#Light Versus Darkness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prosegalaxy · 1 year ago

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"Eversham's Hero: The Battle Against Darkness" This is the summary of your work so far: In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer's arrival brings an eerie silence as he intends to awaken an ancient spirit with sinister intentions. Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, overhears the plan and learns from the wise old blacksmith that light can fight darkness. Confronting Uncle Mortimer at a secret meeting, Alex reveals that he knows his plans and refuses to let him harm their town. With a radiant sword, forged with the knowledge that light can vanquish darkness, Alex leads the townspeople in a climactic battle against the dark spirit and Uncle Mortimer. Alex's bravery and wisdom save Eversham, and he becomes a symbol of hope, with his legacy reminding generations of the power of light against evil.

Alex had always been fascinated by the tales of his family's storied past, but he never expected that those tales would become reality. One fateful day, a mysterious letter arrived, announcing the return of a long-lost family member, Uncle Mortimer. The entire town buzzed with excitement and anticipation, but Alex couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When Uncle Mortimer finally arrived, he seemed to bring an air of darkness with him. He spent his days locked away in his room, muttering strange phrases under his breath. It wasn't long before rumors began to spread about Uncle Mortimer's true intentions. Some said he sought the family's ancient treasure, while others claimed he was after a powerful artifact hidden within the castle walls. Alex decided to investigate further. He quietly followed Uncle Mortimer one evening and discovered him in the library, studying an old, dusty book. "What are you looking for?" Alex asked nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. Uncle Mortimer looked up from the book and smiled, his eyes glinting with malice. "Ah, Alex. I see you've finally decided to join me." He gestured to the open book before him, revealing a page filled with arcane symbols and dark incantations. "This is the key to unlocking immense power, and it belongs to our family." Alex felt a surge of anger and determination. "I won't let you use this for evil!" he declared, his voice growing stronger as he stood his ground. Uncle Mortimer laughed wickedly. "You may think you can stop me, but you're only delaying the inevitable. Soon, I will possess the power to rule over all." With that, he vanished into thin air, leaving Alex to contemplate his next move in this epic adventure. In the quaint little town of Eversham, life was peaceful and predictable. The residents were content with their daily routines, and the occasional visitors brought excitement and curiosity. However, this all changed when Uncle Mortimer arrived on the scene, casting a dark shadow over the town's tranquility. Uncle Mortimer was an enigmatic figure, his past shrouded in mystery. His arrival was met with whispers and speculation, as the townsfolk tried to piece together his true identity. Alex, a young adventurer with a thirst for knowledge and a penchant for unraveling mysteries, took it upon himself to delve deeper into Uncle Mortimer's origins. One evening, while eavesdropping on an intimate conversation between Uncle Mortimer and the local blacksmith, Alex overheard a chilling revelation. "You must be careful, Alex," warned Uncle Mortimer, his voice laced with malice. "I have my reasons for being here, and they are far more sinister than you can possibly imagine." This exchange was all the confirmation Alex needed to set his investigative gears in motion. He knew he had to stop Uncle Mortimer before it was too late. But as he ventured deeper into the heart of darkness that seemed to surround the enigmatic visitor, he discovered that not everything was as it appeared. Uncle Mortimer, it turned out, was not a true relative at all. Instead, he was an ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane, his malevolent intentions driven by centuries-old grudges and a desire for revenge. As Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer in the heart of Eversham's ancient forest, he found himself caught in a whirlwind of dark magic and supernatural forces. But with courage and determination, Alex managed to harness the power of light and love within himself, banishing Uncle Mortimer back to his eternal slumber. The town of Eversham was once again at peace, and its residents marveled at the young adventurer's bravery and resourcefulness. In the quiet town of Eversham, life was peaceful and idyllic until the day Uncle Mortimer arrived. His presence cast a dark shadow over the once-tranquil community. Alex, a young adventurer with a thirst for mystery, sensed something amiss with this newcomer. One evening, while eavesdropping on conversations at the local tavern (a skill he'd honed during his travels), Alex overheard a chilling discussion between Uncle Mortimer and the town blacksmith. It became clear that the mysterious stranger was not who he claimed to be. "You must remember, dear nephew, that our family has always been bound by duty and responsibility," Mortimer whispered menacingly to the blacksmith. "But now, it's time for us to reclaim what is rightfully ours." Filled with curiosity and concern, Alex approached Uncle Mortimer and confronted him about his conversation with the blacksmith. But as they spoke, Alex discovered that this uncle was no ordinary man – he was an ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane, driven by centuries-old grudges and a burning desire for revenge. Determined to protect his town and thwart Mortimer's evil intentions, Alex sought out the wisdom of the town elders. They taught him how to harness the power of light and love within himself, an energy that could banish dark spirits like Uncle Mortimer back to their eternal slumber. Armed with newfound knowledge and courage, Alex confronted Mortimer once more, their battle raging through the moonlit streets of Eversham. With a final burst of light and love, Alex sent Mortimer fleeing back to his dark dimension, saving his town from impending doom. The people of Eversham celebrated their young hero, marveling at his bravery and resourcefulness. And so, peace returned to the once-again serene town of Eversham. In the quiet town of Eversham, life was peaceful and idyllic for young Alex. He lived with his family in a cozy little cottage at the edge of the forest, and spent his days exploring the woods, fishing by the river, or helping out on his grandfather's farm. The local villagers knew and loved Alex for his kind heart and adventurous spirit, always eager to lend a hand or share a story around the fire. One day, an unexpected visitor arrived in Eversham: Uncle Mortimer, a long-lost relative of Alex's family. His appearance cast a dark shadow over the once peaceful town, as whispers of his mysterious past began to spread like wildfire. Intrigued and concerned, Alex decided to investigate, seeking answers about this enigmatic stranger. While wandering through the village one day, Alex overheard a conversation between Uncle Mortimer and the local blacksmith. They discussed plans that were far from innocent, betraying a sinister intent. Filled with both curiosity and alarm, Alex decided to confront Uncle Mortimer, hoping to learn more about his intentions. To his surprise, when Alex approached him, Uncle Mortimer revealed himself as an ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane, driven by centuries-old grudges and a thirst for revenge. The town of Eversham was not his final target; it was merely a stepping stone in his long-standing feud with Alex's family. Determined to protect his loved ones and his home, Alex harnessed the power of light and love within himself, facing off against Uncle Mortimer in a battle between darkness and hope. In the end, his courage and resourcefulness prevailed, banishing Uncle Mortimer back to his eternal slumber and restoring peace to Eversham. The townspeople marveled at Alex's bravery and cunning, celebrating him as their guardian angel. Though life in Eversham returned to its tranquil rhythm, Alex knew that his adventures had only just begun. Confronting Uncle Mortimer, Alex discovered that he was an ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane with malevolent intentions driven by centuries-old grudges and revenge. With courage and determination, Alex harnessed the power of light and love within himself, banishing Uncle Mortimer back to his eternal slumber. ``` The town of Eversham once again enjoyed peace and tranquility, marveling at the young adventurer's bravery and resourcefulness. In the quiet and peaceful town of Eversham, life was simple and joyful for all its inhabitants. Young Alex, an adventurous spirit with dreams of exploring the world beyond their quaint village, spent his days wandering through the lush forests, discovering hidden trails, and sharing tales of far-off lands with anyone who would listen. One day, a letter arrived at Alex's doorstep. It was addressed to him and contained an invitation from a distant cousin, Uncle Mortimer, who wished for Alex to visit his grand estate. The letter spoke of grand adventures and great riches waiting to be uncovered. Eager to embark on this new journey, Alex set out for the mysterious manor. Upon arriving at the estate, Alex was immediately struck by the eerie atmosphere that seemed to hang heavy in the air. As he explored the grounds, he overheard a conversation between Uncle Mortimer and the local blacksmith. It was then that Alex learned of his sinister intentions. The ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane harbored centuries-old grudges and sought revenge. Filled with courage and determination, Alex set out on an epic journey to confront Uncle Mortimer. Along the way, he encountered magical creatures and navigated through treacherous landscapes, all while unraveling the dark secrets of his own lineage. As fate would have it, Alex discovered a powerful connection to the force of light and love within himself, which allowed him to banish the malevolent spirit back to its eternal slumber. The town of Eversham once again knew peace, as the young adventurer returned a hero among his people. The story of Alex's bravery and resourcefulness would be told for generations, inspiring countless others to dream of their own adventures. In the peaceful town of Eversham, life was simple and serene. Alex, a young adventurer, had always been curious about his family history, but nothing prepared him for the unexpected arrival of Uncle Mortimer. The moment he set foot in the village, the atmosphere grew tense, as if an ominous cloud had descended over the once-happy community. One day, while eavesdropping on a conversation between the local blacksmith and his apprentice, Alex heard whispers of Uncle Mortimer's sinister plans. His heart raced, and he knew he had to find out more. As darkness fell, he decided to confront Uncle Mortimer directly. "Uncle Mortimer," Alex said cautiously, "I know what you're planning. You can't bring destruction upon this town." With a chilling smile, Uncle Mortimer revealed his true nature. He was an ancient spirit bound to the earthly plane with malevolent intentions driven by centuries-old grudges and revenge. His eyes glowed red, and Alex felt the weight of his malice. Determined to protect Eversham, Alex closed his eyes, focusing all his courage and determination. A bright light erupted from within him, driving back the darkness that was Uncle Mortimer. With a final scream, the ancient spirit was banished back to his eternal slumber. The town of Eversham breathed a collective sigh of relief as peace returned once again. Alex's bravery and resourcefulness became legendary, inspiring future generations to continue exploring and defending their world with love and light. In the quaint, idyllic town of Eversham, life was peaceful and serene. The sun always seemed to shine brighter, and laughter filled the air. But when Uncle Mortimer arrived at the old family manor, shadows crept in, casting an ominous pall over the once-happy hamlet. One day, while eavesdropping on a conversation between the blacksmith and Uncle Mortimer at the local tavern, Alex learned of his sinister plans. "We must act swiftly," whispered the blacksmith, "Mortimer seeks to awaken an ancient spirit, binding us all to his will." Determined to uncover the truth, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer. As they stood in the moonlit garden, Alex demanded answers. "You dare question my intentions?" snarled Mortimer. "I am a creature of vengeance, bound by centuries-old grudges. I will have my revenge on this town and your family." With newfound resolve, Alex sought to protect Eversham from the looming darkness. He delved into ancient texts, studied arcane lore, and found within himself a power he never knew existed - the ability to wield light against the encroaching darkness. As the day of reckoning arrived, Alex stood before Uncle Mortimer and the bound spirit, ready to defend his town and family. "You cannot win, Mortimer," said Alex, his voice steady despite his trembling heart. "Love and light will always triumph over hatred and darkness." With that, Alex channeled the power of love within him, banishing Uncle Mortimer back to his eternal slumber and freeing the spirit from its earthly bonds. The town of Eversham once again breathed in peace, marveling at the bravery of their young adventurer. And so, Alex's tale became a beacon of hope for generations to come. Alex entered the blacksmith's shop, his heart pounding. The blacksmith looked up and nodded in recognition. "I heard you're looking for answers," he said, his voice low. "Uncle Mortimer has awakened something ancient, a darkness that threatens to consume Eversham." "But I can help you," the blacksmith continued. "My ancestors left me a secret: a way to wield light against darkness. It's hidden in an old text, tucked away in the library. But be warned, Alex, the path you choose is fraught with danger. Are you sure you want to continue?" Alex swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, I must do this," he said, determination etched on his face. "Eversham needs me." As they walked through the library, the blacksmith showed Alex a dusty old book, its pages filled with cryptic symbols. "This is what you need to learn, but be quick," the blacksmith warned, "Uncle Mortimer's plan advances every moment." Alex traced the symbols with his finger, feeling a sudden surge of energy. The blacksmith watched him, eyes wide. "Now, you must find your inner light and use it against the darkness," he said, his voice full of hope. And so, Alex ventured forth, armed with newfound knowledge and an ancient power. He was determined to save Eversham from Uncle Mortimer's sinister plot, no matter the cost. In the quiet town of Eversham, Alex noticed something peculiar when their enigmatic Uncle Mortimer arrived. A sense of darkness loomed over the place, and Alex felt compelled to investigate. One day, while eavesdropping on a conversation with the blacksmith, Alex learned that Uncle Mortimer planned to awaken an ancient spirit, threatening the town's serenity. Seeking guidance, Alex approached the blacksmith and asked for help. "To fight darkness, you must use light," he advised. Armed with this wisdom, Alex embarked on a quest to banish Uncle Mortimer and save Eversham. "Uncle Mortimer, what dark plans do you have for our town?" Alex confronted him, their voice quivering with courage. "I've come to awaken an ancient spirit," Uncle Mortimer replied, his tone filled with malice. "And once it's unleashed, there will be no stopping its wrath." Unyielding, Alex stood firm and declared, "With light as my guide, I shall protect this town from your evil schemes!" With newfound strength, they faced Uncle Mortimer head-on, banishing him and his sinister intentions. Eversham once again became a haven of peace, and Alex's bravery inspired generations to come. In the quaint, sunlit town of Eversham, life was as peaceful as the rolling hills that surrounded it. It was a haven where children played, and laughter filled the air. But when Uncle Mortimer arrived in town, darkness cast its shadow over the once-idyllic place. Rumors spread like wildfire, whispers about his sinister plans to awaken an ancient spirit. One day, while wandering the cobblestone streets, young Alex overheard a conversation between the blacksmith and another villager. "Mortimer's here for something far more malevolent," the blacksmith muttered. "Only the light can banish the darkness he plans to unleash." Intrigued, Alex sought the blacksmith out and begged for guidance. The blacksmith took the boy under his wing, teaching him how to harness the power of the sun's rays. Together, they crafted a mirrored shield that could reflect light and banish the darkness. As Uncle Mortimer prepared his ritual, Alex knew it was time to confront the looming threat. With the shimmering shield in hand, Alex marched towards Uncle Mortimer's lair, heart pounding. As he approached, the air grew colder, and shadows stretched like tendrils of darkness. But Alex remained steadfast, his determination growing stronger with each step. He finally found Uncle Mortimer at the center of a pentagram, his hands raised to summon the ancient spirit. "You cannot stop me, boy!" sneered Uncle Mortimer. "The darkness shall consume this town, and I shall reign supreme." But Alex was undeterred. With a deep breath, he stepped into the circle, shield glinting in the moonlight. The battle began. Uncle Mortimer's eyes widened as the mirrored surface of the shield caught every ray of light, casting him back and forth like a puppet on a string. In a final moment of desperation, Uncle Mortimer hurled a bolt of dark energy at Alex, who deflected it with a swift swipe of his shield. The power rebounded upon its sender, banishing Uncle Mortimer to the depths of darkness he sought to unleash. Exhausted but victorious, Alex collapsed. As the villagers gathered around him, cheering and praising him as their savior, the sun began to rise once more, chasing away the remnants of darkness. And so, young Alex became a symbol of hope for generations to come in Eversham, forever remembered for his bravery and the light he brought back to their peaceful town. Alex couldn't believe his ears as he listened to the blacksmith's warning about Uncle Mortimer's nefarious plot. "He plans to awaken an ancient spirit that threatens to consume Eversham with darkness," the blacksmith whispered urgently. "But you can stop him." With newfound determination, Alex sought guidance from the town's elders. They told him of an ancient prophecy: "When shadows fall and fear takes hold, a beacon of light shall guide us." They shared with him a secret passage to the sacred grove where the source of light resided. As night fell, Alex ventured into the forest, following the faint glow that led him to the grove. There, he found an ancient tree, its branches adorned with glowing orbs. He plucked one and held it high, feeling a surge of energy course through his veins. With newfound confidence, he knew he was ready for the confrontation ahead. In the dead of night, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer at the center of town. "You cannot awaken the ancient spirit, Mortimer!" Alex declared, his voice echoing through the streets. "I have the light to banish you and your darkness from Eversham!" Uncle Mortimer sneered, his eyes filled with malice. "You think your little flame can overcome me?" But as he raised his staff, the town watched in awe as the glowing orb Alex held began to grow brighter. The light expanded, enveloping them all and pushing back the darkness. In that moment of truth, Uncle Mortimer's staff crumbled to dust, and he vanished into thin air. Eversham erupted in cheers, their fears banished by the light. Alex stood tall, a symbol of hope for generations to come. Word Count: 176 Armed with newfound courage and a heart full of hope, Alex set out to confront Uncle Mortimer. The townspeople, inspired by his bravery, gathered around him as he faced the malevolent force. ``` Alex: "Uncle Mortimer, I have learned how to fight the darkness! It's not with weapons or spells, but with love and hope!" Uncle Mortimer: "Foolish boy, you cannot possibly understand the power of the ancient spirit." Townspeople: "We believe in you, Alex!" ``` With their combined strength and belief in Alex's abilities, they banished Uncle Mortimer and saved Eversham from darkness. For generations to come, Alex would be remembered as a symbol of hope, guiding others to embrace the power within themselves. "I must find a way to ignite these lanterns," Alex murmured, his heart racing as he remembered Thomas' words about the power of light. He lit the candles one by one, their glow casting eerie shadows on the walls of the lighthouse. As he did so, he noticed an old parchment tucked away in a hidden crevice. Carefully unfolding it, he read aloud the incantation written upon it. "With light's embrace, darkness fades away," Alex recited, his voice echoing through the empty chamber. Suddenly, a brilliant beam of light erupted from the top of the lighthouse, piercing the night sky and casting away the encroaching darkness. With Uncle Mortimer's sinister plans thwarted, Alex emerged as a beacon of hope for Eversham and its people, standing tall against the forces of evil. The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Eversham. As children played and villagers tended to their chores, a figure approached from the outskirts. Uncle Mortimer, clad in dark robes, had come to unleash an ancient spirit upon the town. Line: Alex overheard the blacksmith's conversation with Uncle Mortimer. The sun had barely risen, casting its warm glow over the quaint little town of Eversham. As Alex walked through the cobblestone streets, they couldn't help but notice an air of unease that seemed to be lingering in the air. Little did they know, Uncle Mortimer, a mysterious figure with sinister intentions, had just arrived in town. His goal was to awaken an ancient spirit, one that threatened to bring darkness and chaos to Eversham. As Alex wandered through the marketplace, they overheard a conversation between two townsfolk. "I've heard that Uncle Mortimer has come to our village," one whispered to the other. "He seeks to unleash an ancient spirit, something even the wisest cannot comprehend." The other, the blacksmith, nodded solemnly. "We must find a way to fight this darkness. It is said that light can banish the shadows." Eager to learn more, Alex approached the blacksmith and engaged him in conversation. Alex: "I've heard whispers of an ancient spirit. How can we fight against it?" Blacksmith: "Legend speaks of using light to banish darkness. We must find a way to channel our inner light." Alex: "Then I shall do just that! Thank you for your guidance, kind blacksmith." With newfound determination, Alex set out to confront Uncle Mortimer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the battle commenced between darkness and light. Alex called upon their inner strength, channeling it into a brilliant glow that shone like the sun itself. With each step toward Uncle Mortimer, the shadows retreated in fear. Uncle Mortimer: "You cannot possibly defeat me! The spirit will rise again!" Alex: "I won't let you bring darkness to this town. I am the beacon of hope!" Their confrontation culminated in an epic clash, and ultimately, Alex emerged victorious. The ancient spirit was banished, and Eversham was saved. From that day forward, Alex became a symbol of hope for generations to come, their name echoing through the town's history as the one who had stood against the darkness and prevailed. In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer arrives with sinister intentions, planning to awaken an ancient spirit. Alex learns of this from eavesdropping on a conversation with the blacksmith, who provides guidance on how to fight the darkness using light. Armed with this wisdom, Alex confronts and banishes Uncle Mortimer, saving Eversham and becoming a symbol of hope for generations to come. ``` "Something's not right in this town," muttered Alex as he sneaked around the marketplace. "I need to find out what it is." As he rounded a corner, he overheard two men discussing ominous matters. "Uncle Mortimer has come to Eversham," said one. "He seeks to awaken the ancient spirit, and nothing will stop him." Alex's heart raced as he listened further. "But there is a way," the other man continued. "The blacksmith knows of it. He can teach you how to use light to fight the darkness." With newfound determination, Alex made his way to the blacksmith's forge. The old man, recognizing the urgency in Alex's eyes, nodded gravely. "I'll teach you," he agreed, "but be prepared for what comes." Alex spent days training under the blacksmith's tutelage, learning to wield light as a weapon against darkness. Finally, the day came when Uncle Mortimer summoned the ancient spirit, casting a dark cloud over Eversham. With the town in fear, Alex stepped forward, his heart pounding. "I have come to stop you, Uncle Mortimer," he declared. The evil sorcerer sneered at him, confident in his own power. "You think you can stand against me?" sneered Uncle Mortimer. "Your light is no match for the darkness I command!" But Alex was ready. He focused his newfound skills and unleashed a brilliant burst of light, banishing Uncle Mortimer and breaking the dark cloud that had enshrouded Eversham. The townspeople cheered, their hope restored by the young hero who had saved them all. ``` In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer arrives with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit. Alex overhears this plan and learns from a conversation with the blacksmith about using light to fight darkness. Armed with this wisdom, Alex confronts and banishes Uncle Mortimer, saving Eversham and becoming a symbol of hope for generations. Alex couldn't believe his ears. As the blacksmith forged a sword, Uncle Mortimer spoke with him in hushed tones about awakening an ancient spirit. The air was thick with tension, and Alex's heart raced as he strained to hear more. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting Eversham in a golden glow. The villagers gathered around a warm fire, sharing tales of old and anticipating the night's events. A sense of unease lingered in the air, as whispers of Uncle Mortimer's arrival spread through the crowd. "You know what they say," Alex overheard from the blacksmith, "Light can fight darkness." Uncle Mortimer's voice echoed across the town square. "I have returned to awaken the ancient spirit that lies beneath this very ground!" His cackle sent shivers down the villagers' spines. Alex, filled with newfound courage, approached Uncle Mortimer. "You won't succeed, for we have the power of light." As the ritual commenced, Alex remembered the blacksmith's words and focused on the glow of a nearby lantern. Uncle Mortimer's eyes widened as the light expanded, driving back the shadows. With a final scream, he vanished into thin air. The villagers cheered as Alex stood tall, a beacon of hope for generations to come. One day, while walking through the marketplace in Eversham, Alex overheard Uncle Mortimer whispering dark incantations to himself. Curious, Alex approached him and asked, "Uncle Mortimer, what are you doing?" Uncle Mortimer, startled by Alex's presence, replied, "Ah, Alex! I was just admiring the beauty of this town." He quickly stuffed a small, glowing artifact into his cloak and attempted to walk away. Alex, however, knew better. "I heard you mumbling some strange words," he said, his voice filled with suspicion. "What were they?" Uncle Mortimer, trying to brush off the encounter, replied, "Just old family charms, nothing to worry about." But Alex could see the fear in his eyes and knew something was amiss. Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer later that night, after he had left town. As they stood in the moonlit forest, Alex demanded answers. "Uncle Mortimer, I know you're planning something dangerous. What is it?" Uncle Mortimer hesitated, then confessed his sinister intentions. "I aim to awaken an ancient spirit, one that will grant me power and wealth beyond imagination." Alex recalled the blacksmith's words: "Light can fight darkness." With newfound courage, he challenged Uncle Mortimer. "You won't succeed! I'll stop you!" As the two faced off, a battle of wits and magic ensued. Alex's determination and the power of the light defeated Uncle Mortimer, banishing him from Eversham forever. The town breathed a collective sigh of relief, and Alex became a symbol of hope for generations to come. And so, the legend of Alex and the ancient spirit lived on in the hearts of the people of Eversham. Bravely stepping into the manor, Alex found Uncle Mortimer in the midst of his ritual. With unwavering determination, Alex confronted the nefarious Uncle Mortimer, who was taken aback by the young hero's audacity. A fierce battle ensued between good and evil, with light and darkness clashing in a dazzling display. ``` Alex's courage and newfound wisdom prevailed as they vanquished the dark spirit and banished Uncle Mortimer from Eversham. The townspeople, inspired by Alex's heroism, hailed him as a symbol of hope for generations to come. From that day forward, the legend of Alex and the battle against darkness would be etched into the annals of Eversham's history, forever reminding all of the power of light in the face of overwhelming darkness. In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer arrives with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit. Alex overhears the plan and learns from the blacksmith that light can fight darkness. Confronting and banishing Uncle Mortimer, Alex saves Eversham and becomes a symbol of hope for generations. A fierce battle ensues between good and evil, with light and darkness clashing in a dazzling display. Alex's courage and wisdom prevail, vanquishing the dark spirit and banishing Uncle Mortimer from Eversham. The townspeople hail him as a symbol of hope, and his legend lives on as a reminder of the power of light in the face of darkness. Eversham was a tranquil town nestled in a valley surrounded by dense forests and towering mountains. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets and charming cottages. Life was simple and idyllic for its residents, who were bound together by their shared love of nature and each other. One day, as Alex walked through the marketplace, he noticed an unfamiliar man lurking in the shadows. Intrigued by his sinister presence, Alex followed him discreetly, curious to uncover his intentions. As the sun began to set, the mysterious stranger revealed himself as Uncle Mortimer, a cunning sorcerer bent on awakening an ancient spirit of darkness that lay dormant within the heart of Eversham's forest. Uncle Mortimer's plan was to summon the malevolent force at midnight when the moon's rays pierced through the dense canopy, casting a veil of darkness upon the town. However, Alex overheard his wicked scheme and sought guidance from the local blacksmith, who imparted a secret: only light could banish the encroaching darkness. Armed with this knowledge, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer at the stroke of midnight, challenging him to unleash his dark power. As the two dueled beneath the silvery moonlight, the spirit of darkness began to stir. But Alex's determination and newfound understanding of the battle between light and shadow allowed him to outsmart the sorcerer. With a burst of radiant energy, he banished Uncle Mortimer from Eversham and sent the dark spirit back into its slumber. The townspeople hailed Alex as their savior, and his name became synonymous with hope and resilience. His legend lived on for generations, inspiring future generations to face darkness with courage and wisdom. And so, the people of Eversham continued to thrive in peace, knowing that even in the darkest moments, the power of light would always prevail. Uncle Mortimer, a mysterious man with sinister intentions, arrived in Eversham with whispers of awakening an ancient spirit. The townsfolk grew uneasy, sensing the impending storm that threatened their peaceful existence. In the heart of Eversham stood a bustling marketplace, where people from all walks of life gathered to trade and share stories. Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, was known for his keen sense of intuition and unwavering bravery. He overheard Uncle Mortimer's plan in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, and knew he had to act. Alex found the old blacksmith at his forge, his hands calloused from years of work. The blacksmith listened intently as Alex recounted his tale of darkness looming over Eversham. He shared a secret with Alex - that light could fight the encroaching darkness. Armed with this knowledge, Alex prepared to confront Uncle Mortimer and save his town. As night fell, the streets of Eversham were ablaze with lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls as people huddled together in fear. Alex stood before Uncle Mortimer, his eyes blazing with determination. "You can't win against the spirit of light, Mortimer," he declared. Uncle Mortimer laughed, a sound that sent chills down Alex's spine. "And what makes you think you have the power to stop me?" he taunted. Alex gripped his hammer tightly, the blacksmith's words echoing in his mind. "With the light of hope and courage," he answered firmly. The air crackled with tension as they faced off. In a fierce battle, Alex fought against Uncle Mortimer's dark magic, wielding the power of light. As the darkness retreated, so too did Uncle Mortimer, vanquished by the spirit of hope. The townspeople hailed Alex as a hero, and his legend lived on, inspiring generations to come. In the peaceful town of Eversham, mysterious man Uncle Mortimer arrives with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit. As Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, listens to the chatter around him, he overhears the plan and learns from the blacksmith that light can fight darkness. "You have heard of the legend, I'm sure," the blacksmith says with a knowing smile. Alex nods, remembering stories of the great battle between good and evil. "The town is in danger!" he exclaims to his mentor. "Do not fear, young one," the blacksmith replies, handing Alex a small, glowing orb. "This is a beacon of light. Use it wisely." With courage in his heart, Alex sets out to confront Uncle Mortimer. The mysterious man stands before a dark ritual circle, preparing to summon the ancient spirit. "You should not meddle with forces beyond your understanding!" Alex shouts, holding the glowing orb aloft. Uncle Mortimer sneers at the young blacksmith. "And yet, you dare to challenge me?" "I will do whatever it takes to protect my home and its people," Alex declares, stepping into the circle. A fierce battle ensues between good and evil, with light and darkness clashing in a dazzling display. Alex's courage and wisdom prevail, vanquishing the dark spirit and banishing Uncle Mortimer from Eversham. The townspeople hail him as a symbol of hope, and his legend lives on as a reminder of the power of light in the face of darkness. In the peaceful town of Eversham, mysterious man Uncle Mortimer arrives with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit. Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, overhears the plan and learns from the blacksmith that light can fight darkness. Confronting and banishing Uncle Mortimer, Alex saves Eversham and becomes a symbol of hope for generations. A fierce battle ensues between good and evil, with light and darkness clashing in a dazzling display. Alex's courage and wisdom prevail, vanquishing the dark spirit and banishing Uncle Mortimer from Eversham. The townspeople hail him as a symbol of hope, and his legend lives on as a reminder of the power of light in the face of darkness. In the quiet town of Eversham, life seemed ordinary and peaceful until the enigmatic Uncle Mortimer arrived. His sinister presence cast an ominous shadow over the town as whispers of his dark intentions filled the air. Alex, an ambitious apprentice blacksmith, yearned for adventure and longed to prove himself. One evening, while working late in his forge, he heard a conversation that piqued his interest. "Do I need to use a tool? No," Alex thought to himself as he listened carefully. From the dialogue, he gathered that Uncle Mortimer planned to awaken an ancient spirit and unleash darkness upon Eversham. Determined to thwart this evil plot, Alex sought counsel from his mentor, the wise blacksmith. The old master shared a secret: "Light can fight darkness." Armed with this knowledge, Alex decided to confront Uncle Mortimer. The mysterious man and the young apprentice met in an eerie forest clearing, where a dark ritual was about to commence. As they faced off, Alex said, "You may have power over darkness, but I possess the light!" With that, he summoned every ounce of courage and wisdom he had learned from his mentor. A blazing light erupted from Alex's hands, clashing with Uncle Mortimer's dark magic. As the battle raged on, the townspeople, who had been watching in terror, began to rally around the young blacksmith. Their combined faith and hope forged a powerful force of light that vanquished the dark spirit and banished Uncle Mortimer from Eversham. The people hailed Alex as a symbol of hope, and his legacy would remind future generations of the power of light against darkness. In the peaceful town of Eversham, the air was thick with anticipation as the annual fair approached. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts filled the air, while laughter and joyful chatter echoed through the streets. Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, was helping his master craft intricate ironwork decorations for the fair when he overheard two mysterious strangers talking in hushed tones. "What are they plotting?" Alex whispered to himself, his curiosity piqued. He decided to eavesdrop further and soon learned that a sinister man named Uncle Mortimer had arrived in town with dark intentions - to awaken an ancient spirit and cast a shadow over Eversham. Intrigued by the stranger's plan, Alex approached the local blacksmith for guidance. "Light can fight darkness, lad," the wise old blacksmith said, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. "You must find your own light and use it to vanquish the darkness." Inspired by these words, Alex set off on a quest to confront Uncle Mortimer and save his town from impending doom. As he bravely approached the shadowy figure, Alex felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You've come to awaken an ancient spirit?" he demanded boldly. Uncle Mortimer smirked, "And you shall never stop me." He raised his hands, and a chilling gust of wind swirled around them. Alex felt a surge of power within him, as if the blacksmith's words had ignited a flame deep inside his heart. "I am not afraid of your darkness," Alex declared, his voice steady and strong. "I have the light to vanquish you!" With that, he charged at Uncle Mortimer, determined to save his town and banish the evil spirit once and for all. The two battled fiercely, their energy clashing in a dazzling display of light and darkness. In the end, Alex's courage and wisdom prevailed, and Uncle Mortimer was banished from Eversham. As the sun broke through the clouds, casting its radiant glow upon the town once more, the people hailed Alex as a symbol of hope for generations to come. His legacy would forever remind them of light's power against darkness. In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer's arrival brought an air of menace. "We must awaken the ancient spirit," he whispered to his cronies, their eyes glittering with malice. Alex, overhearing the plan, approached the local blacksmith. "There is a way to fight against darkness," the blacksmith revealed, his voice full of wisdom. ``` "Do you have what it takes?" Uncle Mortimer challenged, his laughter echoing through the town. "I will defend Eversham from your evil deeds!" Alex declared, courage coursing through his veins. Uncle Mortimer sneered, "You cannot defeat me, boy." With a deep breath, Alex focused on the light within him and confronted Uncle Mortimer. A battle of epic proportions ensued, as the spirit of darkness clashed with the beacon of hope. The townspeople watched in awe as Alex's wisdom and courage shone through. ``` "Banish this darkness from our town!" they cried, their voices united. With a final surge of energy, Alex vanquished the dark spirit, sending it back to the depths from which it came. Uncle Mortimer fled in defeat, his sinister plans thwarted by the young blacksmith's bravery. The people hailed Alex as a hero, their hearts filled with gratitude and hope. In that moment, Alex knew that light would always triumph over darkness, and his legacy lived on as a beacon of hope for generations to come. In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer arrived with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit. As he prepared his dark ritual, a young apprentice blacksmith, Alex, overheard the plan and learned from the old blacksmith that light could fight darkness. Brimming with newfound wisdom, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer. ```Dialogue: Alex (determined): "Uncle Mortimer! You must leave Eversham at once! Your dark magic is not welcome here!" Uncle Mortimer (sneering): "And who are you to defy me, young one? I am the master of darkness and no mere blacksmith's apprentice can stand in my way." Alex (resolute): "I may be just a blacksmith's apprentice, but I have learned that light can vanquish darkness. With the help of the townspeople, we will banish you from Eversham!"``` As the townsfolk joined Alex in his battle against Uncle Mortimer, their combined strength and unity illuminated the night sky. The dark spirit trembled before the light, unable to withstand the love and hope that emanated from the hearts of the people. In a final surge of courage, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer, casting out the dark magic from Eversham. Uncle Mortimer, defeated and banished, slinked away in shame. The townspeople hailed Alex as a symbol of hope, his legacy reminding them all of the power of light against darkness. And so, in the quiet village of Eversham, the people continued to thrive under the protection of the light, their hearts filled with courage and wisdom from the young blacksmith who had once saved their town. In the peaceful town of Eversham, Uncle Mortimer's arrival brought an eerie silence. The once lively market square now stood empty, and whispers filled the air as the townsfolk exchanged glances, sensing something ominous. Alex, a young apprentice blacksmith, noticed the change in atmosphere and sought out the wise old blacksmith for answers. ``` "You must be ready," the blacksmith warned him. "Uncle Mortimer comes with sinister intentions to awaken an ancient spirit." Alex's eyes widened, and he knew he had to act. He approached Uncle Mortimer at the town hall, where a secret meeting was underway. With a trembling voice, Alex confronted the man. "Uncle Mortimer," he began, "I know what you plan to do, and I won't let you harm our town." The room fell silent as everyone stared at the courageous young blacksmith. Uncle Mortimer laughed, his dark intentions laid bare. "And what makes you think you can stop me?" "The blacksmith told me that light can fight darkness," Alex replied, his voice unwavering. "That's why I forged this." He held up a radiant sword, the light from it piercing the gloom. Uncle Mortimer scoffed. "A mere sword won't save you. But perhaps your bravery will make an interesting spectacle as you fall." The townspeople, inspired by Alex's defiance, stood up to support him. Together, they faced Uncle Mortimer and the ancient spirit he had summoned. In a climactic battle of light against darkness, Alex's sword shone brighter, vanquishing the dark spirit and banishing Uncle Mortimer. The townspeople hailed Alex as a symbol of hope, his courage and wisdom having saved Eversham from the clutches of darkness. For generations to come, they would remember his legacy and the power of light against evil. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets of Eversham. The townsfolk were busy preparing for the annual harvest festival, unaware of the dark cloud that was about to descend upon them. In the distance, Uncle Mortimer's carriage rumbled into town, its arrival shrouded in mystery and intrigue. As the townspeople whispered among themselves, Alex overheard a conversation between Uncle Mortimer and his shadowy accomplices. Uncle Mortimer: "I have come to summon the ancient spirit that lies buried beneath this town. With its power, I shall rule Eversham and all who dwell within it!" Alex, eavesdropping from around the corner, felt a shiver run down his spine. He hurried to the old blacksmith's forge, where he shared his discovery with the wise old blacksmith. Old Blacksmith: "Fear not, young Alex. There is a way to vanquish darkness with light. Forge a radiant sword and wield it against evil." Alex took the old blacksmith's words to heart and quickly set to work, his hands flying over hot metal and glowing embers. As the sun dipped below the horizon, he emerged from the forge, clutching a sword that seemed to glow with an inner light. With newfound courage, Alex confronted Uncle Mortimer at a secret meeting in the heart of Eversham. Alex: "You may have summoned darkness, but I have brought light! I will not let you harm our town!" Uncle Mortimer sneered at the young apprentice, but Alex's resolve was unshaken. As the ancient spirit stirred beneath the town, the people of Eversham joined forces with Alex, their radiant swords cutting through the encroaching darkness like a beacon in the night. Together, they fought Uncle Mortimer and his sinister allies, driving back the shadows and restoring peace to their beloved town. With the spirit vanquished and Uncle Mortimer defeated, Alex stood tall amidst the cheers of his fellow townsfolk. His bravery and wisdom had saved Eversham, and his radiant sword would forever serve as a symbol of hope against evil. ``` As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Eversham's cobblestone streets, a hush fell over the town. The once lively market square now lay desolate, waiting for Uncle Mortimer's arrival. Whispers spread like wildfire as the villagers exchanged worried glances, sensing the impending doom. ```

#ebook #fiction #storytelling #light #versus #darkness #bravery #hope #ancient #spirits #town #of #Eversham #blacksmith #wisdom #power #ligh

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solar-wing · 4 months ago

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⚣ Puppy Love: Sweet and Romantic, but also somehow Murderous ❤️‍🔥

⚣❤️‍🔥 A/N → something I started writing while finishing up Shadowing Nightwing. Is this what I imagine my relationship to be like with Jason on a regular basis...absolutely. Absolutely. Am I somewhat delusional and living in a fantasy world? Also, absolutely, but also, mind your fucking business. anyways...! This was inspired from multiple posts and authors, who I have tagged and hyperlinked. @allllium @maj-b-s Thank you for feeding my obsession—ahem—my therapist will be sending you a bill. tee hee... WARNINGS: 18 + MDNI | College Male Reader | Fluff & Humor | Minor Violence (Implied) | Swearing/Crude Language | Smut | Breathplay | Possessiveness/Jealousy | Everyone wants Y/N's man |

⚣❤️‍🔥 Summary → Meet Jason and Y/N: Gotham’s answer to the ultimate “relationship goals”—if your relationship goals involve an overly protective vigilante with a slight obsession for tearing apart his boyfriend’s scandalous wardrobe (and sometimes his coworkers). Their love story? Equal parts intense, adorable, and absolutely chaotic. Jason’s the growling, brooding protector who’d burn the world for Y/N, while Y/N is the sunshine with just enough sass to keep him in check… well, sometimes.

⚣❤️‍🔥 Word Count → 14.5K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY ❤️‍🔥

If you asked anyone, they might hesitate to admit it outright, but the truth was hard to ignore: people envied Jason and Y/N’s relationship—and who could blame them? From the day those two started dating, they’d been like high-school sweethearts stuck in the honeymoon phase, but with ten times the intensity and none of the restraint. Not to sound bitter or envious—it was just a fact.

They were a painfully adorable couple. Jason was the doting, protective lover, almost to a fault. Sure, it’s a bit of a cliché, but he didn’t exactly help himself with the stark difference in how he treated others versus Y/N. Around everyone else, Jason looked permanently grouchy, as though every conversation he endured was a test of patience he barely passed. His eye-rolls, heavy sighs, and palpable disinterest didn’t go unnoticed; in fact, he made it pretty clear he couldn’t wait to walk away from anyone who wasn’t Y/N.

But the moment Y/N entered the room? Suddenly, Jason had nothing more important in the world. It was almost comical to watch this towering vigilante hang onto every word Y/N said like an overly attached puppy. Actually, that was the perfect way to describe their dynamic: Jason was a huge, lethal teddy bear with a soft spot, and Y/N was the unassuming boyfriend who had no clue how much sway he held over this giant who’d kill for him without hesitation.

Honestly, the best way to describe Y/N was as Jason’s polar opposite. He was social—well, social enough—and that sometimes got on his boyfriend’s nerves, who would’ve preferred to keep Y/N all to himself. It was partly jealousy, partly a possessive urge to monopolize his lover’s attention, but mostly it was Jason’s instinct to shield him from a world that had never been kind to the vigilante. Jason had been hardened by a lifetime of darkness, and he’d go to ridiculous lengths to keep Y/N’s light from dimming.

Not that Jason’s methods were exactly…practical.

“Jason, I get that you want to protect me, but you can’t shield me from everything,” Y/N said, finally sitting his boyfriend down for a much-needed conversation after yet another of Jason’s over-the-top protective stunts. “The only way you could do that would be to wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me away in a cave or something.”

“Trust me, I’ve considered it,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Y/N blinked, raising a brow.

“Nothing.”

Despite Y/N’s more social nature, he was everything Jason felt he was missing in life. He was the humor, the hope, the optimism Jason rarely allowed himself. And sure, his optimism came with a sprinkle of sarcasm when he was annoyed, but Jason loved that too. In fact, he was so taken by Y/N that it was nearly an obsession—though, to be fair, obsession was kind of expected from someone like him.

Would a therapist call it codependency or maybe some kind of unhealthy dynamic? Probably. But good luck telling Jason that. He’d likely see it as a personal attack—and let’s just say that if you value your life, you might want to avoid bringing it up. You’ve been warned.

But back to the point: Y/N and Jason’s relationship quickly became the kind that made even Y/N’s friends—most of whom were floundering in the love department—wonder just how he’d managed to snag such a devoted and caring guy. It especially made Jason feel appreciated, loved, and genuinely important to someone the way Y/N would never miss a chance to gush about his vigilante boyfriend to anyone willing to listen, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he secretly loved every second of it.

Though, do exercise a bit (lot) of caution, because once the topic turns to Jason, everyone’s in for a long haul—Y/N could and would talk anyone’s ear off that was willing to listen about how amazing his boyfriend is. Just as Jason was obsessed with Y/N, Y/N was equally smitten with Jason, and honestly? Jason wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Alright, Y/N, spill it! I need every detail about how you landed this guy. Don’t hold out on me—give me the exact prayer, word-for-word, quickly!”

“I—uh—well, I—”

“Come on, Y/N! My pen is drying up, and I’m not getting any younger!” His friend slapped a notepad and pen down in front of him, staring him down like he was about to write out a love spell straight from a witch’s spellbook.

“Girl, I don’t even know. The guy just kinda showed up in my life one day and never left,” Y/N shrugged, half-joking, though it was pretty much the truth.

It had all been by chance—well, kind of. If you could call Jason keeping an eye on Y/N “chance.” In reality, he’d been sort of… lurking, for good reasons (or at least reasons he’d justified to himself). It started one night when Y/N was finishing up his work-study shift at Gotham University. Now, calling an Uber would’ve been the smart, safe choice, especially in a city like Gotham. But he lived just 15 minutes away, and spending money on a five-minute ride? Please. He had a budget to consider.

That was before he found himself cornered in a dark alley by three oversized thugs who smelled like the embodiment of an ashtray mixed with cheap beer, a scent so thick it made his eyes water. The kind of men Gotham bred like weeds—rough, desperate, dangerous. Y/N barely had time to process the situation before one of them shoved him against a cold, brick wall, a knife pressing against his throat. His backpack was snatched and dumped unceremoniously onto the wet alley floor, its contents spilling out for their inspection.

His mind raced, paralyzed with fear and regret. He could practically hear his parents' voices reminding him to be cautious, to make smart choices, to avoid walking alone at night in places like this. Irony stung almost as much as the cold steel against his neck—the “responsible” choice would have been to spend that $15 on an Uber, not gamble his safety for a free walk.

And was the money he’d save really worth risking his life for? Probably not. But hey, that was Gotham for you—always teaching life lessons the hard way. He braced himself, feeling the icy dread of not knowing if he’d make it out alive. Stories like these didn’t usually end well on the news in this city.

But fate, or something like it, had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a low, gravelly voice sliced through the night. “I’d drop the knife if I were you.”

Y/N didn’t dare turn his head, but he felt the tension shift as the thugs looked up, startled. Standing at the mouth of the alley was a figure who seemed to materialize from the shadows—a tall, broad man clad in black and deep red, with a sleeveless hoodie that revealed muscular arms wrapped in red bandages. A mask and hood concealed majority of his face, glowing red eyes staring down the thugs with an intensity that froze them in place. Strapped across his back were two long katanas, and a utility belt around his waist held holsters that almost certainly contained a pair of guns, adding to his already intimidating presence.

Red Hood.

Y/N had heard of him, of course. Gotham’s resident anti-hero, rumored to have a thing for…creative violence. The vigilante’s imposing size was enough to make anyone feel small; he towered over Y/N, his form carved out of muscle and something darker, something hardened. Even the thugs looked ready to wet themselves, and Y/N could feel the goosebumps rise on his skin as he finally dared to look up.

In less time than it took him to blink, Red Hood had closed the distance, dispatching the thugs with an efficiency that would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so, well, terrifying. Knives clattered to the ground, grunts and thuds filled the air, and Y/N just stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, half expecting to wake up from a weird stress-induced nightmare.

But this was very real, as proven when Red Hood finally turned to him, and Y/N felt his breath hitch. Up close, the vigilante was even more intimidating—a wall of muscle wrapped in dark red and black, those red eyes glowing with an intensity that made Y/N’s knees wobble. There was no denying it; the guy was terrifying. Yet, for some reason, there was a weird, traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispering, He’s kind of hot, though.

“You alright?” The voice was rough, like gravel scraping across metal, but there was an undertone of concern. Red Hood’s gaze softened just a fraction, almost imperceptible, yet Y/N caught it.

“I—I think so,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were wide, and he forced himself not to flinch as Red Hood stepped even closer, the hulking vigilante now looming over him. Up close, he could see the muscles tense beneath the suit, the power radiating off him like heat.

Red Hood’s head tilted slightly, as if assessing him, and Y/N swore he felt like he was being scanned. Which, honestly, was fair. He was some college kid wearing a sweatshirt that said “Gotham U” in block letters, and this guy looked like he wrestled criminals for fun. But instead of feeling like prey, he felt this strange pull, like something was drawing him toward the vigilante. It was probably just adrenaline… or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Red Hood gave a grunt, a sound that could have meant anything from “good to hear” to “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, punk.” But then he leaned down, his helmet casting an ominous shadow over Y/N’s face. “Next time, take the Uber.”

Y/N blinked, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once. “Noted,” he replied, deadpan, because honestly, what else could he say?

He should have been scared—terrified, even. But instead, he found himself lingering on every detail: the way Red Hood’s chest rose and fell, the glint of his weapons, the sense of barely restrained danger that rolled off him in waves. And underneath all of that, a strange, quiet thrill that he didn’t quite understand.

Satisfied, Red Hood gave him one last look before he started to turn away, blending back into the shadows. But in a flash of impulsiveness, Y/N called out, “Wait!”

Red Hood stopped, glancing over his shoulder, clearly not used to random civilians asking for an encore. Y/N hesitated, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded, but the words were already out there, so he figured he might as well keep going.

“Uh… thanks. For, you know, saving me. And also for the life advice,” he added, his voice dripping with awkward humor.

There was a pause—a long, silent pause where Y/N briefly wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. But then, to his surprise, he thought he saw the faintest tilt of amusement in the way Red Hood shifted his stance. Was that… a chuckle? No, probably not. But he’d like to think so.

Red Hood nodded—a subtle acknowledgment—before disappearing into the night, leaving Y/N alone in the alley with nothing but his scattered belongings and a heart that felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. As he knelt down to gather his things, he couldn’t help but survey the carnage of his soggy notebooks and papers, along with his now-broken laptop and tangled, half-shattered headphones.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he picked up a notebook that was more mush than paper. “Well, this is fine,” he muttered, trying to keep his spirits up. “Just a little water damage. Adds character, right?”

Then he spotted his laptop, the screen shattered and a piece of it barely hanging on by a hinge. He laughed, a bitter chuckle that held more disbelief than humor. “Guess it’s one way to force an upgrade,” he murmured, stuffing it back in his backpack like a defeated soldier gathering his gear after a lost battle.

And the headphones? Well, they’d been cheap anyway, held together by more wishful thinking than actual quality. “You were too good for this world,” he whispered dramatically, dropping them into the bag with a resigned sigh.

Despite the state of his belongings, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just survived something surreal, something that would haunt his dreams and maybe even—dare he say it?—excite him a little.

Unbeknownst to him, from the shadows a few blocks away, Jason eyed him from his hiding spot, a curiosity nagging at him, as if he’d found something worth watching over. He could see Y/N still crouched on the grimy ground, gathering his belongings—soggy notebooks, torn papers, a laptop with a shattered screen. He’d felt a pang of guilt as he watched, a flicker of sympathy mingling with a less-than-pleasant feeling of familiarity knowing all too well what it was like to lose the few things you relied on—to feel like the world had kicked you when you were down.

And while he’d never admit it, maybe a part of him liked that the kid seemed more amused than scared. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone didn’t scream when they saw Red Hood.

Of course, now that they were dating, Y/N was not surprised by the vigilante’s actions after their encounter when he’d come out of his apartment a week later to find a large box sitting on his doorstep with a plain label reading simply, “For You.”

Inside was an assortment of brand-new school supplies including pristine notebooks in varying colors, a handful of smooth, high-quality pens and highlighters, and even a sleek, expensive laptop that he definitely could not afford on a student budget. Nestled beside it was a pair of high-quality Bluetooth headphones—the kind he’d ogled online but never dreamed of buying. And to top it all off, there was a sturdy, stylish bag to carry everything in.

And while most other people would’ve been slightly concerned at the fact that a random vigilante just happened to know their address after only one meeting where they didn’t even give their name, Y/N on the other hand, was processing the contents of the box with a mix of gratitude, amusement, and a new crush.

And so, their love story began, marked by Jason’s continued (and slightly overprotective) habit of rescuing Y/N from Gotham’s mean streets—even if the college student didn’t always realize he needed saving. Hence the “stalking” mentioned earlier.

Of course, was it technically stalking if it was done out of love and devotion for some random stranger you’d developed a massive crush on but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to talk to directly? Well… yes. Experts would say it’s still stalking. But hey, if those experts ever found themselves in a tight spot, Jason would be conveniently “unavailable” to save them.

Naturally, Y/N couldn’t exactly share the full story of his and Jason’s introduction. For one, his friends would roast him to the ends of the earth for being dumb enough to walk home alone in Gotham at night. He could practically hear their voices now: “Really, Y/N? Alone? At night? In Gotham? Do you not value your own life?” And frankly, he wasn’t about to give them that much material.

Oh, and there was also the tiny detail of Red Hood’s whole secret vigilante identity thing.

So, he went with a slightly edited version of the story, painting Jason as a “helpful stranger” who just happened to show up when Y/N “got lost” and had his bag stolen. And when his friends inevitably asked about the shiny new gear—a nearly $500 bag, top-of-the-line laptop, high-quality headphones, the works—he explained it all as a result of some extra scholarship money and financial aid he’d “saved up.” Sure, splurging on luxury tech and accessories might seem a tad unrealistic, but he’d throw in a line about a “really good sale” and call it a day.

Because as much as Jason’s habit of going overboard with gifts could be a little, well, extra, Y/N wasn’t about to complain. The man was thoughtful in a way few would ever believe, though his affection tended to be wrapped in thick layers of leather, weaponry, and a no-nonsense glare.

Jason loved hard, though he wasn’t quick to show it to just anyone. The guy kept his feelings locked up tighter than a Gotham vault, hardened by a lifetime of broken trust and betrayal. He wasn’t exactly the “wear your heart on your sleeve” type. But every so often, with the right person, he’d crack that tough exterior. And Y/N? Somehow, he’d slipped right through, without even trying.

And okay, could Jason be a little intense? Sure (absolutely). But when a vigilante with a borderline obsessive streak decides he cares about you, well… let’s just say things are bound to get a little out of hand. That’s just the price of having Gotham’s resident anti-hero as your personal guard dog.

Not that Y/N thinks of him quite like that, but it’s kind of funny, considering Jason really does act like a lovesick puppy when it’s just the two of them, his tough exterior melting away—it gave the energy of a Golden Retriever, maybe, or a Siberian Husky with an attitude problem. But the moment anyone else entered the room, his whole vibe transformed. If Y/N was his safe haven, the rest of the world was an enemy camp. He’d switch from doting boyfriend to a blend of German Shepherd, Rottweiler, and Doberman with the attitude and aggressiveness of a Chihuahua on an espresso shot. It was a little terrifying for others but to Y/N? It was just… Jason.

Part of what made their dynamic so unique was how Jason let himself be vulnerable around Y/N, something few people ever got to see. Y/N was his safe space, the person he could trust to see the parts of him he usually kept hidden—the softness, the care, the insecurities he guarded as fiercely as he guarded Gotham’s streets.

Funny enough, Y/N quickly discovered just a few months into dating that Jason’s love language was, without a doubt, physical touch. Why was that funny—and possibly the most ironic thing he’d ever experienced? Because when they first started dating, Jason avoided touch like it was the plague.

It took Y/N a while to notice it, but once he did, it was painfully obvious. Jason had this way of keeping just enough distance, as if he’d drawn a line no one was allowed to cross. At first, Y/N thought it was just Jason’s natural intensity, but over time, he began to see the pattern. Jason was hyper-aware of any physical contact—quick to dodge, tense when someone brushed against him accidentally, even flinching at touches he saw coming. It was like he’d trained himself to see any sort of physical contact as a potential threat.

And it made sense, really, considering Jason’s past and the double life he led—something Y/N only found out about a few months after they started dating. Jason’s body told a story all on its own, each scar and faded bruise marking a chapter of battles fought and enemies conquered. The scars weren’t just skin-deep; they were reminders of a life filled with danger, betrayal, and loss. And Y/N began to understand why Jason had always kept his distance, why he seemed wary of even the gentlest touch. To Jason, vulnerability had always come with a price.

Also, talking about his family was a rare event, and when he did, there was a hesitance, a guarded tone. Y/N knew bits and pieces—enough to understand that while Jason loved his family, there were wounds there too, emotional scars that ran just as deep as the ones on his body. He avoided talking about them, save for the occasional mention of Alfred, the family’s butler. Alfred was the exception, the one person Jason spoke of with nothing but respect and a rare softness. In time, Y/N came to love and appreciate Alfred just as much, seeing how deeply he’d cared for Jason when others hadn’t.

But even with Alfred, Jason’s life had taught him that letting people in, letting people close, meant risking pain. So he’d built walls, high and impenetrable, where touch was a luxury and distance was safety. Yet again, somehow, Y/N had slipped through those walls. Slowly, patiently, he’d helped Jason find comfort in a gentle touch, a warm embrace, and the knowledge that here, with him, there was no danger. Just love.

At first, it was subtle—the occasional shoulder touch, the brief brush of his hand, like Jason was testing the waters. But as he grew more comfortable, his affection started to show in quiet, gentle ways: a hand resting at the small of Y/N’s back, an arm draped protectively around his shoulders, or the way he’d pull Y/N close, as if his presence alone could shield him from the world. Sure, his protectiveness sometimes bordered on overbearing, but Y/N didn’t mind one bit. He’d come to cherish those moments, knowing that each touch, each fierce little act of devotion, was Jason’s own way of saying, I love you.

And before Y/N even realized it, Jason had practically become his shadow, glued to his side like some overly affectionate—albeit slightly brooding—puppy. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly, Jason couldn’t go a full five minutes without reaching out to touch him, craving the comfort and reassurance of Y/N’s presence. Jason was always there, one way or another: a hand resting on his neck, fingers tracing along his arm, a warm weight on his thigh, or just… hovering in his orbit like a bodyguard who happened to look at him like he was the best thing in Gotham.

Rarely did a moment pass when they weren’t connected in some physical way. More often than not, Jason would find any excuse to pull Y/N into a full-on cuddle, whether they were on the couch or in bed, as if he was storing up warmth like a battery. And his favorite spot? Laying his head on Y/N’s chest, listening to his heartbeat with his eyes closed, completely at peace as Y/N’s hands ran gently through his hair. For Jason, it was the ultimate comfort, a reminder that he was loved and safe—a rare feeling in his life.

It was endearing, really. Jason might’ve been Gotham’s big bad vigilante, but to Y/N, he was a full-grown man with the energy of a giant, needy puppy, demanding his attention with that silent, intense stare of his. And honestly? Y/N wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course, Y/N would be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of the way Jason would pout and glare at him whenever he stopped rubbing his head or, heaven forbid, dared to refuse his touch. Imagine this six-foot-plus tower of muscle—a guy who could make dudes on steroids look like scrawny sidekicks—staring down his boyfriend with an actual pout because he wasn’t getting his cuddle fix. It was a sight that never failed to make Y/N laugh (not that he’d do it out loud; he valued his life, after all).

Jason could—and would—throw his ire at just about anyone else, often for the smallest of reasons. Anyone not named Y/N was fair game for his mood swings, his infamous scowl, and even the occasional growl. But with Y/N? Well, let’s just say he was spared from the wrath of Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante… unless he denied Jason cuddles or the sacred privilege of his bodily embrace. That, apparently, was the one line Y/N couldn’t cross.

The “punishment” usually lasted, at most, ten minutes. Jason would start by sulking, grumbling under his breath like a child denied dessert, and shooting Y/N the kind of glare usually reserved for Gotham’s worst criminals. Y/N, of course, would hold out as long as he could, but eventually, one of two things would happen. Either he’d cave, sighing as he finally opened his arms to let Jason claim his cuddle rights, listening as Jason mumbled dramatically about how he “should never be denied cuddles” because it was his god-given right, or—if Y/N took too long—Jason would take matters into his own hands.

And by that, it meant Jason would simply scoop him up, plop himself down, and drape his entire, solid weight on top of Y/N like some overgrown cat claiming it's human. There was no escape—Jason’s big arms wrapped around him like an anaconda, pulling him close until Y/N was completely enveloped, pinned down with zero chance of getting away.

Y/N didn’t mind, though. Quite the opposite, actually—it was hot. Sue him.

"Y/N, don’t take this the wrong way but… is your man single?” one of his coworkers asked, giving him a sly grin.

OOP—

GIRL. For your own sake—and for the sake of anyone within a mile radius—tread carefully. That man is as jealous and territorial as his possessive ass vigilante boyfriend, who’s on a level that’s practically legendary. No, seriously; Jason’s jealousy was on a scale that was insane.

Case in point: family game night. Tim had everyone playing this game where you had to come up with a word for each category starting with a randomly chosen letter. Simple enough, right? Well, when “J” was the letter of the round, let’s just say Y/N’s answers weren’t exactly… satisfying to a certain overprotective vigilante.

“Y/N,” Jason hissed, narrowing his eyes, “you’ve got two seconds to explain to me who the hell Jackson is.”

“I had to think of something!” Y/N replied, holding up his hands defensively.

Jason crossed his arms, staring him down. “And what does my name start with, hmm?”

“I—okay, listen, I panicked! I was thinking about Percy Jackson!”

Jason didn’t see it as jealousy—he was just protective, okay? But if his definition of protective happened to mean glaring down anyone who so much as glanced at Y/N, then so be it.

Y/N on the other hand…

Funny enough, Jason actually started complaining because every time he and Y/N went out together, people would give him looks, like they thought Y/N was in mortal danger. And okay, Jason got it—he wasn’t exactly small, or subtle. With his build, his perpetual scowl, and the way he seemed ready to throw down at any given moment, he could understand slightly why people would think the way they’d think. Shit, he’d do the same. But still.

When it got to the point of the cops getting called because the neighbors heard loud noises, grunts, and what they thought were sounds of pain and struggle after seeing a large and intimidating man drag Y/N into his apartment—when, in reality, they were just doing the dirty tango against the kitchen wall—it gets a bit annoying.

But that wasn’t even the real issue Jason had been complaining about. No, what had actually gotten under his skin was how everyone always assumed he was the threat, when in reality, it was Y/N they should’ve been worried about. People just didn’t see it, but Y/N had a dangerous side all his own. Just ask the kid who was dumb enough to try and pull a fast one on Jason by touching and caressing him in public when Y/N had stepped away for a moment.

The moment the college student came back… well, let’s just say things got ugly. Legally, however, Jason couldn’t speak about it. Not because he didn’t want to—oh, he’d love to relive the whole glorious scene—but because Y/N had made him, and his brothers, sign an NDA afterward. Yep, Dick, Tim, Damian, and Jason had to put pen to paper, bound to secrecy about The Incident.

Y/N had handled it with a level of ruthless efficiency that left the whole Bat family in awe. He’d dealt with that poor, clueless kid in a way that was so subtly devastating that even Bruce raised an eyebrow when he found out. Although, truth be told, Bruce wasn’t exactly shocked; he just hadn’t expected someone as sweet as Y/N to be quite so… resourceful.

After that, the whole family understood that, sure, Jason might look like the scary one—but when it came to those he loved, especially when it involved Jason, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with.

Y/N glanced back at his coworker with a slightly distant look before letting out a laugh, shaking his head. “Girl, don’t play.”

Girl—seriously, don’t do it.

Thankfully, she chose common sense and life at that moment, laughing along with him. “You know I’m just kidding! But seriously, where did you find him? The things I’d do just to get a man who looks at me with even half the love as he does with you.”

It was in Y/N’s honest opinion that Jason had to be an angel or some divine gift sent to him from the heavens above. Or God, the Universe, Santa Claus, took mercy on him knowing that kind of unserious trouble he could get himself into. Seriously, it was like his life was written by some dude who strove to put him in the most unthinkable scenarios ever thought of by man.

…

Hold up.

…

Nah…unless?

“But seriously, where do you even find a man like that? ‘Cause the ones out here? Girl, they’re giving ‘bare minimum’ and vibes. God really needs to start restocking the good ones.”

“Where did I find him?” Y/N repeated, smirking as he wiped down the counter. “I don’t know. One day he just showed up, brooding and scary-looking, and now he refuses to leave.”

His coworker rolled her eyes, leaning closer like she was trying to decode some deep secret. “You’re dodging the question. Men like that don’t just show up. Spill the tea.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly? If I told you the real story, you wouldn’t believe me.”

And wasn’t that the truth? If he started explaining how Gotham’s most terrifying vigilante had saved him from a mugging, delivered new school supplies like some twisted fairy godmother, and then proceeded to burrow into his life like an oversized, territorial puppy, she’d probably think he was delusional. Or worse, that he was into some bizarre fanfiction-level nonsense. Which, fair.

Before Y/N could add anything else, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across his face.

Jason: Did you eat yet?

Y/N sighed, typing back a quick Yes, Dad, even though it was a blatant lie. He didn’t need Jason going full hover-boyfriend just because he skipped breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, though, Jason strolled into the shop like he owned the place, a brown paper bag in hand. Y/N barely had time to react before Jason plopped the bag on the counter, his expression hovering between annoyed and smug.

“Didn’t I just tell you I ate?” Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jason crossed his arms, his biceps straining his jacket in a way that made his coworker openly gape. “And I didn’t believe you. So here.” He gestured at the bag like it was some great offering, clearly unbothered by the audience they had. “You’re not skipping meals.”

Y/N sighed, opening the bag to find his favorite sandwich neatly packed alongside a container of fruit and—of course—a bottle of water. His coworker, meanwhile, was staring like she was witnessing a rom-com play out in real life.

“You know,” she whispered as Jason stepped back to lean casually against the counter, his watchful gaze flicking between Y/N and the shop’s door, “if you don’t marry this man, I will.”

Y/N snorted, shoving a grape in his mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

In all honesty, Y/N knew the kind of love Jason offered wasn’t for the faint of heart. As previously mentioned, when that man loved, he loved hard—like all-in, no-holds-barred, borderline territorial levels of hard. And he wasn’t just protective—oh no, he was possessive with a capital P when it came to the things he cared about.

What did that mean?

Well...

Considering the kind of life Jason had lived—where the things he loved or that brought him joy were often ripped away in the most brutal, gut-wrenching ways imaginable—it wasn’t exactly a shocker. Jason had become fiercely devoted to guarding what was his, with a vigilance that often toed the line between endearing and slightly terrifying.

It was like an aggressive dog who decided one day that a random shoe was its favorite thing in the world. The kind of resource-guarding where even looking at the shoe too long earned you a deep, guttural growl of warning. Ignore the warning? Well, congratulations, you just donated a finger—or maybe two—to the cause.

If it’s not clear by now, Y/N was the shoe, and Jason was the dog. And when it came to Y/N, anything—or anyone—that so much as hinted at upsetting him, threatening him, or even mildly inconveniencing him would quickly find themselves on the wrong end of Jason’s wrath. It wasn’t a matter of if there’d be hell to pay, but how much. Spoiler: it was always a lot.

So, picture this: Y/N comes home after a long day of morning classes and an equally draining evening shift. On the surface, he looks fine. Totally normal. But what no one knows is that he spent the last twenty minutes sitting in his car, quietly sobbing into a handful of fast-food napkins.

He knew better than to bring those emotions into the apartment, though. Because while most boyfriends would give you a hug and let you vent, Jason would go full vigilante mode. If he even sensed that someone had made Y/N upset, it wouldn’t just be hell to pay—it’d be Gotham-wide carnage. And Y/N, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, liked to minimize unnecessary casualties.

Armed with tissues, eyedrops, and a firm I’m fine, just tired mantra, Y/N stepped through the door, hoping to slide under Jason’s radar.

Nope. Not happening.

The moment Jason saw him, his expression shifted. Y/N had no clue what gave him away—was it the puffiness? His voice? The way he stood?—but Jason immediately clocked something.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, his voice calm, but laced with that dangerous edge that said he was already running through a mental list of suspects who might need a "visit."

Y/N froze, debating his options. He knew better than to lie. Jason would sniff it out in seconds. But he also knew that the moment he opened his mouth, Jason wouldn’t rest until he figured out who—or what—was responsible.

And honestly? That was the kind of energy Y/N both feared and loved about him.

“I just had a stressful day at work, Jason. I’ll be fine,” Y/N said, sidestepping as he tried to make his way past the towering vigilante and towards the bathroom.

But trying to get past Jason when he was in that mode? Easier said than done. It was like trying to walk through a solid brick wall—one that was armed, brooding, and ridiculously muscled. Jason was locked into full protective-boyfriend mode, which meant Y/N wasn’t going anywhere until Jason had the name, address, and probably the social security number of the person who dared to upset him.

Why he needed the social security number? Well, Bruce did teach him to be thorough when handling "cases." And in Jason’s mind, this was no different.

In one smooth move, Jason’s arm shot out, stopping Y/N’s attempt to breeze past him. With two quick steps, Y/N found himself backed against the wall—well, Jason’s chest first, and then the wall behind him. Jason leaned in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, his dark, piercing gaze locking onto Y/N’s like a laser. That intense look he gave—the one that said I have no problem keeping you right here until I get answers—made Y/N’s knees weak.

Not that he minded. Let’s be real: Jason’s body, his sheer presence, had always been Y/N’s favorite place to decompress, even if it came with the added pressure of being metaphorically (and sometimes literally) pinned to the hot seat. And honestly? Who could complain about being wrapped up in the arms of a man like Jason. If you wouldn’t feel the same, take your judgment elsewhere.

Jason tilted his head, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in closer. “Talk to me, baby. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N muttered, looking away, though his traitorous heart betrayed him by picking up speed. He could feel Jason’s gaze on him, heavy and unwavering. “Just a bad day.”

“That’s not nothing,” Jason replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His arm caged Y/N in further, his body so close that Y/N could feel the heat radiating off him. “Bad days don’t make you cry in your car before coming home.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. Damn it. How does he always know?

Jason leaned even closer, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he whispered, “I’ll ask again. Who made you cry?”

That commanding tone, combined with Jason’s overwhelming presence, had Y/N’s walls crumbling faster than he’d like to admit. “Jason, it’s nothing you need to get involved in. It’s my boss—he’s just been... making things harder than they need to be,” he said, his voice faltering as he tried to downplay the situation.

Jason’s jaw ticked, and his free hand gently cupped Y/N’s chin, tilting his head back so their eyes met. “Details. Now.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion bubbled over. “He’s cutting my hours—again. And I need those hours, Jason. For rent, for groceries, for school. I’ve tried talking to him, emailing HR, even bringing in a neutral third party, but nothing changes. And today…” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Today, he reduced my schedule to the point where I’ll barely be able to afford ramen next week. And then he called me into his office to give me some bullshit ‘coaching moment’ that was really just him tearing me down in front of everyone.”

Jason’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as Y/N’s words sank in. “What did he say?” His tone was dangerously calm, the kind of calm that meant bad things were about to happen to someone.

Y/N shook his head, his voice breaking as he tried to get the words out. “I—I don’t want to repeat it. It was nasty, Jason. Just nasty.”

Jason’s grip softened immediately, his hand moving to the back of Y/N’s neck as he pulled him into his chest. “Baby, come here,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. Y/N didn’t resist, letting himself melt into Jason’s arms as the tears he’d been holding back all day finally spilled over.

Jason held him tightly, his strong arms a fortress of safety and comfort as he whispered, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

They stayed like that for a while, Jason eventually guiding Y/N to the couch so they could sit down. He pulled Y/N into his lap, holding him as if to shield him from the world. Y/N buried his face in Jason’s chest, the warmth and strength of his boyfriend grounding him as Jason’s hand gently stroked his back.

After a while, Y/N’s voice broke the silence. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash, Jason. Please.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “I promise.”

The next day, Y/N found himself questioning that promise when Jason showed up at his workplace. The vigilante didn’t cause a scene—he didn’t need to. A quiet, private “conversation” with Y/N’s manager in the backroom was all it took. Whatever Jason said, it worked. By the time he left, Y/N’s hours had mysteriously been restored, and his manager couldn’t look him in the eye without stammering.

When Y/N confronted him later, Jason just smirked, pulling him into a kiss. “I didn’t do anything rash,” he said innocently. “I just... clarified some things.”

And honestly? Y/N didn’t even want to know what “clarified” meant.

It was that incident—the one where Jason paid a visit to Y/N’s workplace—when Y/N’s coworkers finally met the infamous boyfriend they’d only ever heard about in passing. Well, passing might’ve been an understatement, considering Y/N used any and every opportunity to talk about his man. At first, the constant mentions of “Jason this” and “Jason that” had been met with teasing eyerolls and mock groans. But after seeing Jason in action, shutting down their tyrant of a manager with one calm but devastating conversation, everyone got it. Completely.

Jason and Y/N quickly became what the group lovingly referred to as the “template” for relationship goals. Y/N didn’t mind the label; he liked that people saw the best parts of their dynamic. What they didn’t see—or couldn’t fully grasp—was the effort and balance behind it all. Jason wasn’t just the tall, brooding vigilante who swooped in to save the day, and Y/N wasn’t just the sweet, supportive boyfriend standing in his shadow. Their relationship was a partnership in every sense of the word, built on mutual protection and care for one another.

“Y/N, how much is your rent for this place? It’s really nice, and I’m looking for something closer to campus,” his friend asked one day during a study session at his and Jason’s apartment. A few of their classmates had joined, and the group was sprawled out in the living room, surrounded by open textbooks, laptops, and half-empty mugs and cups.

Y/N was about to answer—he really was—but then paused, his face twisting into a look of genuine confusion as he stared off into the distance, like he was searching the recesses of his brain for an answer that just wasn’t there. “Uh… I think $1,100? Maybe? Don’t quote me on that, though. I’m not 100% sure.”

His friends all exchanged baffled looks. “Wait, what do you mean you’re not sure?” one of them asked, narrowing their eyes. “How do you not know your own rent?”

“I do! I just… forgot,” Y/N said with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Now they were all staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Y/N, literally what the fuck? How do you just forget how much you pay in rent? Who forgets that?”

“I don’t know, okay? I knew it when I signed the lease, but every time I try to pay it at the beginning of the month, Jason’s already paid it. Sometimes months in advance! And, I don’t know, after a while, it just stopped being something I thought about.” Y/N gestured vaguely, as if this explanation somehow made perfect sense.

That didn’t stop the dumbfounded stares—or the flicker of envy in more than a few pairs of eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait.” One of his friends held up a hand. “So your boyfriend just pays your rent for you every month—without even asking—and you just… let him?”

Y/N snorted, sitting back on the couch. “First of all, rude. It’s not like I just let him. Trust me, if you were in my shoes, you’d understand that trying to stop Jason from taking care of me is like… I don’t know, trying to explain to someone in a MAGA hat what a cult is and that they’re in one. You’re not winning that battle.”

Can the church get an amen?

Y/N wasn’t lying—not even a little—when he said that trying to stop Jason from taking care of him was an exercise in futility. If anyone dared to tell Jason he was “doing too much” for his boyfriend, congratulations, they’d now joined the prestigious ranks of those “experts” Jason would gladly let fend for themselves in a crisis. When it came to Y/N, Jason handled it all: physically, emotionally, financially—you name it, he was on it like white on rice. And no amount of protesting from Y/N could change that.

And oh, did Y/N protest.

“Jason, did you pay my rent again?” Y/N asked, stepping into the apartment with his wallet still in hand and a clearly exasperated look on his face. He’d just come back from the leasing office, only to find out his balance was already cleared with a sex month advance payment. Again.

His frustration hit a slight pause, though, as he spotted Jason lounging shirtless on the couch—pause for an aroused deep breath—engrossed in what appeared to be an intense game of Mario Kart on his Nintendo Switch. A book Jason had been reading earlier was tossed haphazardly to the side, forgotten in the heat of the Rainbow Road battle.

Jason didn’t even glance up as he responded, “Yeah, I did. Why?” His thumbs moved quickly over the buttons, his face set in that annoyingly sexy, hyper-focused expression that made Y/N momentarily forget why he was upset in the first place.

“Why?” Y/N snapped, pulling himself out of that temporary daze. “Because I told you not to! That’s why!” He stormed over, planting himself squarely in front of the couch, arms crossed and glare locked on his boyfriend. “Jason, we’ve talked about this. I can handle my own rent.”

Jason sighed, finally pausing his game. He leaned back against the couch with an air of deliberate calm, setting the joy-con controllers aside. “I know you can,” he said, his voice smooth and measured in a way that made Y/N’s resolve falter. Jason’s eyes flicked up to meet his, dark and steady, pinning Y/N in place. “But here’s the thing, babe—you don’t have to.”

“That’s not the point,” Y/N shot back, his voice wavering slightly as Jason stretched lazily, his arms going behind his head in a way that made the muscles in his chest and shoulders flex. Unfair. He was doing this on purpose.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jason’s lips curved into a slow, smug smirk. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Y/N’s breath hitched as the intensity of his gaze locked onto him. “Taking care of you isn’t optional for me. It’s my job. Whether it’s paying the rent, making sure you eat, or keeping your gorgeous ass out of trouble, that’s mine to handle.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned as he tried to maintain his glare, but it was a losing battle. “Jason,” he said firmly, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him, “you can’t just decide these things without asking me.”

Jason tilted his head, studying him in a way that felt equal parts tender and possessive. “Sure I can,” he said smoothly, reaching out to hook his fingers lightly around Y/N’s wrist, tugging him forward until he was standing between Jason’s knees. “You can handle yourself—I know that. But you don’t need to. Not when I’m here.”

Y/N opened his mouth to protest, but Jason tugged him down into his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. His free hand slid to the back of Y/N’s neck, his thumb brushing against the skin there in a way that made Y/N’s heart race.

“Tell me,” Jason murmured, his voice low and commanding, “why should I let you stress over something I can fix? Hmm?”

Y/N bit his lip, trying to muster the strength to argue, but Jason’s tone, his touch, the sheer weight of his presence—it all left him scrambling for words. He hated how easily Jason could reduce him to this flustered mess, and he really hated how much he secretly loved it.

“You’re impossible,” he finally muttered, dropping his head against Jason’s shoulder, his voice soft and defeated.

“And you love me for it,” Jason murmured against his ear, his smirk practically audible.

Y/N groaned but didn’t pull away, his fingers curling against Jason’s chest. “This conversation isn’t over,” he mumbled, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say,” Jason replied, leaning back with Y/N still in his lap, his grip firm and unyielding. He reached for his Switch with his free hand, resuming his game like he hadn’t just completely derailed the argument and walked away victorious.

And as much as Y/N wanted to be mad, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Damn it. He really did love him for it. The student didn’t need to say how much he appreciated the weight of Jason’s steady presence; Jason didn’t need to hear it to know. And while Y/N would keep fighting to hold his own ground, there was a part of him—an unspoken, undeniable part—that found comfort in letting Jason hold the world at bay for him.

Their domestic life was a careful dance of their unspoken dynamic, with Jason ensuring their world was secure and steady, while Y/N kept their home—and Jason—centered and whole. Their roles played out naturally, shaped by who they were as individuals. Jason made sure the outside world couldn’t touch Y/N, taking care of the big things, the dangerous things that he’d never let his boyfriend come within a mile of. His presence was a shield, and his devotion ran so deep that sometimes it felt like he’d lay the world at Y/N’s feet if it meant seeing him happy.

Y/N swears there was one time he cracked a joke about wanting to live out his “soft boi” aesthetic—because, obviously, the ‘i’ made it edgier—and Jason, without missing a beat, ran with it without ever looking back.

But Y/N? He was the one who kept their world turning smoothly, the quiet, grounding presence that made sure Jason had a place to fall apart when life became too much. Whether it was stocking the kitchen with Jason’s favorite snacks or simply sitting with him on the couch after a rough patrol, Y/N created the kind of space Jason didn’t even realize he needed—safe, steady, and entirely his.

That balance extended to the little things too. Jason liked to cook when he had the time, his meals always hearty, protein-packed “fuel” designed to keep them going. Y/N, on the other hand, was the one who brought warmth to the table, sneaking in something sweet or comforting—even if it meant slipping vegetables into Jason’s plate, much to his dramatic protests.

“Because it’s pesto,” Y/N replied innocently, grinning as he leaned against the counter. “Don’t act like you’re too good for spinach.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—something about how spinach was a lie—but ate every bite, proving once again that Y/N knew exactly how to play him.

And then there were the quieter moments—the ones that reminded them both why they worked so well together. Nights spent curled up on the couch, Jason sprawled out with his head resting in Y/N’s lap, his fingers absently tracing patterns along Y/N’s thigh. Y/N would run his fingers through Jason’s hair, the simple, soothing gesture melting away the tension that Jason carried like a second skin. Sometimes they’d talk—about Jason’s patrols, Y/N’s classes, or random nonsense that didn’t matter. Other times, they simply existed together, the quiet hum of their apartment a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

But even Y/N, the softer half of their partnership, had his limits when it came to anyone crossing a line with Jason. Like the time a journalist ambushed Jason at a charity event, spouting thinly veiled accusations about his past. Jason had been moments away from snapping, his fists clenching at his sides, when Y/N calmly stepped in.

“If you don’t have something constructive to say,” Y/N said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “then I suggest you find someone else to bother.”

The journalist, thrown off by Y/N’s tone—gentle but edged like a blade—backed off almost immediately. Jason hadn’t said a word about it afterward, but later that night, when they were home, he’d kissed Y/N’s temple and murmured a quiet, “Thank you.”

Y/N was never afraid to step in for Jason when he needed him to, even if Jason wouldn’t—or couldn’t—outwardly ask for it. And the fact that Jason didn’t have to ask made it all the more meaningful for the vigilante. Y/N always seemed to know when to intervene, especially in moments when Jason couldn’t advocate for himself—particularly when it came to Bruce.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Jason had come home late that night, his steps heavy, his shoulders slumped in a way that told Y/N everything he needed to know before Jason even said a word. Gotham’s chaos could wear Jason down, but this kind of defeated air? That was Bruce’s handiwork.

Y/N didn’t push right away. He let Jason slip into the apartment, kick off his boots, and collapse onto the couch without a word. Jason sat there, his hands hanging limply between his knees, staring blankly at the floor like he was stuck in some internal tug-of-war. Y/N sat beside him, his hand lightly brushing Jason’s shoulder before resting on his thigh—a grounding touch.

“What happened?” Y/N asked softly.

Jason’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s Bruce,” he said after a long pause, his voice raw. “We were handling this case—a trafficking ring. I had it handled, Y/N. I had it. But he pulled the plug on the whole thing because it didn’t fit his goddamn code.” His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “There were kids involved, and he still chose the ‘moral high ground’ over what needed to be done. And then—” Jason’s voice broke, and he shook his head, his frustration giving way to something more fragile. “He looked at me like I was the problem. Like I was… too much again. Like I’m always too much.”

Y/N’s heart clenched as he took in the words, the quiet ache that laced Jason’s tone. It wasn’t just the case or Bruce’s stubbornness that hurt him—it was the way Bruce always seemed to find a way to make Jason feel like he’d never be enough, no matter what he did.

Y/N leaned in, his hand sliding up to the back of Jason’s neck, fingers gently massaging the tension there. “You’re not too much, Jay,” he murmured, his voice steady. “Not for me. Not for anyone who actually knows you.”

Jason didn’t respond, but the way he leaned into Y/N’s touch, his head bowing slightly, said more than words ever could.

An hour later, when a knock came at the door, Y/N didn’t need to guess who it was. He stood, sighing as Jason stayed where he was on the couch, visibly tensing at the sound. Y/N opened the door to find Bruce standing there, in some more casual wear (if you could ever call Bruce’s “old money” aesthetic casual), his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Y/N,” Bruce greeted, his tone clipped. “I need to speak with Jason.”

Y/N didn’t move, his hand braced casually against the doorframe. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce blinked, clearly unused to being told no—and even less accustomed to hearing it so decisively. “It’s important.”

“Is someone dead or currently dying?”

The blunt, and sarcastic tone of his words, while it didn’t visually throw the billionaire off, Y/N could see Bruce was surprised by his tone. He didn’t know how, but he clocked the shift in his demeanor. Maybe he was picking up some skills from his boyfriend after all.

“No, but–”

“Then, it can wait,” Y/N said, his tone edge with a finality that left no room for question or pushback. “He just came home, and I don’t think he needs you piling on more stress right now. Whatever you’ve got to say can wait.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t about stress. It’s about his actions tonight. He—”

“—did what he thought was right,” Y/N interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “And from what he told me, he was right. You’re the one who undermined him and made him feel like he was a problem.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Y/N stepped out into the hallway, lowering his voice but not his resolve. “Look, Mr. Wayne, I get that you care about him in your own… specific way. But if you want to keep him in your life, maybe stop treating him like he’s the black sheep who’ll never measure up to your perfect little code. Because right now? You’re the only one who can make him feel like this, and that’s not the kind of impact someone who ‘cares’ should have.”

Bruce’s face didn’t betray much, but Y/N caught the faint flicker of something—guilt, maybe—in his eyes. Still, he didn’t budge. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“No,” Y/N said calmly, stepping back into the apartment and beginning to close the door. “But it is for tonight. Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

With that, he shut the door, turning back to see Jason watching him from the couch, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Did you really just tell Bruce Wayne to go home?” Jason asked, his lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to smirk or shake his head.

“Damn right I did,” Y/N replied, crossing his arms with a small, satisfied huff. “And I’d do it again.”

Jason let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

“Please,” Y/N shot back with a roll of his eyes. “You act like it’s a big deal. Someone had to say it, and we both know you weren’t going to.” He paused, watching Jason closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And speaking of things you aren’t doing…”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his interest visibly piqued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Y/N leaned forward, tapping Jason’s knee with mock seriousness. “First, you’re going to get off this couch, because moping is not a good look for you. Then, you’re going to help me put away the laundry because I’ve been doing it all day while you were out being Mr. Broody Vigilante. And after that? You’re going to make us both something to eat, because I’m starving and I’m not lifting a finger tonight. You’ve got work to do, big guy.”

Jason blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression shifted into something darker, sharper. He cocked his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really?” he drawled, his tone low and deliberate as he sat up straighter. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, but he held his ground, leveling Jason with his best faux-bossy glare. “That’s exactly how it’s gonna be. So, get moving, Todd.”

Jason was on his feet before Y/N could blink, towering over him with that quiet, commanding energy that always sent a thrill down his spine. He didn’t say a word at first, just leaned down slightly, his eyes locked on Y/N’s like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You think you’re in charge now?” Jason asked softly, his voice deceptively calm. His hand brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of his cheek with deliberate slowness. “That’s cute.”

Y/N swallowed hard, refusing to back down even as Jason’s presence enveloped him. “Not cute,” he retorted, his voice wavering just slightly. “Efficient.”

Jason’s smirk widened, and in one swift motion, he scooped Y/N up from the couch, earning a startled yelp that quickly turned into laughter. “Efficient, huh?” Jason murmured, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he carried him toward the bedroom. “Let’s see how efficient you are at following orders, then. Because we both know who calls the shots here, don’t we?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, his breath hitching as Jason pinned him with that intense, unrelenting gaze. “Jason…” he started, but his boyfriend was already laying him down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

“You wanted me to focus on something else,” Jason murmured, leaning over him, his hands braced on either side of Y/N’s head. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve got my full attention now.”

And just like that, Y/N’s carefully constructed plan to distract Jason had backfired spectacularly—not that he was complaining. If there was one thing Jason was good at, it was reminding him exactly who was in charge.

“Alright, Y/N. Truth or Dare,” his best friend asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as the group sat around in a circle during their weekly de-stresser game night. Of course, their version of game night had taken a more explicit turn—totally par for the course with this group.

“Um… truth,” Y/N said hesitantly, already sensing trouble.

“Oh, perfect,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Alright, Mr. L/N, the time has come for you to reveal your truth. Are you a bossy power bottom or a slutty, submissive one?”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and gasps, with a couple of dramatic “oh my God” reactions thrown in for good measure. Y/N’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to form words. Before he could even start to defend himself, someone else chimed in.

“Bro, seriously? What kind of question is that?”

Y/N immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you—finally, someone gets it—”

But then came the follow-up.

“We all know there’s not a dominant bone in his body. If anything, it’s giving brat who likes to be put in his place.”

The room fell silent for half a beat before laughter exploded all around him, punctuated by a few dramatic “damn”s and someone nearly choking on their drink.

Y/N blinked, his brain short-circuiting as the betrayal sank in. “Excuse me?!” he finally managed, his voice high-pitched and offended as he pointed an accusing finger at the culprit.

“I dare you to try and tell me I’m lying,” His friend challenged him with a raised eyebrow. And when Y/N couldn’t formulate a defense for himself, his friend nodded his head knowingly, “Exactly as I thought.”

Because was he actually lying?

“I dare you to tell me I’m wrong,” his friend challenged, one eyebrow arched and a smug smirk tugging at their lips.

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out—just the faintest stutter of indignation as his brain scrambled for a defense that simply didn’t exist.

His friend nodded knowingly, leaning back with a triumphant grin. “Exactly what I thought.”

Because, honestly… were they even wrong?

Frankly, if you looked at their relationship as a whole, was it really that surprising?

Jason, in a nutshell, was all rough edges and a protective streak that could rival Fort Knox, but with a kind of intimacy that Y/N never saw coming. It was whiplash in the best way possible. One minute, he was Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante, and the next, he was softly murmuring sweet nothings while holding Y/N like he was the most fragile, precious thing on the planet. Y/N had once joked that Jason was like a human light switch—rough and dominant one moment, soft and needy the next. Now? It was just something he accepted… and secretly loved.

Because the roughness Jason brought into their bed was never just about dominance—it was about claiming. There were nights when Jason would grip Y/N’s hips like he was staking his territory, growling low in his ear as he worked Y/N’s body to the point of trembling. If Jason was feeling particularly territorial—or, as Y/N liked to put it, “possessive alpha wolf mode”—restraints were almost a guarantee. Y/N would be left tied up, squirming and gasping as Jason moved with a kind of intensity that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

And then, like clockwork, came the switch.

Imagine this: a six-foot-something mass of pure muscle and testosterone, who’d just spent the last hour absolutely wrecking Y/N—legs shaking, throat raw from moans that could probably be heard two apartments over—suddenly curling up beside him like the world’s biggest teddy bear. Jason would go from rough, grunting dominance, a man on a mission to leave Y/N marked and molded for days, to nuzzling into Y/N’s neck with soft kisses and quietly demanding to be held like he was the one who’d been put through the wringer.

It was absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. And Y/N? He let it happen every single time. No wonder Jason was so spoiled in their relationship.

What else was he supposed to do when Jason left him in a post-fuck haze so blissed out he couldn’t even remember what year it was? By the time Jason would return from cleaning him up, soft praise slipping from his lips as he gently wiped Y/N down, the fight had already left him. And honestly? Who was Y/N kidding—he didn’t want to fight it. Not when Jason would tuck him against his broad chest like they hadn’t just committed sins the mattress might never recover from.

But here was the kicker: for all the dominance Jason brought into their dynamic, Y/N knew the man craved the quiet moments afterward just as much—if not more. Those moments when Y/N’s hands would slide up into Jason’s hair, gently massaging his scalp, or trace over the faded scars on his chest like they were the most fascinating pieces of art. Jason wouldn’t say much—he didn’t need to. The way he sighed into Y/N’s touch, letting himself completely relax, said everything.

It was a ridiculous dance of give and take: Jason would obliterate Y/N’s body with enough intensity to leave him rethinking all his life choices, only to turn into the world’s biggest cuddle bug immediately after, soaking up every ounce of affection Y/N could give him. And as much as Y/N liked to complain about the whiplash, the truth was that he wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Because as much as Jason loved being the one in control, Y/N had him wrapped around his finger the moment his fingers slid into Jason’s hair, soothing away the world like only he could. It was a balance only they understood, and it worked in ways no one else could ever pull off.

But it wasn’t just in the bedroom where Jason’s attention shined. Y/N would often catch Jason’s gaze lingering at the most random moments, his blue-green eyes shamelessly raking over him like he was a five-course meal and Jason hadn’t eaten in weeks. Whether it was Y/N lounging around in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, running errands in shorts that rode up just a little too high, or even bundled up in the most unflattering hoodie he owned, Jason’s carnal desire never wavered. If anything, it intensified as their relationship deepened.

Jason didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. Y/N had long stopped being surprised by the firm smack on his ass whenever Jason walked by, followed by the satisfied grin his boyfriend would flash as if to say, Mine.

“Jason!” Y/N would shriek every time, a startled jump or yelp accompanying his protests. But the man never looked the least bit guilty. If anything, he’d double down, grabbing a handful and muttering something along the lines of, “Couldn’t help it,” or, “You’re teasing me.”

The truth? Jason had rules—categories, if you will—when it came to Y/N’s wardrobe. There were outfits Y/N could wear in public, outfits strictly for lounging at home, and then there were the "home only" outfits. And no, "home only" didn’t mean cute loungewear. It was a polite way of saying, for Jason’s eyes only.

“Babe, you’re not wearing that outside,” Jason had said once, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway as Y/N attempted to leave for the gym.

“It’s just a pair of shorts!” Y/N protested, gesturing down at the admittedly form-fitting gym wear that showcased his thighs just a little too well.

“Exactly,” Jason replied, his eyes narrowing. “Those are home shorts. You’re not walking into a gym full of thirsty people in that.”

“Jason, you’re being ridiculous,” Y/N huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe,” Jason said with a shrug, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Y/N’s waist. He leaned in, lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he added in a low voice, “But that doesn’t change anything, now go change..”

And that was that. Jason had an uncanny ability to make his tone very rigid and unyielding, leaving no room for argument which would have Y/N’s protests dying on his lips every time.

Then, there were the outfits Y/N didn’t even get to leave the house in—because they didn’t survive Jason. It had become a running joke between them, the sheer number of shirts, pants, and underwear Jason had destroyed in fits of possessive frustration. If something hugged Y/N’s figure a little too well, Jason didn’t bother holding back. Many an innocent shirt had been ripped clean down the middle, casualties of Jason giving in to his urges.

“Do you have any idea how much you cost me in clothes?” Y/N had grumbled once as Jason stood over him, shirtless and smirking like the devil himself.

Jason had only shrugged, pulling Y/N into his lap. “Then stop wearing stuff that teases me,” he murmured, his lips trailing along Y/N’s neck. “Or don’t. Gives me an excuse to buy you more.”

And buy he did. But let’s be real—certain clothes never lasted long in their relationship. Case in point? The time Y/N ordered a pair of shorts he’d been eyeing for weeks, fully aware that Jason would raise an eyebrow so high it’d disappear into his hairline. Still, in a moment of fuck it impulse, Y/N clicked "add to cart," setting the stage for the chaos to follow.

When the package arrived, Y/N pushed the door open with a huff, struggling to balance the various bags and boxes in his arms as he shuffled into the apartment. “Jason, can you help me?” he called, his voice slightly muffled as he tried not to drop anything.

Jason, sprawled on the couch and scrolling through his phone, glanced up. His eyebrows rose at the sight of his boyfriend buried beneath a mountain of shopping bags. “More clothes?” he asked, standing up and strolling over with a teasing smirk.

“Yes, more clothes,” Y/N shot back, setting his haul down on the kitchen counter. “You know, since someone has a habit of destroying half my wardrobe.”

Jason shrugged, entirely unbothered. “What can I say? Some of them deserved it.”

Rolling his eyes, Y/N began unpacking his bags, pulling out folded shirts, joggers, and a few items that were more… adventurous. As Jason retreated back to the couch, Y/N grabbed one of his new purchases and headed to the bathroom to try it on.

A few minutes later, Y/N emerged, ready to test the waters. He stepped into the living room, his expression smug as he strolled in wearing a pair of black shorts that barely qualified as clothing. The sheer mesh fabric, paired with slits running up the sides, left little—if anything—to the imagination.

Jason glanced up, and his relaxed posture evaporated. His gaze sharpened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darkened with a possessive glint. “Those,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “are not leaving this apartment.”

Y/N paused, glancing at Jason’s expression before looking down to examine the shorts. “What? These? Oh, come on, they’re gym shorts,” he said, smoothing the fabric over his thighs. “I can’t wait to test them out during leg day.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his gaze locked on Y/N like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re not wearing those to the gym.”

“Jason, don’t start,” Y/N said, stepping closer to the couch—his first mistake. Paired with the loose, cropped tank he was wearing, the look was downright scandalous. He twirled around playfully, flashing a cheeky grin. “See? They’re nice. Functional.”

Jason didn’t reply. He just sat there, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as Y/N paraded around, pushing the limits. The tension between them was palpable, thickening with every second that Jason didn’t speak. And when Y/N cocked a hip and teased, “What? Don’t like them?”—that was the final straw.

Jason moved so fast Y/N barely registered it. In one fluid motion, he reached out, grabbing the shorts by one of the side slits and yanking hard. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, leaving Y/N stumbling forward with a gasp.

“Jason!” Y/N yelped, his voice equal parts indignation and shock. But before he could gather himself, Jason leaned back on the couch, effortlessly pulling Y/N into his lap. His hands gripped Y/N’s waist, holding him firmly in place as his legs were spread across Jason’s thighs.

“These,” Jason growled, his hands sliding down to Y/N’s exposed skin, “are home-only shorts. Got it?”

Y/N squirmed, pressing his hands against Jason’s chest in a weak attempt to push away. “Jason, you can’t just—”

Another sharp rip interrupted him as Jason’s rough fingers tore at the other slit, leaving the shorts hanging on by mere threads. Y/N gasped, heat rushing to his face as Jason’s hands roamed possessively, smoothing over his bare thighs with deliberate, firm strokes.

“What did I say?” Jason questioned, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “These are for my eyes only.”

Y/N’s protests dissolved into breathy whines as Jason’s hands tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. A sharp smack landed on Y/N’s rear, drawing a startled yelp, followed by another that left him gripping Jason’s shoulders for balance.

“Stop squirming,” Jason ordered, his tone firm and commanding as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. His dark gaze pinned Y/N in place as one hand slid to the back of his neck. “You know how this works, sweetheart. You push, I push back.”

Y/N bit his lip, his glare faltering under Jason’s intense stare. At some point, the defiance melted into submission, and their lips collided in a heated, desperate kiss. Jason’s hands never left Y/N’s body, gripping, claiming, and asserting dominance with every touch.

Before Y/N knew it, he was on his knees, Jason standing over him with his pants tugged low enough to reveal just how demanding he was. Y/N didn’t fight it—instead, he leaned into Jason’s command, eager to please the man who had thoroughly dismantled every ounce of his bravado.

By the end of it, Y/N was back on Jason’s lap, legs spread on either side as his body trembled with it being moved roughly up and down on the vigilante’s manhood, his own throbbing hardness rubbing against his boyfriend’s abs as Jason held him close. The only piece of clothing left between them were the shredded remains of the mesh shorts clinging to Y/N’s hips—barely.

Of course, Jason had to replace them with not one, but three new pairs after the fact. But he made it very clear they’d all meet the same fate if Y/N ever dared to wear them outside the apartment.

Did Y/N listen? Absolutely not. Because, let’s be real—he loved pissing Jason off. And honestly? Maybe the whole “brat who likes to be put in his place” thing wasn’t so far off after all.

And, of course, Jason wasn’t the only one who knew how to push buttons. He had his own arsenal of outfits that drove Y/N wild, and he wielded them with precision. Whether it was his compression gear that clung to his chest and arms in ways that made Y/N’s mouth go dry, or his Red Hood attire that practically screamed dominance, Jason loved to see the effect his clothing—or lack thereof—had on Y/N.

“You’re staring,” Jason had teased once, pulling his hoodie over his compression top in the middle of the gym.

Y/N, flustered and blatantly ogling, had tried to recover with a weak, “No, I wasn’t.”

Jason had chuckled, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You were. And I liked it.”

But the real chaos came in the bedroom. Jason, ever the tease, would sometimes refuse to take off his compression shirt or Red Hood pants during sex, fully aware of the primal side it brought out in Y/N.

“Stop, don’t take it off,” Y/N had panted once, his fingers gripping the slick, tight material as Jason tried to pull it over his head. “Leave it on.”

Jason had smirked, leaning down to kiss Y/N’s neck as he growled, “Anything you want, sweetheart.” He knew exactly what he was doing, letting Y/N’s hands wander over the material, the added friction driving him crazy in the best way.

Jason loved pulling that raw, uninhibited side out of Y/N. It was a side only he got to see, and he relished every second of it. Because while Jason loved being the one in control, he also loved seeing Y/N completely undone, lost in the moment with him.

It was, perhaps, a side effect of Jason’s deeply ingrained dominant nature—his unrelenting need to maintain a sense of control over his surroundings and the people within them. Did that mean he saw Y/N as something to control? Absolutely not. But Jason would be the first to admit that the urge to assert himself surfaced now and then. Fortunately, he had found a way to channel it into something far more productive, releasing it in moments of intimacy where it was not only welcomed but eagerly reciprocated.

And those moments of intimacy? They weren’t confined to the bedroom. Jason’s possessiveness bled into every aspect of their lives, a steady undercurrent to the way he loved. His need for control stemmed from a life filled with chaos, and Y/N understood that better than anyone. Whether it was the firm weight of Jason’s hand resting on the back of his neck during a particularly heated moment, or the low, growling reminders of exactly who Y/N belonged to, Jason’s message was always clear: he didn’t just love Y/N—he claimed him, body and soul.

Jason didn’t say much when Y/N walked into their apartment wearing the oversized hoodie. It was one of Jason’s, slightly frayed at the cuffs and just loose enough to drown Y/N’s smaller frame. The sight alone had Jason's lips twitching upward, his ego swelling with unspoken pride. There was something about Y/N wearing his clothes, especially in public, that hit Jason in a way he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t just the visual—it was the claim it represented, the quiet acknowledgment that Y/N was his, and he didn’t even need to say it out loud for the world to know.

“Isn’t this your hoodie?” Y/N asked casually, dropping his bag onto the floor as he walked past Jason toward the kitchen. He sounded innocent, completely unaware of the fire he’d just stoked. “I borrowed it to wear on campus today. It’s so comfy.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, his gaze trailing after Y/N like a predator tracking its prey. He could see how the fabric clung to Y/N’s shoulders and chest, the way the hem barely grazed the tops of his thighs. It was maddening. He let out a slow, measured breath, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s mine,” Jason finally said, his voice low but even.

Y/N hummed a little as he rummaged through the fridge. “Well, don’t expect to see it for a while. I’m keeping it.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the couch. You’re keeping it, huh? The possessive part of his brain whispered promises of retribution, even as he outwardly played it cool. He waited, biding his time.

Later that night, Jason made his move.

Y/N barely had a chance to react before he found himself pinned beneath Jason on the mattress, the hoodie in question already shoved halfway up his torso. Jason’s massive frame hovered over him, his green-blue eyes blazing with a mix of heat and unrestrained hunger.

“You wore my hoodie,” Jason murmured, his voice husky and low, each word dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“Yeah,” Y/N managed to reply, his voice breathless as Jason’s hands slid beneath the fabric, rough palms grazing over his bare skin. “I… I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Jason smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against Y/N’s ear. “I don’t mind, sweetheart,” he whispered. “In fact, I like it. But you should’ve known what that would do to me.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jason’s lips captured his in a searing kiss, stealing the air from his lungs. The hoodie bunched awkwardly around Y/N’s chest as Jason adjusted their positions, one hand pinning Y/N’s wrists above his head while the other roamed freely, kneading his thighs and gripping his waist.

Jason moved slowly at first, rocking his hips in a deliberate rhythm that had Y/N arching up into him. The friction of the hoodie’s fabric against their heated skin was intoxicating, Jason’s voice dropping into a growl as he murmured filthy words into Y/N’s ear.

“You wore this out in public,” Jason said, his voice dark and possessive as his hand slid up to gently grip Y/N’s throat. “Let everyone see you in my clothes. Do you know what that does to me? Huh? Knowing they all saw you like this, wearing something that smells like me?”

Y/N whimpered, his eyes glassy as he gazed up at Jason. His thighs trembled where they were pressed against Jason’s hips, every sharp thrust pulling more desperate sounds from his lips.

Jason tightened his grip slightly, just enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through Y/N without ever crossing the line. “Next time,” Jason growled, his pace rough and demanding now, “ask me first. Or better yet, let me put it on you myself. Because when you wear this, it’s not just a hoodie—it’s a mark. A reminder to everyone who you belong to.”

Y/N’s head lolled back against the pillow, his hands twisting beneath Jason’s unyielding grip. His voice was barely above a whisper as he replied, “Yours, Jason. I’m yours.”

That was all Jason needed. He buried himself deeper, his hand slipping from Y/N’s throat to cup his jaw as he captured his lips again. By the time they were both spent, the hoodie had become an even bigger mess—damp with sweat and stretched beyond repair. Jason lay beside Y/N, his chest rising and falling as he dragged a hand over the faint marks he’d left on Y/N’s neck.

“You’re not wearing this hoodie out again,” Jason murmured, his tone soft now, though no less firm.

Y/N let out a sleepy laugh, snuggling closer to Jason’s side. “Good thing you’ve got plenty more for me to borrow.”

Jason chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Y/N smirked, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not a chance.”

Jason let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling him closer. Because for all his possessiveness, all his need to dominate and claim, it was moments like this—holding Y/N close, feeling the steady beat of his heart—that reminded him what all of it was really for. Y/N couldn’t help but smile to, because no matter how overwhelming Jason’s love could be, it was also the safest place Y/N had ever known.

Yeah, their love really was like no other. Y/N could absolutely understand why people envied and praised their relationship—it was intense, chaotic, and tender all at once, the kind of connection that made rom-coms look bland by comparison. If he were in their shoes, he’d probably be gushing about it too. Hell, he already did, and he was living it.

But honestly? The next person who came up to him with the audacity to ask if Jason was single was about to catch hands. Y/N normally wasn’t the jealous one in their relationship as it’s been made clear—normally—but there were limits. And some people clearly didn’t know what those limits were.

Just ask that bitch, Xavion…

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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