Me When I Reach The Angst Part Of The Angsty Fic That I Specifically Chose For The Angst

La Vie En Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Who’s was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie,”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

Y/N: Did you tell anybody we are engaged, Benedict?

Benedict: Yes, I have no self-control and I told half the ton we are engaged.

Y/N: Okay, there is no need to be sarcastic.

Benedict: No, I really do have no self control and told half the ton we are engaged.

communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

Part II

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting. 

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

 “So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

Doodle

Priority One

You come first for Jason ~800 words

At his core, Jason Todd puts himself last. He's the first to jump in front of a bullet, first charge into a burning fire, first to drop dead center into a group of thugs.

It's not that he doesn't care about his safety, it's just that he deems his safety as lesser. He's stronger, sturdier, and if he's the one that goes down instead of someone else? That's a good thing.

He knows people would worry. People would miss him. But they'd move on the same way they did before. They would fill the gaps in the spaces he leaves, and there wouldn't be a need to pick the pieces off the floor because nothing would break at his loss.

At least, that used to be the truth. It was the truth until you nestled your way into his heart, and he somehow became a fixture in your life. He didn't mean to do it, didn't mean to make you fall in love with him, and he certainly didn't mean to fall in love with you.

But he did.

And now he makes sure you sleep on the inside on the bed, safe between the wall and him. He walks between you and the road, always on guard for swerving cars and shady civilians. He checks your apartment during patrol, though it's more for his peace of mind than yours.

Jason Todd still puts himself last, but the thought of you comes first, when he dives into the line of fire. If he doesn't come home, who's going to fix the leaky faucet or take out the trash when it gets full?

You could do it, he knows you could, but he doesn't want you to have to. So, he upgrades his armor when he would normally put it off. He's quicker to stop the blood dripping from his wounds. He's more aware, when he's shifting through the shadows of an enemy base.

He never worried about what he would leave behind. Not until you started to kiss his jaw before his nightly patrol, not until you started to reach for him every time he came home, beckoning him to your side and under the waiting, warm blankets.

He worries now. He makes plans, sets aside money, and makes his closest allies promise to keep an eye on you if he ever can't. He becomes your shield, whether you're aware of it or not, he has you covered.

You're his priority, and in becoming so, he's slowly becoming a priority, too. You're happier when he's okay, so he steadies his reckless tendencies. He dismantles the bomb in his helmet. He turns on his tracker for Oracle to keep an eye on.

For all the times he looks after himself, it's with you on his mind. He double checks his gear because he needs to pick up paper towels on the way home for you. He cleans his grappling hook because you asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner and a movie tomorrow.

He waits for backup before breaking up Penguin's latest smuggling ring because you recommended a book for him to read, and he only has a handful of chapters left to finish.

It's you, and you, and you again, that gives him a reason to want to make it to sunrise. It's you, that makes him really want to live.

He wants to see coast cities and tiny forest towns outside of whatever crime he's hunting down. He wants to travel and explore and try everything and anything– as long as it's with you.

He'd give up the world, give up everything he knows, as long as he can give you what you want. But all you ever ask, even if it's not in so many words, is for him to come home. So he does. Every night. Every day. Every time. Jason Todd finds his way back to you because your wants are his first concern.

He sheds his armor and kicks off his boots and leaves everything but the thought of you at your windowsill. He smiles when you murmur your sleepy greetings because he knows you think his smiles are pretty. He checks the locks and changes into the pajama set that matches with yours because you giggle every time you see it.

And all these things are so little yet so big all in one. They fill the cracks beneath his skin, and when he finally has you in his arms again, Jason Todd knows that nothing will be greater than this, than you.

There is no adversary, no injury or mission, that would have his gaze from straying from his singular goal; making it back to your arms to fill your days with all you deserve. With joy. With love. And for as long as you desire it, with him.

Nah you guys ain't understanding. I love Dante. I'll always love Dante. This is a Dantelover space. If Dante has 1 billion fans I am one of them, if Dante has 2 fans I am one of them, if Dante has only 1 fan THEN I AM THAT FAN. And if Dante has no fans then I'm gone. NOBODY DOES LIKE <HIM3

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

Image how confused the entire Bat family would be if Jason— touch repulsed, wants to work alone, barely even tolerates them most days— Todd finally gets sucked into one of Bruce's charity events, only to come with a date who he *cannot* keep his hands off. I'm talking, has his arm draped around her waist or over her shoulder whenever they're walking, hugging her from behind with his jaw on top of her hair (carefully though, so he won't mess it up), occasionally randomly kissing the back of her hand, or her cheek, or very quickly her neck before she smacks him away playfully.

And the media LOVES this.

The reporters who usually bother Bruce about his company, Dick about his romantic life, Damian about school, Duke about being recently legally adopted, Cass about her improving speech skills, Tim about recent publicity statements, all suddenly leave them alone to take picture after picture of Jason and whoever his date is. And Jason—has threatened, attempted, and actually punched reporters— Todd doesn't even care. He doesn't bat an eye, (pun intended) because they should take pictures with how gorgeous she looks.

He'd be offended if they didn't.

And when she blushes, getting a bit shy after hearing a few too many clicks, he runs a hand up and down her arm, tearing her away from the buffet to dance. Dance. Yes, Bruce thought he'd lost his mind when he saw his son whisk a beautiful woman into the middle of the room, willingly, even eagerly wrapping his arms around her comfortably and familiarly, while she rests her head against his chest and he rests his cheek against the side of your head, his eyes fluttering shut every once in a while.

Of course, his family tried to get to talk to him, really, they did. Something or someone conveniently got in the way every single time, until the event is over and Jason and his date manage to slip out in the crowd before the family gets to interrogate him about it.

His phone? He has to shut it off from all the calls and texts that overwhelm his inbox. Alfred even sent an email.

When he eventually does pick it up after having it on do not disturb for a while, he simply types in the group chat, "You told me to bring a date." Before putting it face down on the nightstand and rolling over in bed to wrap his arms around her, kissing her temple softly as she sleeps, out of your fancy dress and in his arms, where she belongs.

Support | twitter

lost mail | fred g. weasley

summary: after a bad break up you try to get rid of the memories, instead you find something that turns your life upside down word count: 4.3k masterlist

You cannot remember why you chose to keep every little piece of your life.

That was the only thought in your mind while you went through every box you kept in your attic. And every box came with the memories.

You couldn’t decide if you were grateful for it or if you hated it.

At the front of the attic were the newest memories you have kept, the ones who were involving the one person you were trying to forget.

The person who was at fault in the first place for you being up here and going through every box.

It hadn’t even been a week since the person you truly loved at one point told you that they were moving on, packing up their bags and that there was no space for you in those plans.

You were lying if you said you weren’t hurt, but you knew that you should be more devastated by this. Deep down you already knew that that ending was inevitable. And maybe you had made peace with that a long time ago.

And if you were truly honest with yourself, maybe you never really loved that person at all. How could you love a person that never truly saw you?

Giving yourself up and everything you stood for just to not be alone? You were foolish to believe that it could work.

You decided to make a clean cut. And that involved getting rid of the boxes that kept pieces of the memories you wanted to forget.

But once you started going down the memory lane, you couldn’t stop.

In every box were pieces of people you had not seen in a lifetime, at least that’s what it felt like to you.

These boxes had hidden secrets in them, ones you almost forgot but never really could. Like the coin that used to be your lucky charm, the one you would always carry around.

The castle was quiet at this time of night.

Not a soul around, just you and the moon.

You weren’t the kind of person who could easily break the rules, but at nights where you couldn’t sleep the only thing to help was to take a walk around the deserted hallways.

Never before have you been caught, but luck didn’t seem to be on your side tonight.

The sudden sound of footsteps made you stop in your tracks and with them came the one and only Fred Weasley.

He ran right past you, straight into the empty classroom behind you.

Before you could process that, Snape was in front of you.

“What are you doing wandering this castle at night?” he asked you, hair a mess and just a tad out of breath. He had been seemingly chasing after Fred.

“I was just thirsty,” you lied straight through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Snape on the other hand did not look impressed with your lie, but he seemed to have more important matters to tend to. “This is of no interest to me. Have you noticed someone running this way?”

“Have you lost someone, Professor?” you joked, immediate regret following with the way Snape looked at you. “I did, he ran that way,” you said, pointing in the opposite direction.

“If I ever see you again wandering the castle at night or see you misstep in any way, you will have detention for the rest of the school year. Also ten points lost. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, no longer finding joy in this situation.

Snape turned around before the words left your mouth, having no use for you anymore.

After he was out of sight, you knocked softly on the door of the classroom Fred was in. “You can come out, he’s gone,” you said in a hushed tone.

The door opened with caution, and you were looking at the grinning face of the red head. “Well, hello there and thank you from the bottom of my heart, love,” he said, sending you a wink that made your eyes roll.

“I think you owe me one,” you told him, taking a step back so he could step out of the room.

“Oh, I’d do anything for you,” he agreed, his grin widening even more if that was even possible.

“A normal person would offer money or something,” you hushed, with flushed cheeks. Never before have you been at the receiving end of the Weasley charm.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I do have…,” he rummaged through his pockets, fishing out one coin of a currency you did not recognize, “I have that.”

He offered it up to you, but you pushed his hand back to him, saying “I was only joking.”

“Maybe, but I’m not,” he said before taking your hand and placing the coin in it, closing your hand around it.

The brush of his hand was gone in a second, but something about it settled into your skin, a warmth you couldn’t shake even as you put the coin in your pocket.

“It’s my lucky charm, so you better keep it safe,” he said in mock seriousness, before turning around and walking away.

“I’ll try my best, Weasley,” you murmured as you watched him go.

You closed your fist around the coin, imaging that it still carried the warmth of Fred, but it did not. It was cold in your hand, leaving you feeling guilty when you remembered that you hadn’t been around at the shop as much as you used to.

It wasn’t that you had ignored him intentionally—you’d just been caught up in work and your relationship.

The same relationship Fred had disapproved of from the beginning. But you were determined to make it work, because that’s the kind of person you were.

You took crumbs of love and affection and tried to turn them into something more, desperately holding onto someone who did not even look back as they left.

Fred knew you better than anyone, and he’d told you this wasn’t right for you. But he’d respected your decision.

Still, it had put a strain on your friendship. Now, you felt a sudden urge to go and apologize, to make things right. But you didn’t—you were too much of a coward to admit you’d been wrong, especially so soon after the breakup.

You always used to be like that when it came to arguments, even if you knew deep down you were wrong, you still carried on. Maybe it was because you were telling yourself that sometimes it was better for everyone if you just ignored the truth—a tendency you also had when it came to other things.

“Why can’t you just admit you were wrong?” Fred asked, shaking with laughter.

You crossed your arms, turning your head to the side, trying to stifle a smile. “Because I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, tugging on your arm like a child begging for sweets. “Just admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it.”

You kept your mouth shut, unwilling to give in. But despite yourself, you couldn’t help smiling at his antics.

“There it is!” he crowed in victory, as though your smile was all he’d been after.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, no longer able to hold back a laugh.

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his heart. “You wound me.” Dropping down beside you, he put on his saddest face. “I’m leaving soon, and all you can do is insult me. How terrible of you.”

You shook your head, though his words struck a pang in your chest.

It was true. In less than a month, Hogwarts would no longer echo with the laughter of Fred and George. They would leave to open their shop and leave everything—including you—behind.

This was Fred’s dream, and you supported him wholeheartedly, but the ache of his coming departure had settled inside you and refused to go away. You knew it would linger, long after he was gone.

“Don’t remind me. It won’t be long now,” you muttered, a grimace on your face.

He nudged you gently, offering a smile of his own. “Don’t be sad. Once you graduate, you can come work for me and George. You could even move in with us.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Where? In your room?” You knew their flat above the shop only had two bedrooms.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he winked at you.

All you could do was stare at him, needing a moment to process his words.

The idea of moving in with Fred warmed your cheeks, and your mind couldn’t help wandering to the idea of a life together.

But that’s all it was—a fantasy.

“Very funny, you git,” you laughed, trying to defuse the tension that had appeared for just a moment. Moments like these seemed to happen more often lately.

There were times when Fred said something that could have meant more, only for you to turn it into a joke. It was easier that way—or at least, that’s what you told yourself to not have your heart be broken by false hope. Because this was Fred, he was just joking around, nothing more. That’s just what he did.

Fred took the lifeline you threw him, laughing along before saying, “I’m not the one who said Chocoballs are better than Jelly Slugs.”

And just like that, your old argument started up again.

Maybe in a few weeks, you’d be ready to face Fred. For now, you kept sifting through memories in the quiet of the attic, where the evening sun cast a warm glow.

There were so many pictures and keepsakes from the past few years, and looking at them now, a sense of dread washed over you. Years spent giving your love to someone who had never deserved it.

One box was filled with old parchments, overflowing with thoughts—a diary of your mind. It was a habit you had given up soon after meeting your ex, who never understood its importance. Not like someone else, someone special.

In another box, you stumbled upon an old photo from your days at Hogwarts, familiar faces you hadn’t seen in ages smiling back at you. Underneath it lay another photo, this one taken by an unknown person—a candid shot of you and Fred. You still remembered the day it was taken.

Sitting by the Great Lake in your favorite hidden spot, you couldn’t put your quill down. So many thoughts were swirling around your head that you needed to pour them all out.

That’s how Fred found you.

“Slow down, you might set the paper on fire,” he teased, a smile on his face. You jumped at the sound of his voice, not having noticed his arrival.

“Merlin, you scared me,” you sighed, looking up at him. His hair was disheveled, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his tie was slung over his shoulders.

Before you could ask what happened, he settled next to you on the stone, asking curiously, “What are you writing, anyway?”

“Anything and everything,” you told him earnestly.

“Huh?”

“I’m writing down every thought I have—it makes it easier to sort through the mess,” you explained, looking out at the water, a little nervous about his reaction to your strange habit.

You did not dare tell him that most of these thoughts involved him.

But his answer surprised you. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

You turned to him, confusion written on your face.

Fred scratched the back of his head, his tone softer. “I mean… I get it. I’ve got a million things going on in my head all the time. Putting them down isn’t a bad idea.”

You hummed, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you should take my advice, then,” you said with a wink.

That made him laugh. “Maybe I should.”

A comfortable silence settled over you before you quietly confessed, “It’s also the only way to make my mind go quiet.”

Fred didn’t answer right away; instead, he stared out at the lake, watching the afternoon sun dance on the water.

But you were watching him, admiring the way his brows knitted and his lips—just the perfect shade of pink—pursed in thought. That look of quiet concentration made him more handsome than ever.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like the perfect expression of the connection you shared: the way you could sit together for hours without speaking a single word and still feel content.

When Fred finally spoke again, you nearly missed it. “I have you for that.”

You didn’t even remember seeing anyone there with a camera, but you were grateful now for the photo they’d captured of you and Fred. Those were the moments you cherished most.

Beside the picture lay a stack of your old schoolbooks. As you picked up Advanced Potion-Making, a small note slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Your name was written on it in familiar handwriting, though you couldn’t recall what it was.

With a sense of curiosity mixed with something heavier, you unfolded the paper, revealing a handwritten letter addressed to you.

May 1996

My love,

you’re surly wondering why I’m writing you a letter but I was told by someone special that sometimes putting words on paper was the only way to sort though the mess in your mind, and that mess has been there ever since the day I met you.

I know that this is sudden but also not…

There has always been something between us, ever since I first saw you in that hallway when I was running away from Snape.

Ever since that night I couldn’t get you out of my head to the point George wanted to kick me out of our room, because all I was talking about was you.

I've been carrying this secret for a while now. I kept telling myself it would fade or that maybe it was just a momentary feeling. But here I am, still reeling from it every time I see you smile, or when your hand brushes against mine. It's as if my heart can't help but leap toward you, even though you're already so close.

I have known you now for so long and you’re still all I think about.

I don't think I tried to fall in love with you, yet here I am, helplessly yours in every way that matters.

Even if all we ever are is friends, l'll still be grateful to have you in my life. If there's even the smallest part of you that feels the same... then I want you to know that l'll be here, waiting.

I’m leaving tomorrow, I know that this is sudden and might be already too late or maybe this is the perfect moment.

Maybe in a year, after you graduate, you will be working with me and George, share a room with me, like we talked about and make me the happiest person every day just by being with me—in any way you want.

Anyways, I’m waiting for you at our spot.

Don’t leave me hanging.

Yours, always,

Freddie

You never knew.

Tears had fallen onto the letter, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

All these years, and you’d never known about this letter.

All these years, and you’d never given Fred an answer.

What must he have thought? That you ignored him? That you didn’t feel the same? That you’d simply left him waiting alone in your spot?

Your throat tightened, and your heartbeat quickened. With trembling hands, you read the letter again. And then again. Making sure that the words were real, not some figment of your imagination.

He had to watch you fall in love with someone else.

That thought shattered you. Pressing a hand to your chest, you tried to contain the pain spreading through you, tightening around your heart.

With shaky legs, you stood, clutching the letter tightly, and walked away.

&

You found yourself in Diagon Alley, moving toward a place you hadn’t visited in ages. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here—you only knew you had to come.

The shop was dark, already closed, but the door was unlocked, left open until they finished their work in the back. An old habit, one you knew well.

Because you knew Fred.

He had been the one constant in your life, someone you’d always loved, though you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t meant to be, forcing yourself to move on.

But the letter in your hand told you how wrong you had been.

Rounding the counter, you found the office. A soft orange glow seeped out from under the door, accompanied by the faint scratch of quill on parchment.

You hadn’t planned what to say—all you had was the letter, clutched tightly in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

“George, I told you—” Fred began, looking up from his papers. His brows furrowed as he took in your disheveled hair and red eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, stepping further into the office. The familiar scents of smoke and cider surrounded you, grounding you.

“What?” His voice was gentle, but cautious.

“I didn’t know you loved me,” you replied, holding up the letter.

You saw realization dawn on his face, the moment he understood what you were holding. He shot up from his chair, his breath shaky, though he didn’t speak.

“I just found it, and I—I didn’t know,” you repeated, needing him to understand.

You needed him to know that you never meant to cause him pain—that you had never intended to leave him waiting alone by your spot at the Great Lake.

Tears blurred your vision as you repeated the same words, over and over, like a mantra: “I didn’t know.” They were all you could cling to as you trembled, heart pounding, unraveling in front of him.

Only when you felt Fred’s strong arms enfold you did the world seem to steady, his soft whispers reaching you through the haze. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “shh…it’s okay.”

You pressed your face into his chest, clutching his shirt as the letter crumpled in your hand. His voice anchored you, each word a lifeline as you soaked his shirt with your tears. Every emotion crashed over you at once. Regret, anger, grief and fear.

Fred never stopped murmuring reassurances, nor did he release you from his embrace. Only when your sobs quieted did he gently ease you back, his gaze searching yours. “We should talk,” he said softly.

And that’s how you found yourself curled up beside him on a small, well-worn sofa in his living room, a cup of tea warming your hands. The letter lay on the table before you, a tangible reminder of the conversation he’d been waiting years to have.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence felt heavy, filled with everything you needed to say but didn’t know how to begin.

At last, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper. “We broke up.”

If Fred was surprised, he didn’t show it, merely nodding, acknowledging your words with quiet understanding.

He sat beside you, though with a safe, careful distance—as if he feared getting too close too soon.

“It never would’ve worked, you were right.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, studying his familiar face, still as warm as you remembered. “I think I was trying to turn nothing into something more. Trying to make it work, because that’s just what I do.”

He looked down, fidgeting with his long fingers, a habit you’d always known. He didn’t look at you, but somehow you felt his attention, unwavering.

“I don’t know if I loved-,” you cut yourself off. “I just had to move on from you, that’s all I knew,” you confessed quietly, feeling shame. “When I was cleaning out old things, I found all these memories… I found this.” You pointed to the letter on the table, the heart of it all.

You took a deep breath, preparing for the hardest part of all. “I never saw it before, and when I read it…” You laughed, a sad, soft sound. “It was everything I ever wanted. And I didn’t even know I could’ve had it.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you whispered, “If only I’d known… I would’ve been there. I would’ve done anything. You must have thought I was heartless. You must have hated me.”

Fred’s voice was soft when he replied, “I could never hate you.” He set his tea aside, finally meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter. “I assumed you just… didn’t feel the same. That maybe it was too hard to tell me that to my face. But I never hated you, not for one moment.”

You shook your head, needing him to understand. “If I had known—”

But Fred shook his head, stopping you. “In time, I accepted that loving you from afar was all I could do, and I knew that keeping even a small part of you was better than losing you entirely.”

The weight of his words sank in, each syllable touching something deep within you. Could he still love you, after all this time? The thought was terrifying and exhilarating, both the possibility of an answer and the risk of rejection. But there was a way to show him how you felt, one you’d kept close for years. Reaching into your pocket, you took out the coin he had given you so long ago.

A spark of hope glimmered in Fred’s eyes as he took it in, the recognition softening his features. “You kept this? After all these years?”

“You told me not to lose it,” you replied, your voice tender with a hint of a smile.

He took the coin from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, leaving a familiar warmth that seemed to linger in the space between you.

“But you never were a very good listener,” Fred teased, his familiar grin reappearing for the first time that evening, making your heart flutter. In that moment, you saw not just the man sitting beside you, but the boy you had fallen for so many years ago.

Though it had been months, maybe years, since you’d spent time together as you should have, he still felt like home.

His soft brown eyes, the faint crinkles at their corners, the freckles scattered across his face like constellations, and his flaming-red hair, now grown longer—he was so much the boy you’d once known, and yet now a man, shaped by life and loss, sitting close enough to touch.

“What happens now?” you asked, voice quiet, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of this moment. But you needed to know. This was new and terrifying, and all you wanted was for him to take your hand and assure you everything would be alright.

“Whatever you want,” he replied simply.

But what you wanted wasn’t simple at all. You wanted him in every way you’d ever dreamed, to be by his side and share in his life. You wanted him to hold you as you mourned the years lost to another, yet you couldn’t find the words to ask it of him.

Fred understood, as he always did. “If you want to be with me, we’ll make it work. And if you need time, I’ll give you that.” He gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent promise. “I’ve waited years. I can wait a little longer.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you assured him immediately, your voice filled with the weight of all the years you had spent denying yourself this truth.

You could feel the shift in him, a warmth filling his gaze, his smile softening. Slowly, he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, his breath warm against your cheek. But your answer came without hesitation.

“About you? Always,” you whispered.

And that was when his lips met yours, a kiss so tender it felt like a wish made real, warm and gentle, a thousand memories woven into one perfect moment. His hand cupped your cheek, grounding you as you melted into him, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

His lips tasted of tea and something indescribably sweet, like warmth and comfort, like every dream you’d ever had of him. It was soft, unhurried, the years of yearning unfolding as his fingers brushed your skin, leaving a trail of warmth that you felt in every part of you.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he whispered, “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

All you could do was laugh, nudging him away before pulling him back in, savoring the warmth you’d both waited too long to feel.

Fred’s gaze fell on the letter lying on the table, the edges worn and softened from years of waiting. He ran his thumb over your hand, murmuring, “Funny how one piece of parchment kept us apart.”

You looked at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess it was just waiting for the right time.”