is,” you managed to gasp out, arching your hips up into his touch and desperately trying to find more friction.

His thumb pressed across your clit through your underwear and the gasp that came out of your mouth was practically obscene. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

He was shifting back on top of you, and his mouth was on your neck, hot and wet and distracting, and you’d almost forgotten about his thumb until it moved again—a slow, torturous circle that had you whining. “God, you sound so good,” he murmured against your skin. “Can I take these off? Please?”

If you’d had even a second of self-control left, you probably would’ve found the way he was almost begging for it adorable, but as it was all you could manage to do was nod.

You felt more than heard him swear, and the next thing you know he’s hooking his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down your legs with a speed that says he’s having trouble keeping his own eagerness in check.

He sat back once you were completely naked—just you, sprawled out on his four-poster, bare and trembling and wanting. Every part of you felt like it was on edge, like you’d fall apart as soon as he touched you again.

He was looking at you like he was starving, eyes wandering across every inch of your body. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, “Merlin, look at you,”

You couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze, the feeling of helplessness sending another jolt of heat down your spine. You’d almost gotten used to seeing that cocky smirk of his, but now it was gone—replaced by a look you couldn’t place, like he was in awe of you.

You watched helplessly as he shifted, his body covering yours again, bare skin against bare skin. His cock was already hard against your thigh and you were so empty that you knew nothing except the urge to have him as close to you as possible. “Please,” you managed to say, words a gasp as he traced a finger over your hip.

He groaned softly at the desperation in your voice, and then he was reaching down, his fingers finding your opening and sliding in. All you could do was moan out loud, clenching around him and aching for more. “God—” His voice was ragged, rough, like he was using all his willpower just to keep himself from going too fast. “That’s it. That’s it,” he murmured, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re so tight.”

“You’re gonna destroy me,” you gasped out, as he slowly started to pump his fingers in and out. “I—” Whatever you’d been about to say dissolved into another moan. “Please, just—”

“I’ve got you,” he said, and another kiss, against your collarbone. “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you,” And then he added a third finger, and you were certain you wouldn’t even be able to string words together anymore.

“Oh god—oh, god—” Your back arched again, hips lifting off the bed, and he curled his fingers again and the pleasure of it was so sharp it almost hurt.

“Just like that? You like that?” He murmured softly against your skin.

You weren’t even sure how to answer that, your brain so overwhelmed by heat and pleasure that all you could do was let out a helpless whine.

He kept pumping his fingers, working you open, and you were trembling with the effort of trying not to let go just yet. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, and god, he was so cocky like this. “Just be patient—”

You gasped out something between a laugh and a moan. “Patient? You have some nerve—”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of nerve,” he said, and then he pulled his fingers out with another sound from your throat. You were about to complain, but he kissed you before you could—a brief brush of his mouth on yours that was so distracting you almost didn’t notice him moving until he was between your thighs.

He had one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around himself, and the way he’s looking at you makes your whole body ache.

“You ready?” He asked, and his voice is still rough and a little breathy. You nodded, words failing you, and the sound he made was almost desperate.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, and then the tip of his cock was right at your entrance and you were trembling so badly you were almost whimpering.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, and then he started to press in. It was a torturously slow stretch, every inch of him filling you like you were made for him. You’re still too full of him—you clench around him without meaning to, and all of him shudders.

“Oh my god,” he says, and it comes out like a gasp, and when he’s finally in all the way you feel like you might cry, like he’s touching all of those parts of you you’ve been waiting for him to find.

“Oh, god,” you moan, and it’s all you can manage. It’s just too much—the feeling of him, the stretch of your body, the heat in your ribs that you can’t seem to breathe around. It’s like he’s everywhere, and you’re not sure you want it to ever stop.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and he’s starting to move, “that’s it, breathe. Just feel me.” He leans down to kiss you, messy and sloppy, just a brush of open mouths before you’re arching off the bed and his lips are on your neck.

“You look so god damn good like this,” his thrusts are slow, deep, and they’re already driving you mad. “All spread out for me.” You can’t even answer him in words anymore, every sound slipping out of your mouth a high, breathy whine.

He keeps up his torturously slow pace for what feels like a small eternity, and every time he pushes in you can feel him against the inside of you, like your body was made to take him in. “You feel so good,” he’s murmuring, “God, why haven’t we done this before?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been a coward for the last three years—” Your response is humorous, lighthearted, and falls almost completely flat as it comes out more desperate than goading.

But everything feels so good—he feels so good, the slow drag of his cock filling you over and over, his hands on your thighs holding you open just for him, his teeth and mouth everywhere they can reach.

He laughs, the sound coming out as half-moan, and it’s incredible how he’s somehow still acting cheeky when he’s like this—like the whole world has shrunk down to the two of you and there’s still room for playfulness. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so blind you would’ve noticed me sooner,” he says, and he’s still teasing, like he isn’t literally inside you, and you’d hit him if you had the brainpower. “You could’ve had this the whole time.”

Your face is so flushed it feels like you’re on fire, every muscle in your body tense and trembling. You dig your nails into his shoulders, trying to find some kind of anchor. “You’re still a cocky bastard, you know that?” But it’s hard to keep up the banter, and all it comes out sounding like is a soft whine.

“I know,” he grins, and he’s so smug you’d almost hate him if you weren’t so desperate for him. “God why didn’t I know sex felt this good-?” He leans down again, his mouth hovering over yours, the heat of him so close that you can feel it and it burns.

“Maybe I’m just that good,” you manage to say—and yes, okay, your voice is half a gasp and the words are broken, breathless by the way he’s still moving inside you, but you still manage.

He laughs again, sharp and ragged at the edge, and you feel like you’re being unwound like some old toy, your whole body vibrating like a live wire. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear.

He’s still smirking when he says, “And you call me cocky,”

He’s picking up the pace, but only just enough to make you whine again, his head dipped to mouth at your throat again.

You’re so tight around him it’s like he’s trying to make you come apart one piece at a time, his breath warm against your skin as he keeps whispering. “But you’re right, you feel so damn good—”

He’s losing control, losing his smugness, because despite what he said about patience he looks like he’s ready to go over the edge already. But he’s still got that smirk on his face, like even now, when he’s all ragged breaths and desperate thrusts, he’s still teasing. “I should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve taken you back here back in fourth year. Should’ve had you like this when I first started thinking about you,”

His hands are on your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones like he’s trying to hold himself back from just snapping and going wild on you.

“Should’ve had every day in fifth year," he’s panting now, and he’s still going just as slow, making it feel like you’re being taken apart, piece by piece. “Would’ve been better than those stupid pranks.”

You can’t even laugh—you just can’t, every nerve in your body is set off like a firework. You manage, “You’re- you’re terrible,” but then you’re arching your hips up into him, your body taking over despite yourself.

“I’m terrible,” he agrees, but he’s grinning, he’s breathless and there’s a sweat on his forehead and he still looks infuriatingly gorgeous. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you so bad I can’t think straight. Couldn’t, back then. Just followed you around like an idiot.”

“You were an idiot,” you manage, and he’s moving faster now, his arms shaking on either side of you. “You-ah—” You’re falling apart—you can feel it happening—“you were an arrogant bastard—”

He’s kissing your neck and it just makes you louder, your words coming out in ragged gasps. “I know,” he says, like he’s laughing, and you would want to smack him if he didn’t feel so good. “I was an arrogant bastard who was in love with you,”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning. You open your mouth to respond, but right at that moment he thrusts in a way that hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, and the sound that comes out of you is so indecent.

“You—oh, god—” You’re trembling, you’re coming undone underneath him, and he’s doing his best to keep up the pace but you can tell there’s something desperate taking over. “I’m- god, I can’t, I’m so-“

He’s losing more and more control, his breathing ragged and his own body shaking as like he’s just barely holding himself together.

“Please,” it comes out like a gasp, “just come for me, please, come on-” And he’s begging, now, like he couldn’t stand it another minute more, “I just want you to come, please, you’re so perfect—”

He’s pressing right against that spot, over and over, and you’re so on edge you think you might be dreaming. “I’m gonna— oh, god-”

His hand has snuck down between you, fingers moving in tight, fast circles on you clit, and everything is so close and so hot you could die— “God, you look perfect, come on, that’s it, you’re so good—“

The tension in you is snapping, and you’re on the edge, you’re so close you can’t see straight. “Please, I— I-“ you’re there, you’re there, you’re going to fall but he’s falling too.

“Come on, you’re so close, just come-“ He’s begging again, and you’re shaking so hard you feel like you might fall apart—and then you do, and the pleasure hits like a lightning bolt, and you’re crying out loud, the sound breaking like a whimper, and you feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“Oh, god-” His body’s shaking, the breath leaving his chest in ragged gasps, and you’re just clinging to him, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm and shaking so hard you think you might go insane. “Oh, god, oh, god-”

It didn’t really help that James was still going.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he’s saying, “God, you’re so beautiful, you’re so good, you’re so-“

Another wave comes over you like a shockwave, and it’s almost too much, you’re so sensitive and over-whelmed you feel like it’ll break you, but he’s still going, still moving inside you, still driving you straight through the edge of pleasure and over it into something bright-hot and almost frantic. “God, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—“ He’s falling apart, and he’s never looked better. “I’ll pull out I promise—”

You can’t find the words to answer him, but you manage a nod, your whole body trembling as you cling to him.

He swore, and he’d almost be swearing with that same cocky smirk if it weren’t for the fact that he’s falling apart completely, gasping out “You’re gonna kill me, you’re gonna-”

His whole body trembles, and then he’s pulling out, just in time, his body going rigid, his mouth finding yours in a messy, desperate sort of kiss. And he’s still shaking, still panting against your skin, his forehead pressed against yours like he’s never going to let go, watery ropes of his come left decorating your pussy and your torso.

“Fuck,” he’s panting, and he’s still shaking but there’s a smile on his face, like he’s drunk and blissed out and just happy. “Just- give me a minute, just a minute-”

You just lie there, feeling like you’ve just been set on fire and left to burn, and he’s pressing kisses wherever he can reach, on your neck, your temple, the corner of your mouth, until both of you are finally still, just lying wrapped up in each other.

He’s wrapped himself around you like he’ll never move again, his face buried in your neck, and your whole body feels like it’s come unglued.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head to look at you, and that smirk is back, the bastard. “So,” he says, and there’s a sly look in his eyes. “Did I live up to the hype?”

“There was no hype, James, you were a virgin,” You laugh shortly with a roll of your eyes, shifting your legs a little wider open to accommodate for the stickiness between them.

“Ouch.” He winces dramatically. “You’re gonna ruin my ego.”

He’s looking at you with so much heat you’re half-convinced he’s about to go for round two, but then he shifts, pulling away to lie down next to you, your legs tangled together. He’s still grinning, a smug sort of half-smile on his face.

“Don’t look so damn pleased with yourself,” you grumble, but you’re still so buzzed up and he’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

He’s looking at you with a kind of reverence you’ve never seen before, but he covers it up with the same stupid smirk he always wears. “So,” he says, like he’s casually mentioning the weather. “You, uh… had fun?”

You laugh—that’s a severe understatement of the year—and you can’t help but smile at the boyish enthusiasm in his expression. “Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “I did.”

He grins at that, and then he’s rolling on top of you again, covering you with his body like a blanket. “I’m assuming that means we can do this again sometime.”

The words come out as the same obnoxious cockiness, still cocky and self-assured, but there’s something almost… nervous underneath it, like he’s not really being blasé at all. You hum, tilting your chin back enough that he can bury his face in your neck. “Yeah,” you say, and you wrap your arms around his back, tracing the knobs of his spine with your fingers. “Yeah, we can probably do this again. But maybe take me on a date first next time,” You laugh.

He grins against your neck, his mouth still leaving lazy kisses on every part of your skin it can reach. “That’s fair,” he murmurs, and his breath on your neck sends a shiver through you. “I have to romance you first. I can do that.” His teeth nip at your earlobe, and you can feel the sharp edge of of a grin. “I could even be a gentleman about it, if you wanted.”

“You? Be a gentleman?” You fake gasp, like it’s the most ridiculous suggestion you’ve ever heard. “Absolutely unheard of.”

He snorts, and you can feel the smile on his mouth, hot and wet against your skin. “You’re laughing, but I could be incredibly charming if I wanted to,” He’s still just mouthing at you, running his teeth over the soft underside of your jaw. “You read my letters,”

“Yeah,” you admit, almost against your will. “I did.”

He pulls back to look at you with a lazy, smug half-smile. “And they were charming?”

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling. “They were… acceptable.”

“Acceptable,” he sighs sadly, mock-disappointed. “I don’t know how I feel about being reduced to ‘acceptable’. I put a lot of work into those letters, you know.”

But he’s grinning, his chin propped up on your chest with his chin, like he’s waiting to get a response. “Come on. I’m at least worth ‘good,’ right?”

“Yeah, alright,” you give in, even though ‘good’ isn’t nearly enough to describe his letters. “They were good. They were… nice.”

He pouts, like a kid who did a drawing and didn’t get a gold star. “Nice? Jesus, you do not understand the concept of positive reinforcement.”

“Sorry,” you say, with your best attempt at earnestness, “how about this? They were fantastic. World class even. You should be writing love letters professionally.”

It takes him a moment of studying you to realise you’re joking, but then he sighs in mock-agony, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I’ve fallen for a girl who’s mean to me,”

“Yeah,” you say, and you’re laughing, now, your whole body shaking with gales of laughter. “You’re really just… the world’s biggest loser.”

He huffs good-naturedly, his face still hidden in your neck. “Says the girl whose been attracted to me for years,”

“Says the boy who wrote me sappy-ass love letters like a Victorian maiden,” you retort.

He laughs at that, but it’s not mean or mocking. “It’s a wonder you didn’t catch on, honestly,” he mutters jokingly, “I laid it on so thick I thought even you would see me pining tragically through all the ink I used to write about how obsessed with you I was.”

You bite back a smile at that, rolling your eyes at his mock-exasperation. “God, you’re dramatic.”

His mouth presses a soft, wet kiss under your jaw, and he murmurs against your skin—“You like it, though.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

And he’s right, because you do—you do like him, when he’s all bluster and bravado and bullshit, and you like him like this too, when he’s gentle and reverent and a tad bit vulnerable. “Yeah,” you say, and it’s soft. “I do.”

[witherby]

When Bruce brought Mousy in, they had that new baby smell. The baby smell that always seems to be on few months babies. Which is exclusively why weekly cuddle huddles now exists in the manor. Just one day/half day in a week with the whole Batfam +Alfred huddled around in the living room under a giant pillow fort and they just relax and play with Mouse before eventually taking a short group nap to calm down a little bit from all the stress of vigilantism from the week.

-🍨

That's so sweet and cute. Allow me to show you what it looked like before they established the weekly cuddle huddle.

The Littlest Wayne: New Baby Smell

"The baby's gonna have a nose-shaped dent on top of their head if you keep doing that."

Bruce lifts his head just enough to press his cheek to the top of your tiny head instead, then settles back down into the couch. Tim rolls his eyes.

"How good even is the smell? They're a baby," he says, opening his hands. "B, my turn. Give."

"Hmm. Fine, but remember to support the head. They don't have any well-developed neck muscles yet."

Tim scoops you up and sniffs your face. Then he does it again at the crown. You make a low, curious noise, but otherwise don't care.

"What the hell, this is amazing." Tim turns and walks out of the room with you.

"Tim!" Bruce calls, offended. "Hello? Give me back my baby?"

"My baby now." Tim keeps walking and Bruce gets up and follows him until they're both in the day room. The teen sinks into the much more plush couch cushions and gently presses his nose to your head. "What do they do to babies to make this happen?"

"Google it. I'll hold them while you do," Bruce says, reaching for you again. Tim ducks away from his hands. "That was rude. Don't you have anything else to do today?"

"Cleared my schedule," Tim says. "I'm totally free. Don't need to do a thing but this." He sniffs you again. "Babies are so weird. Hey. Hey you. Yeah, hello, open your eyes. Hi! You're silly and weird and smell great. Do you know that?"

You squint, nose crinkling in irritation. Why is your warm bed being so noisy? You are tired. Silence, warm bed.

"You're bothering them. Give me the baby," says Bruce.

"You're bothering them. Go annoy one of your other kids. I'm getting my brotherly bonding in."

"Bothering? I love bothering people," Jason says, strolling into the room. "What are we doing?"

"Why are you here?" Tim asks.

"Cause I'm also nosy. Answer the question, Replacement."

After some gentle wheeling (read: Jason threatening to go declare himself alive just to make their already hectic schedules ten times worse), they tell him. Dick, who was passing by, hears this and peeks his head in, too, and it's not long before you're being passed around like a bong at a campfire so your family can get a hit of that new baby scent.

Damian finds his whole family another hour later, curled up in a big, careful pile around you and dozing.

"Ridiculous," the assassin mutters, whisking you away to be placed back in your crib. "Don't they know that smell is strongest at your head because it's coming from your brain, which you can only detect because your skull hasn't fully hardened yet? If you smell good, your parents won't want to abandon or kill you in favor of raising your stronger kin, thus greatly increasing your chances of survival. Classic evolutionary biology."

He lowers you back down into the crib. Instinctively, your tiny hand finds its way around his finger and grips it tight. Damian thumbs over the back of your hand for a moment, quickly checks over his shoulder, then leans down and sniffs your head.

"Bye," he mutters, gently prying his hand free and leaving you to rest.

[gay-dorito-dust]

‘Have you seen Bob?’ Yelena asked as she poked her head into the kitchen.

You frowned. ‘No, why?’

Yelena sighed. ‘He’s not in his room and nobody has seen him anywhere and it’s obvious he hasn’t gone out of the tower, that much is clear.’ She didn’t know how it was possible for a man like Bob to easily evade detection like he has now, she had originally hoped that you had seen him, seeing as how you and him tended to be joint at the hip from the moment you met but seeing as you haven’t Yelena found her options having become even more limited then before.

You hummed in agreement with her as you added. ‘And the tower is ridiculous with all of it’s floors, so he could literally be in any one of them and we wouldn’t know where to start. It could take us hours or even days at best and I’m not even trying to exaggerate.’ You tried to rack your own brain in hopes of coming up with an answer to lead Yelena elsewhere, and also hope that you’re acting skills were enough to fool her as you did in fact know where Bob was and weren’t planning on letting anyone know where he was just yet for a very good reason.

Yelena sighs. ‘I’ve checked over all the floors with the system and it said that he’s on this very floor, but yet when I asked where it wouldn’t tell me as if said it’s been asked specifically not to tell anyone.’ She adds and you tried not to let your facade slip as you made a face of confusion, all the while trying to discreetly hide the two mugs of steaming chamomile tea just behind you that you were fully intending to take back to your room before the blonde assassin caught a glimpse of you.

‘That’s very strange,’ you trailed off before clapping your hands together, ‘but I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for you and let you know when and if I see him, he can’t have gone far Yelena I know he wouldn’t and he knows that too.’ Yelena started at you for a while, getting a good read of you from her stance in the doorway and getting this feeling that you were hiding something from her, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was as you were acting in a way that made it seem that you were as just none the wiser as the rest of them. So she decided to give you a bit of leniency and said ‘okay’ before leaving to continue her search.

Once you heard her footsteps fade down the hall and waited even more so until they faded completely into obscurity to then grab the two mugs of tea behind you, making your way out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom with hurried steps before opening the door and smiling when you saw that Bob was where you last left him; sitting on your bed as he played with the mint coloured axolotl plush with a small smile gracing his lips.

‘What took you so long?’ He asked, setting aside the plush as he moved from your bed to take one of the mugs of tea from your hand, cupping it between his larger, sweater covered ones as he blew on it before taking a tiny sip and making a noise of content as his eyes closed briefly.

Bob had been having trouble sleeping recently and you had offered up your room to be his safe haven when he finds that he couldn’t sleep in his own room, where you’d talk about anything and everything until you both feel asleep in the others presence, this situation has happened so often that you’ve made the Tower system prevent anyone but you from knowing where he was in hopes of letting him have some privacy from the likes of Ava, John, Alexei and Yelena. You loved your team but they were a nosy and overbearing bunch that you knew would overwhelm an poor sleep deprived, nightmare riddled Bob who just wanted to shut off his mind and be allowed to sleep in peace.

‘Let’s just say your frequent nightly escapades to my room might have caused Yelena to think that you’ve been disappearing to god knows where in the tower.’ You replied as Bob looked as though he wanted to hide away in the depths of his sweater, never to be seen again as his face burned red like cherry tomatoes and his eyes showed embarrassment.

‘I knew this wasn’t going to go unnoticed sooner or later, the others are bound to catch on.’ He says as he takes another sip of the tea in hopes of its calming properties would smooth his nerves, but it did little compared to your reassuring hand on his arm and soft smile that brought him back to reality on more occasions then not.

‘It’s fine sweetheart, I’d gladly get in trouble for hoarding you away in my room so selfishly.’ You joked halfheartedly before adding in a serious tone. ‘You deserve rest and I wasn’t about to let the others hound you for wanting something so simple as sleep, you deserve it so I’m more then willing for the choice words I’ll get for lying to Yelena sooner or later,’ you squeezed his forearm, ‘but for now let’s enjoy our teas before Alexei starts singing and demanding that we all eat breakfast together okay?’

‘Okay.’ Bob says softly with a smile as you and him return to your bed, the mint coloured axolotl sitting in between you both as you had your mugs of tea in relative peace, only ever trading conversation when Bob asked about certain things within your room, with you responding by going in depth about how important they were to you. It was what you wanted in the mornings within the Watchtower, moments where you get to have Bob selfishly and he got to have a couple of hours with you before everyone else does, smiling happily as a comforting silence then followed afterwards.

Only for you and Bob to have somehow found the silence a little too comforting as you both fell asleep once more with the mint axolotl squished between you both, your mugs sat side by side on the bedside table with matching smiles upon your faces, just as the morning truly began with Alexei loudly demanding that everyone was needed in the kitchen to start your day as a family as he walked down the hallway; compelled bypassing your room without stopping to see why you and Bob were cuddled cutely and tightly together.

[stormagedoom]

Quack 🦆✨

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[rooniearts]

Pitayaverse Asks............ TWO!

I once again have a good handful of asks regarding Pitayaverse, so here goes another post! :'D This time around there's about 29 asks I'll be answering! Enjoy <3

Silver's fine! His fur is just darkening with age :] Think of it like how a Siamese cat's fur works - he starts out looking almost fully white, but his limbs and face slowly darkens over time.

REAL,,, petition to let Tails hit his brother with hammers

@dahliacloud

Oh yes, he resents him deeply. He had no part in any of this, but still slowly but surely ended up with all of Sonic's responsibilities. But by far the worst part for him is seeing how much it all affects this tiny little baby girl. THAT is what truly infuriates him.

It's come to my attention that this ask is probably about his Archie backstory, which I unfortunately don't know much about and so isn't canon to the AU ;v; I'm going with the vague idea that they don't have parents for whatever reason and had to grow up alone together

But in that case, I still like to think it has a part to play, yeah. Tails knows how hard it is to grow up without a parent, and he knows Sonic does too, so he can't comprehend why he isn't trying harder to give this kid that love and stability.

@lowkeuu

LMAOOO idek how that would work with a fox! Maybe his fur thins? Idk :'D but he absolutely does start growing grey hairs pretty young

Oh, yeah. Having the Kind Patient Sweet one of the group snap and pop the fuck off on someone is scary every time it happens. All of them, Shadow included, would definitely be taken aback at the very least.

If I do end up giving them a kid, then this is absolutely the way I'd go with it. I can't let my boy go through even more turmoil in this AU, he's had more than enough :')

AWW LOL, see I like this take on it. That's very cute and I think he would just actually volunteer to take them in at that point too :D

[Referring to this post]

She does, but calling them that is a habit she picked up from Tails. Sonic and Knuckles just only referred to themselves and eachother as "dad," so when she'd talk to Tails about them he'd ask her to specify whether she meant "Sonic-dad" or "Knuckles-dad." Eventually she just started using those terms every time she spoke to or about them!

As Pitaya grows up, Knuckles graduates from "Knuckles-dad" to just "dad", but she eventually just starts calling Sonic by his name. Sonic doesn't really mind this, except for the few times that Knuckles gets to hold it over his head

HEHEHE loving all this Pitaya hype from y'all!! Thank you and yes, she deserves the world <3

YESSS! It's so important to me that she grows up to be happy. Maybe not well adjusted, but she's got endless determination and is not afraid to speak her mind!

[Referring to this post]

I mean, it's part of why. His actions didn't exactly do much to alleviate her doubts, either.

@your-local-cattus-enjoyer

The master post is right here! There may be a few stray asks that aren't listed, but they should still be under the tag

The basic gist of it is that he was just really neglectful. He was barely there, and when he was, it was often only a matter of time before he and Knuckles started fighting. As an adult, she's also really upset that he let Tails take over all the heavy lifting for him when he was still just a kid too.

Once in a while! Usually whenever both Knuckles and Tails are preoccupied for whatever reason. All their stories of clever sleuthing and high-stakes tussles is what made her want to be a detective one day :]

And yes, actually, she did! Her and Echo, and occasionally Psi and Alloy, end up forming their own New Chaotix Detectives group! They just aren't nearly as active as Vector, Espio and Charmy were :')

LOL, for sure! She loooves her cool uncles Vector, Espio and Charmy. She knows they've always got her back <3

Mighty USED to be in the cool uncle camp, but absolutely not anymore. That went out the window the second he got with Sonic. She does love Knuckles, but she's had her ups and downs with him. Ray she just doesn't really know at all, he just goes in the resentment bin by association :'D

That's so true actually,,,, my obvious Chaotix bias is showing :'D

But hmm, that's a good question. If they were to end up together, I think they probably wouldn't have kids, no. I like to imagine they'd be the type of couple who live seperately and just visit eachother frequently, and not like married with kids.

@inkmaams

Their go-to babysitter list is very short because Silver gets very very paranoid over them :'D It consists of Blaze&Amy and Vector ONLY. And it took Espio AGES to convince Silver to let Vector take care of them in the first place

[Referring to this post]

Yup :') He was probably not gonna tell them about any of that, but alas he and Espio spawned Little Mr. Thought Police so now he has no choice but to explain himself </3

@i-only-created-this-to-read

Maybe not robots, but in theory, I guess he probably could read aliens' minds. I was mostly referring to humans/mobians, but there's no reason he couldn't try on other sentient organic beings. However, I feel like they may end up being incomprehensible noise to him because of how differently an alien's brain would work to his own

As for when he's in meltdown mode and can hear everyone all at once, no, he can't hear everyone in the universe, just those that are within a certain radius. Think of it as like whatever a normal hearing range would be, just not obstructed by walls.

Yes! Espio and Silver are married and besides one or two blow-ups, they happily stay that way. And Sonic and Mighty are at the very least life partners, whether they get married or not (I haven't yet decided lol)

Besides them, Blaze and Amy are also married! And Knuckles and Rouge too eventually :]

LMAO, Sonic WISHES. But nay, Mighty had to go and be a spoilsport and put a rule against backwards names. Rude of him tbh.

bro just can't stop spawning babies, what can I say🥀

@scribble0rat

LOL yeah the poor guy only had a vague idea of what he was signing up for. He had met Pitaya once in a while when she was young, and he knew Sonic had struggled with being there for her and that something happened between him and his friend group, but he didn't realize just how angry not only Pitaya was, but also Tails. He's using all those years of anger management to their fullest to tank this situation, I fear :'D

AND YESSS my boy needs more love <3 Us Mighty girlies have to stick together💪

AWWW that's actually such a cute thought experiment!!!!

It's hard to say, but I think they'd be relatively close. Maybe not joined at the hip, but they'd appreciate one another. They're both very similar in personality, it's just mostly that Echo is an introvert and Silver is a HUGE extrovert. The only conflict I can think of is that Echo is very much a copycat, and I think Silver might get annoyed with that pretty quick.

@marinette-sky

No, Shadow is Echo's only parent via cloning shenanigans. Sonic has nothing to do with her, thank goodness :'D

And thank you!! Much appreciated!!! <3

[klausysworld]

Nothing but a Nuisance.

Being a witch in New Orleans wasn't exactly the dream when Marcel had a magic detecting teenage witch in his attic.

One tiny little spell set Davina off, had Marcel ripping heads off and hearts out. It was a little dramatic, even for me.

But, a girls gotta survive so I kept my magic inside and resorted to mediocre crap so that I could get some cash in this stupid tourist town.

Sitting in my little booth with my candles lit and tarot cards out usually dragged in a decent dozen or so a day, some locals were heavy believers too and would come back so often to get another reading.

But Klaus Mikaelson? Not my average customer.

Of course the news that he was in New Orleans spread like wildfire but I didn't need to be told to know it was him. The power rolling off of him set my magic on edge, forcing me to restrain it within my blood and keep it from boiling out.

Still, I kept myself steady and remained calmly seated. My eyes lifted to meet his, the flash of gold making the flames around the room dancing aggressively before I reined them back in.

He took the seat in-front of me, legs comfortably spread like a typical man whilst his hands rest in his lap and a brow on his annoyingly handsomely carved face lifted.

"How much is a reading, love?" He questioned and I swallowed thickly and shook my head.

"I don't read for-"

"Well now, thats a bit discriminatory, love, isn't it?" He cut in and I closed my mouth with a sigh. A hundred dollar bill was pushed before me and with annoyance more than reluctance, I accepted the cash.

Silently I took the deck in my hands and began strategically shuffling, letting the cards flutter together delicately over and over until there was no way of telling which was where. I slid the cards out face-down in-front of him and looked up, our eyes locking again.

"Select your three." I directed and with no hesitation his fingers plucked out three cards, keeping them within his reach as I tidied the rest away. I turned the ones he had chosen over and glanced over each one.

The Magician, The Emperor and The Tower.

I let out a little sigh, none of the meanings were much of a shock but he wasn't exactly going to enjoy them.

"Go ahead, describe the hell that is to burden us all." He muttered, slight amusement to his tone. I reached and tapped The Magician card.

"This one is in regards to your willpower, using what comes your way to its potential and combing it with your own power to manifest it toward what you truly desire. But It could also be leading you towards love-" My eyes flick up, seeing his eyes narrowed as though he were actually interested.

"I'm not interested in the relationship meaning to the card, love, what's the reverse meaning?" He asked, jaw a little tense and I didn't really want to reveal it.

"Trickery, it represents selfishness." I answer simply and he nodded, resting back in his chair as though that was the answer he was actually expecting.

"The Emperor?" He questioned and I shifted my attention back to the task.

"This card means authority, regulation, organisation and a fatherliness. The Emperor represents a strategic thinker who sets out plans that he must see through. He is a symbol of the masculine principle. It comes with responsibility of giving structure, creates rules and systems, and imparting knowledge and of course enforcing discipline." I explain and he hummed, his body leaning forward at the word 'fatherliness'.

"The reversed?" He questioned without a beat and this time I hesitated.

"The concept of an abusing the authoritative power. It creates the desire to inspire higher principles in his kingdom have turned to ruthlessness, tyranny and rigidity..." I trailed and he let out a soft hum of almost agreement.

"The Tower?"

"On this one, the reversed is actually better than the upright." I laughed softly, my nails tracing the outline of the design and feeling the trickle of magic within it. "Upright the Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense. It doesn't necessarily have to be  frightening or ominous but it does signify a foundational, groundbreaking change. However it can sometimes strike fear, as it means that we must abandon the truths that we have known prior to this event. The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place." I tell him before continuing. "Reversed shows that The Tower is built on faulty foundations, and it must fall. Though the destruction will be painful, the humbleness resulting from it can bring us peace. It suggests you become more self reliant-"

"I'm already self reliant, love but I'll make an extra note." He scoffed.

A slightly uncomfortable silence hung over us for a moment or two as he mulled over his reading. Then he stood, a heavy sigh on his lightly stained lips. "Thank you, for your service, love." He nodded and headed back out into the streets of The French Quarter.

A slightly bizarre experience, having the most powerful beast in my reading room and I knew that the other witches were never going to quiet their incessant chatter over it.

It was the talk of the town when Klaus got headed 'King' and moved into the compound, having 'ownership' over Davina and therefore the witches. Not that it lasted long as Davina was clearly losing it.

That's how I ended up dragged in by each arm.

"Ah, perfect; they found you." Klaus declared, his voice arrogant and echoing. "Come, love, I need you to fix my witch." He took my arm from another vampire and pulled me along with him. I was shoved into a room, if you could call it that. The walls were crumbling around Davina, her screams piercing my ears as everything went flying everywhere. The door was slammed shut behind me and I was forced to face...that.

It took some struggle but I was able to get my hands on her, I could feel both our magic draining rapidly as I used mine to weaken hers.

My eyes were just starting to close, the reassuring whispers fading from my lips as her body went soft against mine when I felt a separate pair of hands hold me up by my shoulders.

I woke a small while later, my brows furrowing as I felt fingers stroking my forehead, tracing my hairline. My eyes cracked open and Klaus's cocky face was peering down at me.

"Good morning sweat-pea." He smirked, pure amusement in his eyes.

"Ew..." I mumbled sluggishly and sat up, ignoring his touch and closeness. "Don't touch me you...I don't even know what you are."

"Hybrid, love. Thank you, again, by the way; for keeping my witch under control. It seems that little sickening ritual you witches have doesn't quite work out as planned hm? Now I have a dead witch and a very stroppy Marcellus." He muttered, his eyes rolling.

"It works." I grumbled as I felt the power slowly growing back within me. "Four witches resurrected, the girls will come back in time."

"Mmm. I do hope so, no need for a group of dead children. It's causing a small inconvenience."

"Uhuh." I murmured and swung my legs over the side of the bed I was lead out on. I stood, my head light and dizzy but I kept it upright. My feet stumbled a little as I headed out of the door, my hands reaching for the stair railing as Klaus's hands grabbed onto my hips.

"Easy now, love. It took a lot out of you to calm little Davina down." He chuckled in my ear, the sound disorientated and demonic.

"No...I don't...I don't get this weak from a spell." I mumbled and he hummed.

"Must've been something else then." He whispered, his lips suddenly by my ear and I felt my jaw clench as I realised he must've spiked me with something somehow. My body fell back into his and his arms slipped round me, lifting me into a bridal hold as my vision went dark again.

I woke again, hours later. The sky was almost black when I turned my head to see out of the guest bedroom window. I felt better now and without anybody being able to detect my magic, I could break the window apart and float out of it with ease.

I headed back home, greeted by my obsidian cat who mewled happily at my return. Her tail wrapping around my calf as we headed into the dining room where her bowl wait empty on the wooden floor. I filled the bowl and she meowed happily.

The quietness of my house filled me with a sense of serenity as I sat down in my usual sear at the table. My stomach ached with hunger but it was so late and I couldn't be bothered to make anything.

So I waited for Salem to finish her dinner before we went upstairs to bed.

By the time sunlight was seeping past my blinds, a loud continuous knocking practically shook my house. Salem's claws dug into my skin as she stretched out and curled back up with a faint growl of annoyance.

"Fucks sake." I groaned before pulling the duvet back and storming down the stairs, pulling the chain off the door and swinging it open. "What!?" I demanded, my expression clearly a display of my feelings.

Klaus Mikaelson stood before me, his arms crossed over his broad...firm chest.

"You ran away." He stated, eyes flicking to my chest making me glance down as well so see my tit almost out of my night time vest. I shifted the fabric and he cleared his throat, looking back up.

"I didn't run anywhere." I countered and his eyes rolled. Honestly, for a thousand years old he sure was sassy.

"No of course not. You gracefully levitated out of the window, honestly you make quite the stereotype for a witch. Tarot cards, floating and, oh look a black cat." He scoffed and I leant down, picking up Salem before she could get out and into his grasp.

"Why are you here?" I asked and he hummed.

"I need your powers, come to the abattoir." He demanded and I put a hand on my hip.

"I do hope you're joking." I told him and his jaw went tight.

"I don't have much time for this back and forth, love. It's fun, yes and you're very cute but I will resort to less verbal persuasion if you cannot do as you are told." His tone got progressively lower, darker.

"Get off my porch. I'll be there in half an hour." I muttered, slamming the door back in his face.

"Twenty minutes, love!" He yelled through the wood.

I couldn't be bothered with this. The tarot card readings were low for me but they still made me money so now I was just missing out and I couldn't afford not to pay my bills. Besides, Salem needed her food too and she definitely wouldn't go without.

I got to the compound after forty minutes, mostly out of pettiness however I did shower, shave dry my hair, style my hair, get dressed, have a breakfast bar and feed Salem so time added up quick. Those weren't good enough excuses for a pissy hybrid.

His eyes were dark, sort of how I imagined the depths of the ocean at night as he watched me. I was a little different in how my magic worked.

I didn't need to do all the muttering and straining unless it was a really difficult spell like raising the dead, I think that's what sparked Klaus's interest. That I didn't pull out a hundred spell books, flipping relentlessly through the pages to pick the spell he needed. I could sense what he needed, almost read the spell from his mind to use it like he wanted.

I got up to leave once I was done but his hand was around my arm, keeping me to him. I knew he was half werewolf which made his skin warm but the heat rolling off of him was almost concerning. The golden look in his eyes put me on edge but he wasn't threatening, yet.

"I need something else-"

"I need to get to my job, where I get paid." I cut him off and he huffed softly, almost playfully as the corners of his lips upturned slightly. A hundred dollar bill was wedged very provocatively between my tits. I bit the tip of my tongue before raising my eyes to look at his cocky expression.

"I swear to all of the unholy spirits that if you ever put your grubby little hands on my body again I'm gonna burn your dick off." I warned him, my eyes narrowed and voice low but he only smirked and pushed me backwards so his body trapped me to the wall.

His face lowered to mine, his nose brushing up the side of my jugular before his breath was against my ear. "Mmm, how have you managed to make that sound so hot?" He murmured and I scoffed, shoving off me with a slight force making his chuckle.

"Don't be a freak, Klaus. You'll make me vomit." I whispered, my nose scrunched up as if I could actually find him repulsive. Stupid handsome face.

My body ached slightly when his pulled away from mine and his fingertips skimmed over my sides before leaving me completely.

"I'll be needing you a lot more often from now on. I'll pay you whatever you want. A thousand dollars an hour for all I care." He offered and I could feel my ethics at question. I'd be against the coven if I was willingly working for the beast but a thousand dollars was a fuck tonne to turn down.

"I have to get back to Salem." I muttered and he let out a deep chuckle making my eyes roll as I walked off.

"Oh come on, love. You have to admit that it's a little traditional, no? You're practically mocking your own kind-"

"Oh piss off mr 'i spent a thousand years trying to be a dog'." I snapped back as he followed me out of the compound and into the streets. "Rumour has it you've literally only turned once. I think if anyone's mocking their kind its you."

"Touché." He accepted, his tone weirdly light and he had a shrug to his shoulders. "I should turn more often, that's fair." He nodded, keeping up with my quickening pace but as soon as we got around a corner I was pinned to the wall by the throat. "But don't you ever, ever- talk down to me like that or you will very much be reminded of your place, witch." He growled and I felt my magic flaring, just begging to light him on fire but I let him keep the upper hand as he placed me back down onto my feet.

I turned on my heel and kept walking, forcing myself not to gasp for air and just struggle slightly. His footsteps remained just behind me, he was much more relaxed than I was and it was pissing me off as we got to my house.

The soft meow of Salem's voice echoed form behind the door and her paw made a soft sound which made my body sink back from the tension. But my body went rigid when Klaus's hand turned the handle to my front door and he walked right on inside, leaning down and picking up Salem as he did.

My eyes flicked down at the threshold he had just completely discarded before locking on Salem as she purred in his hands. One twist of those hands and her head would pop off her her neck.

The imagine alone made me react. His heart was in his chest one second and on my hallway floor the next. Salem landed on her feet with a mewl and padded off to the kitchen whilst I was left with the heavy thud of Klaus's body.

"Fuck!" I breathed as I ran my hands over my hair and groaned dramatically. I moved him to the living room and tied him up with a magically finding rope, ensuring he would stay put as I cleaned away the blood from his heart and fixed Salem some food.

His groggy grumble made it's way into the kitchen, forcing me to face my problems as I came to the doorway of my living room. He looked a little bit pissed but mostly amused which relieved me to extent but annoyed me even more.

"Very kinky, love." He mused as he tugged on the ropes. His eyes cast down at the bloody stain across his shirt before flickering past my ankles, probably to where Salem was feeding from her bowl. "Had I have known that damn cat was quite a sore subject for you then I wouldn't have picked the thing up-"

"How did you get into my house?" I asked and he smirked.

"I think you mean my house, my love. I thought it would be easier for us if I owned the building, means we can both have access and I can come collect you easier." He smiled as if it were a friendly thing to do.

"You're fucking crazy. A full on whack job." I muttered. "I'm not your witch, I'm not your pet. You do not claim my house and pick up Salem- you stop touching my life. Get out and leave me alone!" I yelled and with that his body was gone, instead at least a couple hundred tiny pieces of him exploded across my living room floor and walls.

I forced myself to breathe steady, my eyes closing for a second before I let out an angry cry of frustration and got my magic under control. Bit by bit I managed to pile him together, clean the marks away and put him in a bin bag, then transferring his remains back to the abattoir for them to fix themselves back together.

It was surprising that Klaus hadn't burst my house down and tore my head off in retaliation to be completely honest.

However, for whatever reason, the next time I saw him, he was all cheerful and charming again like normal.

"Come on now, love, don't be all grumpy with me still because of our little mishap." He teased, following me closely as I moved through the streets quickly. "I didn't mean to push it with the cat, love. I'll admit that was my fault, I crossed the line." He murmured, his lips so close to my ear it made my skin burn.

I continued to ignore him, trying to get on with my day without his constant chatter but he just seemed to be there all day long, keeping customers away and effectively ruining my time.

Once it grew dark I let out a sigh and leaned back, staring mindlessly at the sheer lack of cash in my pot. His hand brushed the hair behind my ear and stroked the side of my neck.

"Klaus." I warned with a sigh and he hummed lowly, his lips moving to kiss the spot below my ear making me let out a scoff and shove him off me. "You are like an animal. Go fuck someone who actually wants something to do with you." I snapped and he let out a soft chuckle.

"You know I have extremely heightened senses, love? I can practically taste how turned-on you get around me-" He purred and I gagged.

"That's just your perverted mind playing tricks on you." I scoffed and he hummed.

"All this sass because you didn't get your money, love? I told you I'd pay your rates." He tutted before his fingers were plucking hundred dollar bills from his wallet and putting them in my jar. "There, now you're all caught up and you can stop looking so glum."

"I don't want your money, I don't want your time, I don't want you!" My voice raised and his lips twitched.

"You'll be more than willing before long, love. I'm very much looking forward to you giving in, I already know you'll be absolutely exquisite-"

I cut him off abruptly, my palm colliding with his cheek without a second thought. The action made me just as surprised as him, both of us staring at each other for a long moment. I could see his jaw clenching, his eyes hardening fraction by fraction.

He straightened in his seat, inhaling and exhaling as his eyes darted away. He was urging himself not to lash back at me.

His hands hit the table, hard as he stood. I flinched in my seat but didn't go to move, just watched him. I watched as he paced up and down the length of the small room before storming out.

I blew out a breath of relief at the slam of the door and sunk down into the chair.

Klaus didn't come around for a small while after that. I probably should have been thrilled not to be haunted by him each day. I was finally making some money again and didn't have to worry about Salem being catnapped or whatever.

Until he woke me up in the middle of the night, banging so hard against my front door I was surprised it hadn't caved in. I swung it open, ready to launch him off my porch when my eyes took him in.

"Oh fuck." I mumbled, my hands moving without my consent to pull the blood-soaked henley away from his skin. "Okay, come on." I whispered, pulling him inside, Salem mewing and pawing at his boots as we climbed the stairs.

He was sat shirtless on top of the toilet seat, his bloody hands in his lap whilst I wiped away the red across his chest, neck and face. The hot tap of the bath was running quickly, filling fast. I'd wanted him out of my life from the second he pushed his way into it and yet for some reason I was worried about him and looking after him as though I cared for him. But surely that was ridiculous, he was a menace in my life.

I just couldn't help myself.

His clothes were in my washer, I was scrubbing the blood and mud off of my floors and the stairs banister before going up to my room to dig out a shirt of mine he could sleep in and some oversized sweatpants that he could wear for the night.

They were a little tight. My bad.

I don't think he was in much a mood to complain though as the shirt clung to his skin, I shouldn't have been looking at the definition of his muscles so much. Not when he was so upset.

He was a lot easier to handle when he was like that though.

No cocky remarks, no touching, just raw and vulnerable. For once he wasn't Klaus the hybrid, just Klaus.

"You're gonna have to talk to me tomorrow, okay?" I whispered as he rest his head against my shoulder, it was obvious he was debating using my breast as a pillow but he made the wise decision to not push his luck.

By morning he'd managed to get there though. His face was nestled right against me, his eyelashes brushing over my skin with each subtle blink. With slight reluctance I gently slid my fingers into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

Salem was asleep on top of the covers, on him. Her whole body vibrating against him as she purred.

"We're gonna get up soon and you're gonna talk." I murmured but kept my tone soft for now. "You can't just turn up at my house covered in blood and not tell me, okay?"

His body shifted slightly, his face pressing further into my chest making me suppress an eye roll but I kept it at bay. He was delicate at the moment and a lot more likely to do something extreme if pushed.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." He whispered and my fingers stuttered against his head before resuming their pattern. He was such a conflicting person.

It only took a couple days before he was back to his old self, turning up unannounced to my work and disrupting my every day but I don't know. Just knowing that he did definitely have that human side of him made him less threatening.

It didn't help that Salem had started sitting on his lap when he was over. He'd learnt just the spot under her ears that would make her love him. Honestly it was ridiculous how simply he could insert himself with no consequences. Pissed me off.

"Klaus, get out." I called from my kitchen, currently stood over the stove and stirring the pot of gumbo I'd been cooking. I could sense him in the hallway, making his way in, boots already off.

"Don't get so angsty so soon love. I haven't even said anything." The amusement on his tone wasn't hidden at all. I huffed loudly and put the lid back on the pot. "Smells divine, my sweet." He smirked, brows rising.

"What do you want?" I sighed. I just couldn't be bothered to deal with his drama.

"Only your company." He murmured, head lowering but eyes darkening. "Won't you invite me to stay for dinner?" He asked and I scoffed.

"Since when have you needed to be invited to anything ever?"

"You make a fair point love but it's nicer to be wanted now isn't it?" He shrugged and got closer, leaning completely past and over my to lift the lid of the pot and get a proper whiff. His body pressed against mine, pushing me against the front of the oven. I sucked in a breath, trying not to let him bother me as he slowly pulled back, his face inches from mine as his eyes glanced over my face. "So?" He pressed. "Am I welcome to stay?"

My jaw ticked and my fingers twitched but eventually I relented. "Fine, whatever. But you better actually tell me what you want because I know you aren't here for some dinner."

"You'd be surprised." He mused before sitting down at the table and picking Salem up to place her on his lap.

While we were eating he revealed the spell he was actually here for. So soon enough we were back in the main room with candles everywhere, sat facing each other on the floor and holding hands so I could use his energy as well as mine.

"You know love, under slightly different circumstances this could be a very romantic setting." He purred whilst I murmured the chant under my breath. His statement made me pause and sigh.

"You know Klaus, maybe it would be if you would shut up and let me finish." I snapped and he chuckled.

"Oh I can't wait to see how you behave in bed." I ended up muting him for the rest of the evening. It was comical to see how desperately he needed to say something every half a second.

By the time I'd done what he needed and gotten him back to the doorway, I finally let his sound come back. He cleared his throat and looked up at me with a look of annoyance before his expression shift back to his usual half smile. "As much as I may hope, I think it's quite clear that you won't be inviting me to stay the night." He teased and I hummed in agreement.

"Goodnight Klaus." I pressed, opening the door for him.

"Goodnight, love."

Klaus was arrogant and narcissistic and possibly one of the most selfish beings I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting and yet somehow I ended up looking for the goodness in him.

What was worse was that sometimes I found it.

Just a glimpse of light when he'd smile, the gold in his hair when his hands would push it back. The shimmer in his eyes when he held his hand out for me to channel him.

I don't really know when it started to happen but I ended up not hating him. We both realised that when I did actually invite him to stay for dinner.

The upturn of his lips and the way his head went down made me realise my mistake. But it was too late to undo, he was already sat at the table and talking away.

Once he'd eaten and managed to get the wine out of my cupboard, we ended up in the living room. Him with Salem back on his lap and purring away blissfully. His fingers were hidden within her fur whilst his legs stretched out across the sofa, as if it were his home as well as mine. This time I didn't complain about it.

The night got old quick and after a few glasses of wine I decided it was time for bed.

"If you wanted me upstairs you should have said so sooner, love." He grinned and my eyes rolled as we both rose, Salem jumping down and brushing around my ankles. By the time my gaze settled back on him he was only inches away, his hands making their way to my sides.

"Klaus." I muttered, shifting slightly when his palms pressed to my waist. The light buzz of the alcohol made his touch feel like pure warmth, he felt like the sun. I could feel my eyes shutting, the heat of his mouth against my forehead in from of a soft kiss.

"Thank you," He murmured, the word sounding so foreign on his tongue, "For inviting me." My body tensed and softened when his arms slid round me. It was only a second before I was feeling the definition of his back beneath my fingers.

His lips kissed my cheek before hovering just before my mouth. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway.

I should have known one wouldn't have been enough.

[acid-ixx]

Wouldn’t it be funny if Reader shows just a tiny amount of happiness to any one of the batfam, and the next thing you know they try their best to make Reader to do it again.

Example:

Dick:Makes a silly joke

Reader: Actually smiles and laughs at it

Dick: gloats about it to the fam

The BatFam: practically on all fours chasing after Reader to try and make them laugh

Don’t stress out with your writings (btw love your ‘again & again’ series❤️)

Take your time and don’t forget to drink water🫶🫶🫶

laughter is the best medicine

ft. yan! dick grayson, jason todd, and damian wayne

— masterlist !

more beneath the cut ! fluff ? with a mix of yandereness is my thing hehe. i love this ask sm <3 you guys are being fed well today !!!

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

ugh they're the definition of giving someone an inch and they'll be taking a mile. it would especially be annoying if it were dick on the receiving end of the line. but even if he'd be the one you'd take most precaution to, don't underestimate just how much your opinion holds the most value in the family. so they'll most definitely gloat about their achievement of making you smile or hell, even leaning against their shoulder willingly calls for a celebration.

trust me when i say that living in a stuffy manor already sucks, and they don't exactly like seeing you sulk and merely rot in your bed all day. so like any loving family would do, they'll try their damn best to at least see a quirk of your mouth or that faint glimmer in your that dick oh-so enchantingly talk about.

so it comes to them in the form of a surprise that one day, when your oldest brother accidentally trips over one of your expensive novelty ballpen, instead of nearly shouting at him for breaking one of your favorites, it was the "oomph!" sound his throat makes and his wide eyes when his ass directly landed on the floor that makes you crack into small giggles.

if it weren't for his enhanced hearing, dick would've crossed out your laughter as a hallucination, a product of imagination, something entirely impossible to produce, but no.

he had proven himself wrong.

once he turns back at you, he sees the crinkle of your eyes and your palm trying to cover your shit eating grin. the plump of your cheeks are so accentuated that he forgets the initial embarrassment he feels in the first place, replaced with awe at just how artfully captivating his sibling looks; sitting by

it's like a painting, he wishes it was. he wishes tim would be quick enough to capture the succession of your smiles in the live camera feed.

all because he couldn't believe it. couldn't believe that his baby bird is laughing. they're laughing and they look so mirthful and full of life when doing so.

yes, you're laughing at him, at his stupidity for being unable to detect a mere ballpen despite being trained to locate every known obstacle in a field.

but fuck, he was already raised at a circus to fulfill the role of an acrobat who entertains the crowd. what more could it be if that means he could play the role of a clown for you, his baby bird worth more than a thousand lives, whose laughter is equivalent to the immense euphoria that is filling his entire being?

give him an inch and he'll take an entire mile.

the next day, you'd be greeted with... a lot of peculiar instances within your family. all of which you would laugh at because it's not typical that your family displays mistakes, and you feel a bit better about yourself when their imperfections seem to seep out of their being— or maybe it's just your thoughts eating you up again, because is it just you or did jason, tim, and even damian, manage to at least trigger a reaction out of you?

tim would accidentally end up drinking orange juice right after brushing his teeth. his cringing expression, choked gargling and immense spitting is enough to guarantee a light chuckle from your seated form as you ate your cereal in peace, watching him as he tries to rid of the bitter taste on his tongue. although, bitter as it may, the sweetness and the aching of his tooth overpowers the regret he fills for gulping an entire bottle of orange juice down his throat.

he's so glad that he had set up multiple cameras and recorders at different angles prior to your time spent with him because he just couldn't stop watching your reaction in loop whilst he tried to continue his investigations within gotham's latest crime news. yet no matter how hard he attempts to control himself, his eyes couldn't stop looming over to your form, finding your reaction too incredibly cute to be ignored. yeah, he'll do his duties later. for now, he just needs to... screenshot every single frame of your expressions.

jason isn't much of a joker but when reading you one of your favorite stories, he had managed to mispronounce one of the words so badly that it ruined the narrative of the classical book he was voice acting for you. it was a stupid thing to laugh at, but for a guy like jason, who was an english nerd in his very prime, it would be hilarious— especially when his gothamite accent seeps into his vocabulary; which is very unbefitting for the voice of a character who was a princess that loves to wear frilly, pink dresses.

imagine a man, with a growl that vibrates through his skull, and muscles that bulge through his shirt, voices a princess of all people! his high pitched register for the character was already grating to your ears, but the sudden shift from an airy and girlish to deep and gruff with an added effect of a voice crack at the word "cake" was enough to let you burst out into laughs, your giggles echoing through the comfortable silence of the manor's library. for the first time in a while, you let jason wrap his arms around your shoulder, asking for your input about his tremendous acting skills.

jason never had many moments to cherish within the manor, preferring to stay over and outside of bruce's radar, but god does he love going through the batcave's live feed just to zoom in on your expressions, the grin on your face heavily reminds him of himself, back when he was the oblivious robin with no idea of what was coming to him. yet only now, he swears to protect your smile from never faltering.

damian takes his artistry skills seriously, constantly making a show of bragging to you whenever he has the opportunity to. but this time, he was incredibly pissed at drake for accidentally squeezing all the paint from the tube of oil paints he had stored by the drawers, and it was a shade closest to your skin tone, too; he meant to use that tube of paint for his next portrait of you. so like the petty child he is, damian sets on an hour long routine of drawing tim with monstrous features that screams the opposite of what he sports.

that means he had drawn multiple variants of tim with a hideous, actual bowl cut one. no seriously, his hair was a bowl and the strands that peeked out of it were spaghetti strands. in another drawing, his red robin outfit consists of plucked feathers and an elongated beak for its mask, what seems to be the pocket for the eyes now replaced with cat-like slits that makes the vigilantes expression looker idiotic and downright stupid. yet it felt therapeutic for damian to draw that his brother with what he felt was enough revenge to exact upon drake. that scum deserved a horrendously made portrait of him.

what he didn't expect was that you had stumbled upon his atelier, wanting to cure your boredom by painting a scenery when all of a sudden you had to drop all your equipment from your hands because... what the fuck was damian painting...? why is tim crawling across the floor in one of the portraits...? it takes a second or two for you to register the drawing's very detailed portrayal of a literal bowl cut, your laughter bursting out of the seams because no fucking way did damian actually draw something so hilarious and unserious. if you were anybody else, damian would've kicked your shins so violently you would've required a visit to the hospital. but because it's you... he chooses to sulk in the corner with puffed cheeks and burning ears as you approach the painting with said curiosity of a child and a laughter you can't stifle so easily.

at least it got you to stay in the same room as him for about an hour, with you giving your youngest brother more ideas to make the drawings even more unsettling than they already were, to which damian takes your tips to heart.

after you had eagerly (and shyly) showed the entire family you and damian's shared creation of a monstrosity, tim swears he'll never squeeze a tube of damian's paint anymore.

[wayneskluv]

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: ???

pairing/s: platonic!damian x reader (definite, set in stone) and then i’m not sure maybe dick x reader or jason x reader idk atm

warnings: basically none at the moment. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

authors note: um so hi. i’m back! probably. this might be a new sort of fic if anyone is interested.. like just chaos and perhaps a romantic pairing.. i will actually work on the peraltiago fic at some point but life has been HECTIC.

find chapter one here!

WAYNE Manor looms ahead, all gothic spires and looming stone, like something out of a horror novel rather than a billionaire’s estate. You shift the strap of your duffel bag, inhaling deeply. The air here is thick with old books, expensive wood polish, and—oddly enough—gunpowder. Fitting, considering the people inside.

The massive doors swing open before you can knock, revealing Alfred, ever the picture of poise. His expression is unreadable, but there’s warmth in his voice. “Miss. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

Inside, the house is even grander. High ceilings, walls lined with paintings older than some civilizations, and a staircase that looks like it was built for dramatic entrances.

Bruce is already there, waiting near the banister like some brooding gargoyle. Arms crossed. Stance firm. His usual intimidation tactics, but you’ve faced literal gods.

“You’ll be staying in the east wing,” he says. “Alfred will show you to your room.”

You raise a brow. “No speech? No ‘my house, my rules’?”

He exhales sharply. “You already know the rules. You’re not a guest—you’re an ally.”

Which is Bat-speak for I trust you, but I’ll still be watching you like a hawk.

Then, Chaos.

Dick is the first to approach, all bright smiles and easy warmth. “Hey! Glad you’re here.” He pulls you into a quick one-armed hug before you can react. “Don’t let the gloom and doom fool you—this place is kinda fun once you settle in.”

Jason, leaning against the staircase railing, snorts. “Fun? Sure. If you like near-death experiences and questioning your mortality on a daily basis.”

Tim, slouched on the couch with a coffee in hand, barely looks up. “Give it a few days. You’ll either love it or start reconsidering your life choices.”

“Tt.” The noise comes from Damian, standing stiffly at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed like a tiny warlord. His eyes flick over you, assessing, calculating. “You may be the daughter of an Amazon, but that does not mean you are above scrutiny.”

You smirk. “And you must be the infamous Damian. I’ve heard so much about you.”

His scowl deepens. “I highly doubt that.”

Dick slings an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “You’ll fit right in.”

You glance around at the absolute mess of personalities—grumpy billionaires, reckless vigilantes, over-caffeinated detectives, and a pint-sized assassin with a superiority complex.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

[julymusings]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

because love is the stack of biographies on your nightstand with a bookmark near the end.

It’s no secret that Jason Todd loves to read.

More often than not, you can find him lounging on his couch during the day, or in bed before sleeping, with one hand resting behind his head and a paperback in the other. He reads everything— classical, romance, horror; you name it, he’s at least tried it. And there’s little you love more than wiggling your way into the space between him and the cushions, letting him lie his head in your lap so you can run your fingers through his hair while he reads. You’ve come to associate the smell of books with him; the rustic scent of old paper clings to his skin, is a permanent part of his apartment walls.

You were never much of a reader, but there’s something about the way he describes the stories to you. He eagerly retells the plots of his favorite novels; takes you to the plains of Hertfordshire and the hills of Switzerland. You don’t need to read his books to know the characters unequivocally, picture their faces, and hear their voices in your head. You tried to pursue it yourself, for him, because it’s something he loves, and you love him. But reading has never been your strong suit. It’s difficult to focus—you zoned out during audiobooks, the words didn’t make sense, and sometimes, it’s just plain boring. You were so determined at first, telling Jason how excited you were to read his favorite book. His genuine excitement warmed something inside you, but left another part hollow with dread— you could not disappoint him.

But it was hard. You’re not a reader, and you never have been. You really tried, resorting to more creative measures like SparkNotes summaries, fidget toys, reward systems, and on one hopeless day, an automated-voice summary recorded over a sped-up play through of Subway Surfers.

When you walked into his apartment this morning, praying that last night’s patrol was exhausting enough to push your promise to the back of his mind, the hopeful look on his face when he asked you how you liked the book sent your stomach plummeting down three floors.

You panicked.

Regurgitated the only line from the Subway Surfers summary that stuck with your brain. You should have known better, thinking you could successfully lie to a trained detective, someone whose life depends on reading body language and carrying out successful interrogations.

Now, spread out on the couch with a thick bandage around his ribs, he has a funny look on his face—a tiny crease between his eyebrows, his head cocked to the side like a puppy. You wring your hands together while fighting to keep the flat, pained smile on your face.

“You thought it was…” Jason’s eyes narrow, and the corner of his mouth quirks down. “Say that again, sweetheart?”

Your skin feels damp as you struggle to keep eye contact; a classic sign of suspicion— something Jason taught you.

You keep your voice even, fighting against your mouth’s urge to drag your smile down into a grimace. “It was very relevant to the current political climate. Very…poignant.”

“Poignant?” He raises his eyebrows, nodding. “What’s poignant about it?” His eyes glint under the dimmed apartment light, amusement coloring his features.

Your lips press together.

“Babe?” He prompts after you take too long to search for an answer.

“Hm?”

“The book?”

Jason slings one arm over the back of the couch, the other absentmindedly rubbing over his bandages. Your face burns.

After another few moments of silence, and your artificial eagerness locked into a stalemate with his goading smirk, Jason relents.

His hand thuds against his thigh, tapping it twice to beckon you to come closer from your seat at the other end of the couch. Reluctantly, you obey.

“Baby,” he says kindly. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.” 

You busy yourself with picking at a piece of lint on your sleeve.

“It’s…not that I don’t like it,” you say, finally. “I just can’t. Every time I try to sit down and read—and I really tried—it doesn’t work. I don’t know what it is.”

Jason smiles so warmly, it melts away all your worries. “You don’t have to read it just because I like it.”

Your lips purse into a pout. “But you were so excited when I asked to borrow it.”

“I was excited because you were excited. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to,” you groan, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He kisses the top of your head, and his lips stay there. “It’s your favorite, and it sounds so good when you talk about it. I want to know about the things you like. But I just— I can’t focus.”

You sigh into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He smiles into your hair. “It’s okay. Thank you for trying, though.”

Your response is a non-committal whine that gets muffled by his skin.

“Why don’t we try something else?” He asks.

You lift your head to look at him.

“Hand me the book?” Jason motions across the couch.

You reach for your bag, fishing out the worn, soft-cover novel, and gingerly place it in his hands, as if it were a delicate piece of crystal—to him, it probably is.

“Can I read to you?” Jason’s voice is soft, eyes gentle and forgiving.

You nod.

As he flips it open to the first page, you settle into his side. He begins to read;

“When I stepped out into the sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind…”

His rocky, baritone voice reverberates through his body, humming against your skin.

This time, the words stick.

divider

hey guys. how y'all doing. i don't love how this turned out. it feels ooc and too short but i am having bad writer's block rn so i made myself write something and this is what i could manage, and it's better than nothing and was also not proofread sorry man idk what to tell you :/

It's common to write Jason x reader with a reader who also likes to read (myself included, it makes for a great meet cute/icebreaker/etc), but I wanted to write something for the girlies who don’t like reading too!! It fits for someone who either has trouble reading, or just doesn’t like it, whichever fits your fancy. Hope u enjoyed

also ofc i'm a jason jane austen fan truther but i do hc his fave being the outsiders. it just fits, i feel

quote is julia nicole camp from nyt tiny love stories <3