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pesterloglog · 1 year ago

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Equius Zahhak, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 2825-2829

-- centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

CT: D --> I'm attempting to determine what it is that ranks humans in their class stru%ure

CT: D --> I'd assumed the color of your b100d would serve as the basis for placement in the hierarchy, as would be e%pected and natural, but I was mistaken

CT: D --> I was similarly in error believing the color of what you type corresponds with the color of your b100d

TG: it does bro

TG: my bloods red

CT: D --> Well, obviously

CT: D --> I understand that now, I'm not a f001

TG: on earth class is sorted out by who can drop the most delirious flow

CT: D --> I see

CT: D --> So, in other words, a sort of b100d letting ritual

CT: D --> To assess whose pulse is steadiest and thus whose flow is the most STRONG

TG: no

TG: well yeah

TG: verbal pulse

TG: rap battles

TG: the kings of wordtech ascend to godhood and look down on us patriarchally like urban watermarks in the sky

TG: this is like

TG: our religion man

TG: its fucking serious business its like what our whole culture revolves around

CT: D --> Really

CT: D --> So your social e%elons are dictated by the noble artform of the ancient slam poets

CT: D --> Or the Earth equivalent

TG: yeah well

TG: used to be dictated

TG: til the rapocalypse happened

TG: i still believe though

TG: in my heart so long as it keeps thumping the righteous beat

TG: subwoofing out devotion every which way

TG: that he will come

TG: our savior

TG: was foretold hed come after meteors show up to drop it like its hot

TG: and hed gather up the ashes of our civilization and lift it like its heavy

TG: fuck im tearing up my ishades are gonna fry

CT: D --> I believe

CT: D --> That this is probably nonsense

CT: D --> I've already been hornswoggled repeatedly by your comrades, who I quite reasonably mistook for your superiors in b100dline

CT: D --> Your race makes a habit of deception, and I will not tolerate it

CT: D --> You will stop

CT: D --> I command that all verbal misdire%ion and hoofbeastplay will cease during my communications, is that understood

TG: hahahahaha

TG: douche

CT: D --> Did I say something entertaining

TG: if youre gonna spit that kind of bravado at me im just saying put it in rhyme

TG: lets hear what you got tooly mcsnoothole

CT: D --> I try to stay engaged with many aristocratic practices

CT: D --> But I'm not much of a poet

TG: come on

CT: D --> My poems are private

TG: whatever dude

TG: deprivatize them

CT: D --> If you're prepared to be particularly forceful about it

CT: D --> I may be suitably disgusted to comply

TG: just

TG: take whatevers in there

TG: that brorage lust youre feelin

TG: turn that bitch inside out like a broke ass millionaires pockets

CT: D --> Yes

CT: D --> Those are the sorts of assertive statements which could get me

CT: D --> Flowing

TG: alright

TG: weird but alright

TG: you sound wound up

TG: but my gears are airtight

TG: steer clear a the seer and the knight if youre scared of unfair fights

TG: youll drop like the staircase impaired, seein em spareds a fair fuckin rare sight

TG: for poor eyes like that millionaire whos pockets i mocked earlier

TG: hes paradoxically me but richer and surlier

TG: broke as his sword before his stock picks skyrocketed

TG: worth more than all the chests lockpicked and gold croc bricks and boonbucks i pickpocketed

TG: fillin folios with millions im milkin to pad out my pockets

TG: more chock full than sad trollian villains cloggin my blocklist

TG: so thoughtful to popul-

TG: -ate my slate with propositions to copulate to a spate of hemoerotic hotpix

TG: which i posit you got shit of that nature in spades

TG: as my shades got you locked in

TG: spyin a guy whos eyed more cocks and dicks than i got clocks and they got ticks

CT: D --> Just a thought. Let's mock a topic with less awfulness

CT: D --> If you'd use the e%cuse to be less culturally myopic, what are your views on abuse to the walking apocrypha

CT: D --> Would you choose if duly cued to put your bruising clop to a flock of naughty roboti%

TG: ahaha wow YES

TG: dont really understand that but yes

TG: ok hold that thought im gonna pull this fuckin sword out of the thing

CT: D --> Perhaps it's that it's martial tacti% that matter for status. Unless you redact this

CT: D --> I'd hazard in practice that it's a glass of what's lactic that would impact this

CT: D --> Pragmatic to presume? A human metric for grandness stands on fondness in honest

CT: D --> For wanton aplomb with strapping song smithing, ripping sonnets of STRONGNESS

TG: yes

TG: still no clue what this shit means but keep going

CT: D --> But perhaps

CT: D --> To divine class divides in unclassified swine is butchering time

CT: D --> Your fauna I find requires too little strength to savage in rhyme

CT: D --> I fear inferiors have monopolized my highest priorities

CT: D --> Let's eschew crude inferiors, pursue nude superiorities

CT: D --> Review z001ogical peculiarities, great stalking enormities

CT: D --> Fle%ing in unison, baying at moons within fraternal sororities

TG: holy shit

TG: what

CT: D --> Great musclebeasts tussle, bu%om in heft

CT: D --> With thunderous muscle, buttock to spec

TG: what the fuck

CT: D --> Connect blows to discover, how invincible pecs are

CT: D --> Venture low to uncover, his inimitable nectar

TG: oh god

TG: ok stop

CT: D --> Should song serve to placate one

CT: D --> And fortune holds he lactate some

CT: D --> STRONG hands tugging teat make great ambrosia collectors

TG: hahaha

TG: jesus

TG: ok maybe youre actually the worst troll

TG: im thinking none of that was actually ironic that was all pretty straightup wasnt it

CT: D --> What do you mean

CT: D --> Are you ordering me to conceal my poems again

TG: nevermind

TG: god dammit

TG: fuckin piece of shit sword

TG: wont goddamn budge probably useless anyway

CT: D --> It 100ks to be a legendary weapon

TG: its a legendary piece of shit

CT: D --> Giving up on the treasure so easily

CT: D --> It strikes me as an artifact rooted in universal lore of nobility

CT: D --> As valuable an asset as strength is

CT: D --> And as much as anyone with his wits is fond of being STRONG

CT: D --> Such weapons require finesse to operate

CT: D --> And surely in this case, to retrieve without damaging

CT: D --> Hence your no doubt frustrating restraint

TG: ok im kinda starting to wonder why youre bugging me now

TG: youre a fuckin creepy dude

CT: D --> E%cessive force will shatter such weapons

CT: D --> We both know this from e%perience

TG: what

CT: D --> The adult human who trained you

CT: D --> And taught you the ways of being STRONG

CT: D --> Remember

TG: you mean the guy who spent years beating my ass down with a puppet

TG: yeah i remember

CT: D --> Yes, and now, being learned in the ways of STRONGNESS

CT: D --> You like myself are unfortunately limited in the weaponry you may wield

CT: D --> Ironically the training which has ennobled you beyond others has made instruments of high b100d brittle in your hands

CT: D --> Hence the state of your favored weapon, hobbling your specibus

CT: D --> I know what this is like

TG: man

TG: im not that strong ok

TG: just cause i broke a cheap ass sword doesnt make me the fucking hulk

CT: D --> Oh

TG: what did you go around breaking a bunch of swords too

CT: D --> No

CT: D --> Bows

TG: how the fuck do you even wield a broken bow

TG: did you go around clubbing shit with the two halves

CT: D --> Yes

CT: D --> Sometimes

CT: D --> What are you doing

TG: whats it look like

CT: D --> Careful

CT: D --> About succumbing to these sorts of destructive

CT: D --> Urges

CT: D --> Addi%ion is a powerful thing

TG: so am i

TG: bow down before your new king bitch

CT: D --> I think

CT: D --> I need

CT: D --> Something to dry myself off with

#homestuck #equius zahhak #dave strider #homestuck act 5 #page 2825 #page 2826 #page 2827 #page 2828 #page 2829 #homestuck act 5 act 2

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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 1 year ago

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For some reason, coffee makes me simultaneously very sleepy and very anxious. It makes my eyes heavy, but makes my chest tight? I still like coffee though.

#Reasons I’m getting tested for ADHD: Exhibit 2829 #Still can’t find a place + plans are on hold because Jexit

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amiableness · 3 months ago

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Kiss and Makeup

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius’ voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James’ muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily’s bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you’re dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You’re not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you’re waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It’s not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you.The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn’t?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up.

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better.He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn’t want him to hurt you!”

“So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?” You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn’t what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I’m getting tired of this little game, we have going on.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would justturn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius’ words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra.

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit.

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, thoseglossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you.

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, youtugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write and spread my work! 🤍

#james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagine

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promptsforthestrugglingauthor · 4 months ago

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Writing Prompt #2829

"Are you willing to die for the cause?"

"No. But I am willing to die for you. Is that not enough?"

#writing prompt #writing #writers on tumblr #oc prompt #imagine your ocs #dialogue prompt #story prompt #story inspo #story ideas #creative writing prompt #creative writing inspo #creative writing ideas #original prompt #daily prompt #daily writing prompt #promptsforthestrugglingauthor

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ode-to-melpomene · 1 month ago

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Control

Part 3 of 'Stray' Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: One bad idea snowballs out of control. Word Count: 2829 Warnings: Reader and Jason are both a little fucked up, allusions to depression and Jason's death, subtle size difference, negative self-talk from both parties, and a touch of angst.

Red Hood had to bend and scrape to get through your window. Had you not been in shock at the turn of events, you might have laughed at the sight of this broad, heavily armored man thrusting his arms in front of him and cocking his whole body at an angle to fit himself through your narrow window.

When his shoes touched down on the floor of your modest apartment he tracked snow in with him. Snow and slush, and despite knowing it would leave a mess on your old wooden floors you thought it looked like quite a pretty combination. You liked the grayish look of the rivulets that fell from his shoes as he stepped into the room.

Your heart beat faster when he finally stood to his full height. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head from side to side, stretching the no-doubt sore muscles. He was broad and filled the entire space like the tiny interior was shaped around him. He hulked there like a wolf eyeing a rabbit. Were his jaws parted in hunger and salivating beneath his helmet?

He finally moved, one hand fiddling with the fingertips of his other glove. His shoulders slackened, curling in on himself slightly.

Your cheeks warmed as you snapped your attention away from him. This was definitely a mistake. This man was a known murderer and, from what you had heard from your associates in Crime Alley, was steadily building his own criminal network within the city. This was a horrible idea.

But you were lonely.

When was the last time you’d had company over? When was the last time you had spent more than a night in this apartment?

Jason observed you carefully from where he stood beside the window, watching you flit away from him. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth and turned your back to him, hiding that doe-eyed gaze. With your head on a swivel, you paced around your dimly lit apartment with a twitchy awkwardness that betrayed the discomfort you were trying to hide.

The apartment was messy. Jason felt less bad about dripping slush onto your wood floors when he saw the stack of dishes piled in your sink, the unopened letters and bills on the folding table in the middle of the room, and the basket of unfolded laundry on your orange couch. His brows furrowed beneath his helmet as he scanned the room from his position beside the window.

Like a moth to a flame, his piercing stare dragged back to you. You stood in the center of your kitchen watching him with that familiar nervous, flighty expression you maintained while meandering the twisting back streets of Crime Alley. Was it that same anxiety that got him caught by you weeks ago?

You held out a beckoning hand to him. Jason’s heart thudded in his chest.

You watched Red Hood, your own heart pounding as you stared at the unmoving figure shrouded in darkness. Backlit by moonlight. Blanketing the devil with a halo.

“The dishes?” you asked, your voice barely above a squeak. The man twitched as if your timidity spooked him. Red Hood lifted the dishes to his chest and stepped across your apartment in a few long strides. You flinched when he lurched to a stop in front of you, his movements clunky and intimidating. He didn’t move like a lithe panther like he had on the rooftop the first night you saw him–no, he moved like a teenager relearning his body after a growth spurt. All sharp angles and quick movements.

You avoided touching him as you took the glass baking dish and plate from his gloved hands and set it on the counter.

“Um,” you start, with no particular thought in mind as you skitter towards the fridge. You hear the sound of fabric shuffling and look over your shoulder to see his head cocked to the side slightly. He’s so close now, practically barricading you in your own kitchen. The apartment was so small, he could probably lash out and grab you before you had a chance to run away. A fox in a rabbit’s den.

How strong was he? If he were angry, could you throw you across the room? Would he even need his gun to kill you, or could he clasp his hands around your throat and squeeze? How much biting, scratching, and kicking would it take to get him off you?

If he pinned you down, would you even try to fight back?

You flushed as warmth spread through your traitorous body. Your shoulders trembled as you stood in front of the open fridge, filled to the brim with Tupperware and leftovers.

“I… do you like chicken parmesan?” you asked, your voice cracking. Your question is met with silence.

When you look over your shoulder you find the Red Hood looming in the corner of your kitchen, staring down at a picture frame. You liked the frame–silver, with pretty flower details at the corners that reminded you of spring in a place you didn’t call home anymore. The frame was empty, leering at you and your empty life.

“I don’t have anything to fill it with,” you answer his unspoken question, swallowing the lump in your throat. His helmet tilts again, jaw angled towards you–you can just make it skin in the thin space between the high collar of his compression-fit shirt and the edge of his helmet. You lick your lips.

“No family?” he asks. Your heart should have leapt into your throat at that–it was the sort of thing a serial killer would ask a victim to test the waters.

“None that would notice if I were gone,” you admit in a whisper. Red gleamed in the dim light of your kitchen, the solitary light in the corner of the living room illuminating his stiff figure. “They… had plans for me. College. Career. Things I didn’t want- not that they ever bothered to ask what I did want. It’s probably extreme, but… it was easier to disappear than tell them no.”

Or it’s easier to run and hide.

Jason tilted his helmeted head to the floor, his brows drawn together and lips pursed in a thin line. Growing up with- being raised to be a detective made it easy to parse out what you were doing. You were running. No concrete roots anywhere, ready to disappear again at a moment’s notice. You barely let yourself build a life, sequestered in this rundown apartment building for the sole purpose of dedicating yourself to something else. Anything to make you forget how lonely life had made you.

He knew that feeling.

“You were right the other night, y’know,” you said, rousing him from his thoughts. Jason lifted his head and fixed you with a cold stare. “When you said I don’t know what I’m doing? You’re right, I don’t. I don’t know why I’m here.”

You held his gaze steadily for the first time all evening, daring him to judge you. Some days you wondered if anyone would care if you disappeared–the answer always came back with a resounding no. That shook you to your core. No one wanted you, the hermit on the fifth floor with a dead-end job, no friends, no family.

But maybe if someone depended on you… maybe someone would mourn you, too. If you could give yourselves to others, bury a piece of yourself in their souls, maybe they would feel a piece of themselves break when you inevitably shattered.

It wasn’t kindness. It was survival. Desperation. A need to be remembered, held, cherished, and you clawed for it in the only way you knew how. Subservience.

Red Hood held your stare. Your gaze captivated him in a way he hadn’t felt since he watched the timer tick down to his death. His exhale came out shaky, his hands trembling at his sides because-

Because you got it. That ache that seeped deep into his bones, that desire to mean something to someone so viscerally that they would fight for you. Bruce had never done that.

Jason found that in the children who demanded he play games with them late on his patrols. He found it in the grateful mothers who thanked him for scaring dealers out of their neighborhoods. He found it in the fathers who stood beside him and fought for safer streets.

He found it in the reverence in your gaze.

“What do you want?” he asked, modulated voice breaking the tense silence. You blinked rapidly at his question, chasing away scattered thoughts.

“What?”

“You said… you said your family never asked what you wanted,” he hesitated, unease slipping into his rough voice. “What do you want?”

You hesitated for a moment. Jason’s gaze dropped to your parted lips before returning to the burgeoning hope in your eyes.

“Home,” you responded with a timid smile. Jason flexed his fist at his side.

When was the last time he had called something home? The Manor, maybe. Six months for him, nearly three for the rest of the world. Home wasn’t something he deserved when he had come back so wrong. Like a newborn fawn struggling to stand on tremulous legs, he fought to learn the body he had been reborn into that didn’t feel like his. He came back angry, volatile, wrong, wrong, wrong-

“Are you okay?”

Jason flinched. “Fine,” he answered curtly. He turned away from you and planted his hands on his countertop, fingers curling against the lip of the linoleum with a bruising grip. His chest heaved with deep breaths, huffing like a bull. Control wasn’t something that came easily anymore.

And then he felt you standing by his side. You, who seemed too sweet, a kindness he certainly didn’t deserve. You, who reminded him of the things he wanted but couldn’t- shouldn’t have.

“I’m not sure what I did, but… it’s okay to be upset,” you spoke softly, leaning beside him. “I can… I can go in the other room if you need a minute.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he answered with a huff, bringing one hand up to his helmet. What was he supposed to say to you, a literal stranger? That anger was easier for him to process than anything else? That it came naturally since his time in the Pit?

“Can I touch you?”

Jason’s heart raced. Every muscle in his body tensed, pulled taut with shock. His mouth felt dry, his tongue tacky, and sweat beaded on his brow beneath his helmet. You were asking to touch him?

When you finally did, Jason felt his heart stop. Your hand upon his upper arm, covered by his jacket, felt apprehensive. If not for every cell in his body on alert, he might not have felt the earnest touch.

Your own heart pounded. You didn’t take his silence as a no, but it certainly wasn’t a yes either. So you held still and offered a gentle touch to the soft, worn leather coat he wore over his armored figure. A vigilante, a murderer, a criminal, allowing you to touch him like it was the most natural thing in the world to both of you.

Or maybe just to you, given the way he shook under your hand. Perhaps you had misinterpreted the situation and inflated your significance. Of course, you had. What was a gnat to a hawk, if not a pest? You pulled your hand away.

Red Hood lashed out and your breath caught in your throat. His gloved hand tightened around your wrist in a harsh grip–not bruising, but firm enough to draw a whine from deep in the back of your throat. He relinquished his grip immediately, his shoulders sagging at the expression on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered. Your hand remained raised between the two of you, and he wasn’t sure if it was a barrier or an offering. He twisted slightly to face you, looming over you in the shadowy kitchen. Jason hesitantly lifted his hand, the same that had gripped your wrist moments before. Slowly, he brought his open palm up and rested it against your wrist in a quelling gesture. “I scared you.”

“Only a little,” you answered with a shy smile. His stomach twisted. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to be a perfect gentleman when I invited you in here. It’s okay to be overwhelmed.”

Overwhelmed. That was a good way of putting it. Overwhelmed by the way you smelled, how you twisted your wrist to press your palm flat against his gloved hand, and the well of sadness and longing in your eyes. Overwhelmed by life, by hatred, by you.

You interlaced your fingers with his. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. When was the last time someone had dared to touch him like that? You lowered your joined hands to rest comfortably between you and Jason’s eyes followed, wrestling with the image of your smaller hand cradled in his. It looked unnervingly natural.

“I get it. I’m not very good at talking to people either.” You offered a reassuring smile. “But you make it easier.”

Jason scowled beneath this helmet. “Why? Because you’re talking to a helmet and not a person?”

You scoffed a playful sound that brought warmth to his cheeks. “No, because I’m talking to you. You actually bother to listen.”

Jason couldn’t imagine anyone not listening to you. Your voice sounded like a melody compared to the roar of his own thoughts. Thoughts that suffocated him, made him feel less than and undeserving. That wasn’t his fault though. His past had forced him to respond with vitriol. The way you looked up at him from under your lashes with a pretty frown on your lips quieted those thoughts, even if for just a moment.

Jason turned his wrist, dragging your hand with it. He brought your joined hands up and pressed your knuckles to the edge of his helmet. It was the closest he could bring himself to a thank you, although he wasn’t sure what he was thanking you for.

Your breath stuttered. Red Hood pushed your knuckles firmly against the cold surface of his helmet, just off-center of where you assumed his mouth was. Your heart thudded in your chest, and despite the thick gloves he wore you were certain he could feel the frantic beat of your pulse on your wrist.

His grip was tight, but not demanding as it had been earlier. Your cheeks warmed, your lips parting in a silent question as you stared at the expressionless sea of red in front of you.

Warmth pooled in your belly and crept tantalizingly across your skin. Yes, he could break you… but he wouldn’t. At least, you didn’t think so. But, God, if it meant he would continue to touch you like that, you would let him break you. He cradled your hand like a lifeline, like you were the last thing keeping him rooted. The only thing that mattered in a torrential sea of emotion that you could barely stand to sail alone.

You took a step closer. You expected him to flinch, but he remained steadfast, his helmet angling down slightly to watch you closely. You tugged on his hand and he relented, allowing you to guide him as you pleased.

Red Hood let out a choked noise through his helmet when you brought his gloved knuckles to your lips. The barest touch, one that he couldn’t feel through the kevlar, and yet his heart beat wildly against his ribs. Your lips ghosted over the fabric for just a moment, barely a hint of a kiss, before you pulled away.

His free hand twitched at his side. Your gaze flicked down at the motion and the corner of your mouth quirked up in a half smile.

“You can touch me,” you offered, giving his hand a squeeze.

Jason thought he might die.

“I’d ruin you,” he answered, his voice warbling in desperation.

Loneliness, anger, fear, longing- he saw it all on your face. You felt the same weight he did, and yet you basked in it and let it guide you towards something better. Or maybe something worse, if it was guiding you towards him.

“I’m already ruined,” you said, clasping his hand between both of yours.

Jason jerked his hand away. Your hands fell limply at your sides, disappointment clear in the way your brows knit together. He took a lumbering step back, feeling like he had let you down again. That was all he was capable of, he was sure of it. He couldn’t let himself get entangled in your life without sending it all crashing down.

He was gone before you had a chance to protest. You shuddered at the blast of cold air that filled the room through the open window. Sunlight peeked over the Gotham skyline, draping the sky and your mood in a cloudy gray.

Masterlist ✴ 'Stray' Series ✴ Next Part

Tag list: @taylorgriffin, @joonunivrs, @solari0om

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader

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