Intimate Moments - Eren Jaeger

NEW FIXATION JUST DROPPED I WANT TO FUCK GREGORY HOUSE!!!

need to cuddle him so bad bye

Fatherhood.

Single father!Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: the reader comes across a young boy. It seems the boy's worried father becomes quite taken with her.

A/n: He's got cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man 👀

Masterlist

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She gasped when something grabbed her leg. 

The lady looked down to see a small boy, no older than two, holding her leg tightly. "Oh."

She ran a hand over the boy's hair as she looked around for someone, anyone in the crowd—his parents or her guard. Neither were in sight, it seemed. 

So she managed to pry him away enough to bend down to his level. 

"Where are your parents?" She whispered to him. 

When he didn't answer, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "That's alright. We'll find them, yeah? They must be missing you fearsomely. What is your name?"

The boy stared with watery eyes. 

"Well," the lady continued, "Will you let me help you?"

The boy managed a nod and accepted the hug she offered him. 

She thanked the merchant that she had been speaking to and picked up the boy, now focusing her attention on the people rather than the goods they were selling. 

Darkish hair, she assumed from the boy's looks. Someone with blue eyes. Surely he was precious to someone.

"Hey," she lightly reprimanded when he tucked his face into her neck. "I need you to look for them. I don't know what…" Her voice trailed off. The boy was tired and scared and she could hardly blame him.

She roamed the long street once over, just looking for someone that lost their child. A worrisome mother or a stern father. But nothing. 

She sighed, rubbing the boy's back, "Father won't like this."

She continued on as before, shopping lightly with the boy in her arms. Her heart was warmed by the soft snores that came from his small body.

She walked down the cobble road, noticing a guard whose eyes lit up at the sight of her. It sent her on edge. She turned the other way. 

Another guard was coming from that direction. She froze. 

Trying another way, she tried to use the crowd to manage around them, but was met with another guard, quite literally running into him. She backed up in fear, her free hand over the boy's head as if she could protect him. 

"Hand over the boy, my lady."

They looked so angry. "N-No." She tried to display confidence but that's hardly was she accomplished. "Whatever the boy did, I can pay for-"

"My lady!" Her guard's voice came through. 

Her guard, Ser Marten, pushed through the guards and the crowd that seemed to not even notice the chaos that was happening. 

He pulled an arm around her. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded and looked at the other guards. Her eyes flitted down to the sigil that laid on their cloaks. 

Stark. 

She feared Lord Stark was more cruel than she made him out to be, having three grown men chase down a small boy. 

"I won't ask again. Hand over the boy," one of the guards tried again.

"Ser," Ser Marten tried to ease. "Whatever the boy has done can be paid-"

The guard behind her reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. 

Ser Marten's eyes widened, and he pulled his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A loud voice echoed through the street. 

The crowd practically split in two as the great Lord Cregan Stark ran to them. "Where-" He paused. "You've found him, my lady?"

Her brow furrowed. "W-What?"

"Unhand her and go," Cregan barked at the guards. "And you," he ordered Ser Marten, "Do sheath your sword. I'll not have violence on my streets."

Ser Marten blinked and did as he said. 

"You may go as well."

Marten looked between the two, only stepping back at the sight of his lady's nod. 

With him gone, she felt vulnerable. 

Cregan held his arms out, expecting her to hand him the boy. 

She turned away from him out of instinct, shielding the boy. "I-"

He frowned. "My lady." He extended his arms further. 

"Whatever he's done, my lord, I can pay for. I am not the richest and I hardly know what House Stark would want, but I can try. Please, don't hurt him."

Cregan's mouth opened in a reaction of shock. He tilted his head. She was more than meets the eye. "My lady, I am only a worried father. Please."

A feeling of embarrassment filled her stomach. "Oh." She pulled the boy out in her arms, seeing that, indeed, the Sigil of house Stark laid on the boy's chest. "Oh, forgive me!"

Cregan took his son with caring hands, careful not to wake him. "Oh, my boy," he sighed as he held him close to his chest. "Gods, I've never felt fear like this." He closed his eyes, not caring if he seemed weak for a moment. He was a terrified father and he wasn't afraid to seem it.

"Do forgive me, my lord. I-I didn't not realize-"

"-You did not realize that you held my future, the future of the North, in your arms?" He let out a breath of a laugh. "I owe you greatly." He looked down at the sigil on her cloak. "Lady Bolton? Are you Lord Bolton's new wife?"

She flushed. "No. NO. I am his daughter." She smoothed down her skirt in embarrassment. 

"Ah, forgive me. I thought his second wife was young. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"You weren't," she assured. "She's not much my elder. An honest mistake."

"But you are still of House Bolton? Unmarried, I mean?" He asked.

"Yes, as of the current time, yes."

He nodded with the information. "Strange to see a childless woman with such motherly instincts. He seemed quite content with you."

"He was quite frightened to be alone."

Cregan hummed. "Let me reward you. You've protected my boy and returned him to me."

"No, I couldn't-"

"-Nonsense. It's the very least I could do."

She watched the boy stir in the large man's arms. His tiny hand gripped Cregan's fur cloak tightly, as if finally feeling the full comfort of his home again. "Knowing I've done you a service is gratitude enough for me."

"Please." He looked around. "Are you alone, my lady? Surely I would have heard of Lord Bolton's arrival before this."

She nodded. "I come to the market every few months. This is the only place I've found dried lavender. Father says I have an obsession," she laughs. "Perhaps so. But I'm old enough now of course to journey alone. With my guard."

"And have you found it this time?" 

"Hmm?"

"The lavender?"

"Oh. Um," she looks around. "No, I haven't."

Cregan sighs. "That's a shame. Are you sure you won't accept a reward?"

She smiles. "Truly. I am sure." She reached out to brush the boy's hair, but stops herself when she realizes how inappropriate that is now that she knows it's Stark's son. "G'day, Lord Stark."

He stops her before she can turn to leave. "Lady Bolton. Do I get a first name?"

"Y/n."

He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. "Good day, my lady. I won't forget your kindness."

…

Cregan was honest about that. He didn't forget her kindness.

…

"My lady."

Her handmaiden interrupts her quiet time. 

"There's a gift for you, my lady."

Her eyes lit up. "What? From who?"

"I'm not sure. Shall I bring it in?"

She nodded and watched the woman disappear for a moment before reappearing with a small cloth sack.

She took the bag with nimble fingers, pulling it open. 

Dried Lavender. 

A small letter laid inside, sealed with wax, but no sigil.

A small gift to represent my gratitude.  - A relieved father

She let out a breath. How thoughtful of him to scour the market for this, even after she was unable to find it. 

"Who is it from, my lady?"

"Just a man I helped back in Winterfell."

"Well, how thoughtful."

Yes, she thought, Cregan Stark was quite the thoughtful man.

…

Cregan sat at his council meeting, his boy, Rickon, sitting in his lap, tapping his wooden horse against the table as he played with it. The northern lord hardly noticed the sound at this point, the boy's antics becoming second nature to him. 

"I agree, my lord," one of his councilmen spoke, "perhaps that would be best for the North."

A servant interrupted. "Forgive me, my lord. But it's a letter."

Cregan's mind snapped as he looked up. "Is it? Hand it here."

The servant walked it over to him and dismissed himself.

Cregan's fingers brushed over the wax. 

The Bolton sigil. 

He could practically feel his hands shake as he opened it.

My heart is lightened at the news of your relief.  I thank you for your gift. It was more gracious than I fear I deserved. I'll remain in awe of how you managed to find exactly what I had failed to.  My house, my father, and I as well, remain loyal to you.  - Y/n Bolton

"My lord?" One of the men asked lightly.

Cregan looked up from the letter.  "Write urgently to Lord Bolton. I have an offer."

Cregan tutted lightly when Rickon reached out for the letter. "Easy, son. This is your father's keepsake."

…

My dear lady,  I fear writing yet another letter to you may be deemed inappropriate to some, but they do not understand the kinship we share.  My son grows by the day, and still, I remember the day you and I met so starkly.  Take this gift, and dare I ask that you think of me when you wear it. - A content father

The bottom of the letter was all scribbles and scratches from the quill, no doubt something that his son had added. It made her heart warm, like perhaps maybe the babe was trying to say something to her as well.

Her eyes wandered to the dress that he had gifted. A Stark blue. She thought it perhaps a bit too bold for the man, but she wouldn't deny his wishes. 

Her father may question it, but he couldn't refuse such a thing. 

She took out a quill.

…

I am starting to believe that you have overdone your gratitude. I fear as a young lady, I have not much to give, but perhaps it is true that the thought of a gift is greater than the price or amount of the object itself. I find that this specific type of fabric strips make for wonderful ties for the hair. I mean no harm, but I did notice the way you grew annoyed at the hair in your eyesight when we met.  I'm going to send this now before I realize the intent of my actions and grow embarrassed.  Do tell your son I enjoyed his drawings per your last letter. - Y/n Bolton

Cregan held the fabric strips in his hand, rubbing the soft material. 

How ink on a page could make his heart feel alive, he wasn't sure.

…

Cregan spent the next two days in contemplation. 

While he wanted to immediately write her back, he knew that he should wait. The letter to her father surely arrived at that point, and he didn't wish to seem overly hasty.

But when another letter from her arrived, he almost ripped it in earnest to view its contents.

I fear our letters must come to an end.  My father had spoken of a marriage proposal and it seems quite unladylike to be writing such letters. Though we two know of our kinship, I fear it is unfair to my future betrothed.  Please forgive me, and know that this was not of my choosing.  - Y/n

He paused at her lack of a last name. 

She wrote as if she had no idea. Her father hadn't told her the entire truth. 

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to ease her worries, tell her the truth, but it was not yet his place, and he was to wait for her father's response. 

But it ate at him. What if Bolton was truly marrying her to another? It made him sick. 

There was a sound in the doorway. 

Cregan looked up to see Rickon standing with his toy on ground, obviously fallen from his hand. He smiled at him, "Hello, son."

Rickon took his time leaning down to get his horse, then took steps around the long table until he got to his father. 

Cregan waited patiently, not wanting to rush or correct his boy, but once Rickon was close enough, he reached out and held him up in the air. The little son's squeals filled him with joy. He brought him down to kiss the boy's cheek then set him on his lap to face him. "What have you been doing, my boy?"

Rickon set his horse on Cregan's chest, his attention enamored on it. 

The lord brushed his son's hair from his face with a longing look. "Think I'll get to hear that voice anytime soon?"

Rickon hit his horse against the man's chest, causing a sigh to come from his father. 

"Well, maybe eventually, hm?"

Everything sat in such uncertainty. He only hoped that it all worked out as he had planned it.

........................................

A/n: part two in underway

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

umm im pure of heart!

rebirth

heavy in your arms. part one.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: aemond seeks to right the wrong his mother made in rejecting the proposition of a betrothal between you & he.

— word count: 2,473

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @callsignwidow @tvangelism

— a/n: welcome to the first installment in my aemond x sg au! (NOT the dark!aemond au (which will be titled idumea, if/when i ever write it.))

“Why did you reject it?” Aemond demands, barging into his mother’s chambers unannounced.

She pads across the room toward him with clasped hands. She needn’t ask what it is her son is referring to, specifically, to already know.

Nor does she need inquire as to how he knows. The bastard girl he’s had an obsession with since the day she was born is most-certainly to blame.

She’s allowed them to keep company with one another for too long, it now seems. Such behaviors will cease today.

She gives him a forced, gentle smile. She knows his temper can be as hot as dragonfire when stoked, especially when it comes to his niece. If he makes a scene, she’ll simply have Ser Criston escort him back to his chambers.

She seats herself, gently patting the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

He comes closer, but does not accept her offer—instead choosing to remain standing, his arms positioned behind his back, his chin raised as he stands across from her. “Answer the question.”

A pause. 

“Mother.”

She sighs heavily. “She is not a suitable match for you. In time, your father and I will find someone more…appropriate—”

“More appropriate than mine own niece? My blood? A princess? One whom I already love and adore? I think not.”

She opens her mouth to to reply, but he continues.

“I won’t allow you to come between us. She belongs with me. You—you cannot take this chance—”

Having had enough, she cuts his protestations short. “It is done, Aemond! You know what she is! All do! It is why her mother optioned her own children for betrothal to mine; to protect them from what she has done by shielding them with either you, or Aegon, or Helaena!”

She sighs, before running her fingers exasperatedly through her hair. “I do not fault the girl for the circumstances of her birth; she cannot help it. I know this. But, as your mother, it is my job—my responsibility—to ensure you have what is best for you. Which she, unfortunately, is not. Were it so that Laenor were undoubtedly her father, things would be different, but alas.”

His small hands are bunched into tight fists behind him now, his body trembling with rage.

“Give it time,” she tells him quietly. “Once you are older, you with either find on your own, or with mine and your father’s help, a proper betrothal.”

He knows what he must do.

He nods, calmly, shoulders slumping slightly. “Forgive me, mother. You just…know how I care for her. I was not…did not think—”

She stands, walking around to him, taking him in her arms. “I wish I could give you this, my son, but your well-being means more to me than your wants at this time. One day, when you have children of your own, you will understand.”

The two of them pull away from each other, Alicent grasping the crowns of his shoulders, while Aemond rests his hands on her waist.

He gives her a smile of understanding. “I’m sure that I will.”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and with that, he leaves her.

Her greatest mistake will’ve always been not ordering Ser Criston to follow him back to his chambers. For they were never his destination.

“Your son, Your Grace: the Prince Aemond,” announces  Ser Harrold from the doorway of Viserys’ room. 

Aemond finds his father seated upon a settee before a roaring fire, a blanket draped comfortably over his lap, a stack of books set upon a table next to him.

Viserys smiles as the boy steps closer, bowing his head to his father.

“Your Grace.”

Viserys bookmarks, then shuts his current read, settling it into his lap. He waves Aemond over, who seats himself beside him, watching the crackling fire before them for just a moment. 

“Is there something I can do for you, my son? Or did you merely come to keep your old man company?” He asks with a gentle smile.

Aemond knows he needs word this carefully. “Both, in truth.”

Viserys remains silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I know…” 

He pauses. 

“I know you wish to see us settled, father, just as you did Rhaenyra. Properly betrothed, at the very least. So you might… It may give you comfort. To know that we are content, that is. I cannot speak for my siblings—what, or who they may want this day or another, but I know who I desire for all the rest of mine.”

He meets his father’s eyes. “Y/N.”

Viserys settles back, studying him with an unreadable expression.

“I am aware, that, just this afternoon, mother—Her Grace—rejected an offer of betrothals of her own children to those of your daughter—my eldest sister—Princess Rhaenyra. I want you to reconsider. For my sake and Y/N’s, if no one else’s. We love each other. We always have, and I know that we always shall. I cannot…I cannot bear the thought of a life without her. I will never love another as I love her.”

He swallows thickly. “She cried in my arms when she told me that her hopes that her mother’s offer would be accepted had instead been refuted. And her heart, in turn, was shattered. Along with mine own.”

He takes his father’s weathered hand in his own. “I beg of you, father, please. Please do this. Give her to me and I to her. So we might be pronounced man and wife when you deem the time right once we’ve come of age. I’ve never asked you for anything. But I do this. I’ll do anything you say.”

He swallows. “I know your family means more to you than anything else.” 

He has oftentimes felt the opposite with how indifferent he can seem to he and his siblings, but he must keeps such sentiments to himself. Now more than ever, even if he has craved his love and approval many-a-time in the past. 

He continues, plotting with his words. Planting a most comely idea. “Were you to betroth us, she and I would not only be able to remain together, but also here. Your son, your granddaughter. Your only granddaughter. If you wished it, this would be our home for the rest of our days. I know it would make her most happy. And that is all I’ve ever wanted: to bring her joy. To make her feel safe. And loved. Just as she has done for me.”

Aemond knows he has said much, but he had to stress his wants—had to ensure that his father was assured of his love and commitment to you. Especially with having gone directly over his mother’s head, so to speak.

Viserys is quiet. For awhile. 

Aemond keeps his father’s hand in his lap, holding firmly to it, so as to keep them close. He hopes he will be more likely to accept his request that way.

Finally, Viserys looks at him. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

Aemond smiles, nodding. “More than anything in all the world. It would ruin—destroy—me to think of us being permanently parted and one day married to others that we do not know. Did not grow up alongside of as the greatest of friends. We are family. To be forced to wed someone else that neither of us loves, while we remain yearning for the other until our last breaths…”

Tears brim in his eyes and his chin wobbles. 

Viserys’ face falls as he pulls Aemond into his side. “And you are sure that she wishes this as well?”

Aemond perks up slightly. “I am. You may summon and ask her yourself if you wish, father. When I left her she was crying in her mother’s arms. I had to…right this. For us both.”

Viserys shakes his head lightly at such a heartbreaking image. So much pain and young heartbreak, and for what? 

He will have it otherwise. 

“Consider it done, my son.”

Aemond looks at him with wide eyes. “We—We are—”

Viserys cups the boy’s cheek. “As of this moment, the two of you are now betrothed.”

He glances toward the door, placing his hand in his lap once more. “I will need speak with your sister on the matter, of course. But I know that she will be most pleased with this arrangement.”

He pauses. “Your mother not quite so, but it is not her decision. I am king. She is to obey me in all things. Including this.”

Viserys had been correct in Rhaenyra being happy about such arrangements, while you and Aemond had held one another and cried tears of joy. 

Viserys had held back his own as he watched the two of you with a smile, while holding his daughter’s hand. 

“This is a most joyous day. It is not often—hardly ever—that those of our stations should ever marry for love. With much luck, such a thing may be found later from arranged engagements. It warms this old heart to know that the two of you have it now, and shall remain with it in-hand for the rest of your days.”

It is then that Alicent emerges into his chambers, his summons for her presence having reached her.

And her disposition is anything but pleased. 

“Your Grace—” She starts, panicked tears stinging her eyes as she swallows down the lump in her throat. “If we may speak—”

Viserys shakes his head, resting each of his hands upon his cane. “There is naught to speak of, my wife. I have made a decision, and it is final.”

“Viserys—” She starts, reaching toward him, but he steps closer toward Rhaenyra, toward the two happy children who cling to one another, who stare at Alicent with…apprehension? Fright that she may ruin what they have only just found? He is unsure, but what he is, is that he will not stand for it.

“Your King has made a betrothal, and it is your duty to respect it. It is done, Alicent. And it is final. I would have my son and granddaughter wed to ones that they love. And now they shall gain as much once they’ve each come of age. It is only a matter of time now.”

She solidifies herself, her heart pounding, and a painful queasiness forms in the pit of her stomach, as she sees just how outnumbered she is. 

She has always been. 

Has always been alone in this world, and will remain as much. 

And she sees further agency slipping through her fingers now. Her children she’d been forced to squeeze out of her young body, for an ungrateful man who hardly ever acknowledged them, is now to tell her what is to become of them? Is to give her yet one more command because she is what? Still yet a girl helpless to tell him no, despite all she has given him, whether she wished it or no? That is all that has ever mattered, isn’t it: what he wants? All else be damned.

No. She is Queen. A woman grown…even if she still so often feels otherwise. Has consistently since the death of her mother. The one person in all the world who loved her the way she needed be loved.

She will show her children that same devotion, even if they hate her for it. Because she knows what is best for them. Not him.

Doesn’t she?

“I will not have it.”

Viserys lowers his chin. “I beg your pardon?”

She takes a small step closer, clasping her hands tighter to hide how they tremble.

“He is my son just as much as he is yours. I carried him. Grew him in mine own womb. Pushed him out of my body and into the world. While you have shirked your duties to him as his father. Pushed he and his siblings aside in favor of—”

“That is enough!” Viserys shouts, slamming his cane against the floor, and Alicent’s chin wobbles in fright.

She wishes her father were here.

No.

Perhaps she doesn’t. He is to blame for this. For all of it.

She wants for her mother.

What if Aemond one day feels the same because of this? Because she did not try hard enough to undo it? He is but a boy. He does not know what he wants.

What if she has…failed him?

Viserys comes toward her, his cane clicking loudly against polished marble floors, his cloak swaying around him. “That is quite enough, wife. That is an order from your King! Is that understood?”

She merely stares at him for only a moment, wondering if he has ever held an ounce of love for her within his heart.

Why in Seven Hells did he marry her? She has often wondered. Wondered even more if she will ever have answer to such a terrible question.

“The Prince Aemond—my son—and the Princess Y/N—my granddaughter—are henceforth betrothed. If I discover further dissension on your part in dishonoring my wishes and my decree here today…”

He takes yet another step closer, forcing her to look up at him, making her feel impossibly smaller. 

Like a frightened little girl, indeed.

“You shall not enjoy the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

She does not know why she does it—she too is equally responsible for all the misfortune which has befell her, and part of her hates her for it—but she glances to Rhaenyra with tears still shimmering in her eyes.

Rhaenyra takes a near-undetectable step toward her—expression unreadable—but stops when she feels you clutching her skirts for comfort, Aemond holding you close for the same.

Her own son has betrayed her. Where had she gone wrong? 

She wants to lock herself in her chambers and rest. Perhaps not to wake.

That, she’s sure, would most please the man who stands before her. The pathetic excuse for one. 

And yet she knows that come tomorrow, she will return to her role as a dutiful wife, because since she was fifteen years old…it is all she has ever been. She knows naught else what to be than caretaker. A wife, a womb, a concubine. 

A ghost.

She’d once been and had a friend, but now she thinks those days must long be past.

Finally, Alicent nods solemnly, digging at her nail-beds.

Viserys nods. “Good. Then it is settled.”

Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead, filled with equal parts joy and guilt.

He prays his mother will one day come to see what he himself does when he looks at you. He cannot understand how she does not already.

If she loves him, she will love you as well.

He hopes so, at least. He would not have you feeling unwelcome in your own home. He will not have it.

You are now his to protect, and protect he shall. In every way he can.

JJK low quality images

battison the type of person to use fancy 3-in-1, like he has a specific fancy brand like laroche-posay or whatever rich people use but its 3-in-1 shampoo conditioner and body wash and Alfred is tired of telling him to change it

A SIGHT SO SWEET

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: jason can't seem to get enough of you – his watchful eye never once leaves you ;

REQUEST: “ hello! i went to a party today and i kept thinking about jason. well, i think he'd be the kind of partner who'd watch you from afar to make sure you're okay, he'd definitely have access to your location 24 hours for his own peace of mind. i went to a party today and i wondered what it would be like for him to watch me while he's on patrol to make sure i'm ok, he'd want to know when you're leaving your house, when you've arrived the place you're going to and when you're leaving as well. especially given the fact that i've been drinking i think... anyway, could you write something based on that? xx 💋 ”

WARNINGS: nothing to worry about in this fic. it can get a bit suggestive at the end ;

WORD COUNT: 1.0k ;

NOTES: i enjoyed writing this fic so much! i'm not sure what sparked it, but the process was so fluid and enjoyable. thank you for this request <3 it was a joy to write. it is honestly such a marvel to try and understand jason's character with every piece of work i write. i started around june-july and now i feel confident to call myself a writer and i have all of you to thank <3 ;

── .✦ NAVIGATION ; MASTERLIST & AO3 ౨ৎ

“I'M TOUGH.” you remark as Jason’s rough fingertips dance over your knuckles ever so delicately.

He regards you as if he'd break you if he grabbed on too hard. His soft touches light a candle in your heart. Your skin feels hot as his touch grazes over it.

He nods, “I know you are.” His voice is laced with the all too familiar worry you've grown to hear from him.

You wish you could take all of it away and protect him. Unfortunately, you can't do that. You settle with trying to carry the burden together and prove to him he doesn't have to face any of this alone.

“C’mon Jay—” you pout, his eyes dart between your charming eyes and lips - dewy from the cherry lipstick you wear.

Cherries, an angel's kiss in spring.

“—It’s just a simple bar, a small get-together with some of my UNI friends. Nothing bad will happen,” you put the emphasis on the last bit of your words as an effort to soothe Jason's fears and reassure him, “I can take care of myself.”

“You have,” he says, “you still do and will do so, I’ve just joined in too. I want to take care of you too.”

His words strike a chord inside your heart, the saccharine taste of them fills every corner of your body. Those endearing eyes he sneaks glances at you, not aware that you notice them and do the same, break into the surface of your skin and steal your breath away.

He has a way of consuming every bit and part of you. That never fails to mesmerize you.

“We take care of eachother.” You reply as your lips graze over his scarred knuckles. “I don't want you to worry so much, baby.”

He sighs as he leans into your touch. “I know, I just—” he stammers, the words getting stuck on his tongue.

“It's normal to worry, but you can’t let it consume you.” You bring your hands to cradle his face. Jason doesn't shy away from the touch and sinks into your embrace – the sight makes your heart ache in the best way.

You grab onto his hand and place it on the inside of your wrist, letting him feel your pulse.

You give him a cheeky grin as you whisper, “feel that?”

He chuckles quietly, “Mhm, yes.”

“As long as you see, hear and feel me – I will never leave.”

*****

In Jason's mind there is not a single person in this world who compares to you. No one is as dreamlike and otherworldly like you. Especially now, as he watches you sway and move in the kaleidoscopic hues of the bar. The prismatic lights kiss your delicate and inviting skin.

Oh, how he wishes to do the same.

Jason wonders if you know that he’s keeping an eye on you right now, if you can feel his watchful gaze on your form. Do his glances light a fire in your heart just as yours does in his?

He should be patrolling right now, making sure everything is okay. But he find his eyes following your every step as you glide through the dance floor.

He knew when you left the shared apartment that belongs to the two of you – 6:31 pm, knew when you arrived at the bar – 7:05 pm, knew when you finally met up with your friends – 7:18 pm.

Jason engraves every detail in his mind, because he has to. He's making sure that you're okay, that you're safe.

He catches a glimpse of you drinking some vibrant drink. You scrunch your nose at the taste of it and the sight sends butterflies in his stomach.

You laugh at something your friend says. The infectious and melodic sound of it reaches Jason. He can’t help the moonstruck grin that spreads on his face.

Jason's thrown for a loop when he spots your gaze pin him in place. Your eyes fixate on him as if you're entranced, as if he's the only one in the room.

He feels his heartbeat speed up.

Without tearing your gaze off of him you mumble something to your friends, something that he can only guess was a short goodbye. The surprised looks on your friends faces quickly disappear from his mind as you stride to him with confident, but light steps.

“Come to take me home?” You question with a curious voice with a taste of something he can't yet place.

He sheepishly runs his hand down his neck. “What gave it away?”

“Well.” You click your tongue. A smirk dances on your lips. “You've been pretty attentive all night long, watching my every move. I hope the show was up to your standards.”

“Show–?” He chokes on his words. You tease.

You laugh. The sound is akin to honeyed nectar on his tongue.

Jason tries to collect his thoughts. “I still haven't had my fill and I don't plan on leaving you unsatisfied either.”

“Really? I wonder who's the greedy one in this relationship.” You hum playfully.

“Dance with me,” he suggests unexpectedly.

Your eyes dart across his face, taking in his nervous demeanor. “You don't dance.”

“For you I will.”

*****

He spares a single glance at the time. 10:46pm. Time for you to head back to the apartment.

He counts himself a lucky man as the one who takes you home, as the one who waits for you outside the bar, as the one your wobbly steps guide you towards, as the one you wrap your arms around while he caresses your face and tells you to let me help you with the helmet, honey.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. The skin is velvety to the touch.

Jason's eyes don't leave your own dazed and enchanted eyes. To him you are a vision so captivating, so sickeningly sweet, all he wants is to get a taste of you.

He is taking you home, isn't he? He is truly a lucky man.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.