#because sometimes I just like to taste the mental blood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moon7jay · 11 months ago

Text

TEMPTATION (p.js)

best friend!jay x fem!reader

Warnings : non consensual, dubious consent, manipulation, smut, loads of masturbation, jay is a freak, anal sex, obsessive behavior, mentions of violence, Morally gray plot and characters obviously, read at your own risk. Not proofread, there might be some errors.

Wc : 8.6k

a/n : reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated so much, please, please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts, it makes my entire day<3

Candid.

You were too candid for your own good.

Jay doesn't remember when it started to get this bad. you have always been someone who spoke their mind, but he never expected to be witnessing it first hand, and definitely not like this.

As he watches you deep throat the popsicle, your glossy lips wrapped around it so deliciously,the lustrous sheen reminiscent of morning dew on rose petals; he thinks he's in one of his wet dreams. The gloss you're wearing today is not the same as yesterday; they're both shades of dark red but Jay can tell the difference. How? Don't ask him. It's not like he spent most of his time staring at your lips or anything. He isn’t obsessive (he is). He most definitely doesn't look up the same glosses you wear online, or order them to use them for some ulterior motives. so yeah, don’t ask him why or how he can tell what the raspberry red on your lips tastes like.

Your twinkling eyes meet his, the ice pop coming out of your mouth with a loud squelch, and you smile.

"What do you think?" you ask, and Jay doesn't remember what you're asking, or what you were talking about before that pink popsicle came into the picture.

He stares at you dumbly, eyes transfixed on the allure of your saliva coated lips. Oh, he so badly wants to-

"Jay, are you even listening?" your voice interrupts the not so decent direction his thoughts were headed in.

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you, what do you think about my throat game?" your eyes shine, and Jay gulps.

This. This is exactly what he's been dealing with for the past few months.

You both have been best friends since sophomore year, and he understands that as people get closer, they start sharing all types of thoughts and secrets. Even the most intimate and inappropriate ones. Right?

Wrong.

Because jay doesn't remember sexual questions and indecency being a bonding activity among best friends. Sometimes he wonders, do you even consider him a man? Because what man is immune to these sinful thoughts, no matter how hard he tries? Were you really that unaware of the impact your words have on him or did you do it on purpose?

Jay just wasn't mentally prepared for this phase of your friendship. He blames it on his sex crazed brain.

"It-it's good" he mutters, praying that you don't notice the shakiness in his voice. or the reddening of his ears. or the sweat trickling down his neck. or the way he keeps the cushion tightly situated on his lap. Oh fuck it, there's no way you don't notice.

You giggle. You giggle, and the sound goes straight to his chubbing up cock.

"thought so, I've been practicing you know? Heeseung is so lucky, I don't even have a gag reflex" you excitedly brag about your sexual prowess, and Jay can't feel his legs. In fact, all his focus is zeroed in on one place, just like the blood rushing to his dick.

His fists clench at the familiar name and he grits his teeth to stop the throbbing in his jaw.

If Jay's life was a coming of age comedy, you were definitely the main character, and heeseung; even thinking of his name leaves a bad taste in jongseong's mouth, would be your potential love interest. Matter of fact, he seemed to be everyone's love interest.

Jay tho? He wasn't even a supporting character. You just kept him around.

You had pranced into his life in sophomore year, all wide smiles and bright eyes. When he had moved away from his home for college, he had accepted the fact that he would probably spend all of his college life alone.

Because, one, jongseong was awkward. And two, jongseong was awkward.

His awkwardness stemmed from having two friends for most of his life; they were the only two people he could talk to like a normal human being. So, when he left them behind, he left his ability to make proper conversations with them.

But you didn't need him to talk. Nope. You did all the talking for him.

He'd been minding his business, cramming up the notes for upcoming end sem exams , when the chair beside him had been pulled out and you had plopped on it in all your glory. He remembers that you had smelled like ripe cherries, and it didn't take long for jeongseong to get addicted to that fragrance.

Extrovert adopting an introvert, was the basic description of your friendship with him.

But he doesn't know where his obsession with you fits in the dynamic, doesn't know where his need to inject you in his veins stems from.

"Y-yeah, H-he's so fucking lucky" he admits, eyes shaking. He knows he sounds nervous and distressed, but if you notice, you don't mention it.

He watches as you smile proudly and go back to sucking on the popsicle, without a single care in the world. Your red tongue pokes out to lick along its length, before you start suckling on its tip.

oh, how he wishes he was that godforsaken popsicle.

It happens again on a leisure evening. Jay had rented out the movie you so desperately wanted to see, but somewhere in the middle, you got bored. Honestly,he should’ve sensed it coming; from the weary sighs leaving your lips, to the way you were reclined on the couch, it couldn’t have been more obvious.

"It's so hard being single I swear, my fingers don't do it for me and i am so fucking frustrated right now "

Jay thinks he has developed hearing impairment. If not that, then maybe brain damage, because he's sure he's making this all up in his head somehow. there's no way you're talking to him about masturbation right now. This has to be one of his lucid dreams, there's no way you're that comfortable around him.

oh but you are. Your eyes rest on his, curious, inquisitive, as if waiting for a response. But jongseong has lost his ability to formulate coherent sentences.

"Oh" he blurts.

that's it. That's all that he can come up with.

It's an essential mercy that you don't particularly seem to care for his response, just needing a signal to rant more.

"Yes. oh. and i swear Jay, sometimes I'll try to get my fingers in there, but it's so fucking tight and they only go half way in, it's so frus-"

Jay tunes the rest of the conversation out. His mind latches onto the word "Tight ". His throat becomes parched and his palms sweat profusely where they rest against his thighs. His eyes travel down your body, drinking you in. The moles on your collarbone are so fucking tempting, he wonders if someone has told you this before. The way your skirt pools around your thighs has him gasping for air, too much skin, his palms itch to grope.

He feels like a fucking creep, because the creases on your forehead and the heated movements of your hands as you emphasize your point, makes it clear that you are just rambling.

He's your best friend and you're sharing your issues with him, like normal friends do. except Jay is not normal. At least, not when it comes to you.

He knows that you've not had much experience, knows that you've never even been fucked good, and he can't stop his imagination from running wild as he pictures you under him right now. Right on the couch that you've got your pretty ass seated on.

He wonders what your cute moans sound like, wonders if you're a screamer, or do you like to deep throat on fingers to keep your voice down. Wonders what your face looks like when you're cumming. Wonders if your nails will scratch his back red while he stuffs you full of his cum, or will you beg him to pull out.

he shouldn't be having these thoughts and yet, he just can't help it.

"What about you?" you ask, disrupting his inner monologue.

"Me?" he falters, shifting a little, sneakily adjusting his aching length.

"Yeah, are you getting some? or do you just jerk off like other losers? " There's a teasing glint in your eyes as you ask him the most intimate question one can ask someone.

Jay chokes on his own saliva. Thankfully, before he can muster up the courage to stutter an embarrassing attempt of an answer, your phone rings and you're making your way out of his house. A family emergency, you tell him, and Jay can't even bring himself to ask you about it, his mind too preoccupied with the conversation you both just had.

What would you have said if he had told you about all the girls that he fucks, imagining that they were you? Would you have been disgusted, or would it turn you on?

or about all the nights he spends wanking off to your most innocent pictures on his phone; would you think he's creepy, or would you ask him to show you how?

He can't help slipping his hands inside his pants once you're gone, can't help the pathetic moans that fall from his lips while he imagines how 'tight ' you must be. Fuck. Would you clamp around his throbbing length? would your cute little pussy suck him right in?

His movements get faster, more desperate, palms getting slick with how much precum he's leaking as he jerks himself off to the thoughts of your cunt. He flicks his wrist, the friction of his rough palm against his sensitive dick driving him insane.

He needs it, he needs you.

His grasp on his leaking cock becomes firm; tighter, wetter, softer, your thoughts send him right over the edge just in a few more dreamy strokes. The act of cumming inside his boxers is so fucking filthy, the wet spot forming on the front of his pants being a testament to his perverted desires.

"fuck, fuck baby" he groans, gulping harshly while he comes down from his high, his cum covering his palms and thighs , some of it splattering onto his stomach.

God, if only you could see him right now. If only you knew what a mess you make of him.

You're drunk.

He can see it in the way you're starting to slur your words, the sentences no longer making any sense. Your eyes are glassy and droopy, almost on the verge of passing out. He should stop you. He should snatch the bottle away from your wobbly hands and yet.

He doesn't.

Maybe if he was a better man, he would have, but jay is not that man.

Jay watches you take another swing and anticipation builds up in his chest. You're unaware, blinded to the fact that he came here with a purpose tonight; multiple bottles of rum, the particular brand that gets you groggy in a few sips, the game cards, the setting, everything was planned.

When you told him that your roommate was gone for the night, he saw the perfect opportunity to set his sick scheme into motion. And like the naive little girl that you were, you didn't even question him about his odd idea of getting drunk on a weekday, or why you were the only one getting drunk while his glass sat untouched between you both.

Your head lulls to the side ,and within a few seconds, you plop onto your back, mumbling a few intangible words, spread out on your bed like a fucking feast.

Jay inhales harshly, his tongue flicking out to lick over his dry lips. He looks around frantically, as if someone can see what he's about to do. As if someone can peek into his sick and twisted mind. There's no one here though, and his patience is running thin.

Jay crawls over your limp body, his dark eyes devouring you, memorizing every feature up close. Your hairs are splayed around your head like a halo, some strands falling onto your forehead. your lashes flutter slightly, still in between the phase of being passed out and somewhat awake. Your luscious lips keep mumbling words that he's sure even you don't understand. there's a red flush on the apple of your cheeks, enhancing the contours of your face, and Jay just wants to take a bite.

His hungry eyes travel lower,drinking your beauty in like a famished man, watching in rampant awe at how your chest rises and falls, your tank top giving him an eyeful of your soft cleavage. well damn.

His throat bobs, taking in the way your tank top rides up your stomach, exposing your entire midriff to his lustful eyes. You're so, so innocent like this, so naive. How could you trust him so easily? He was a man, it didn't matter that he was your best friend,he was a man regardless.

you really have zero survival instincts.

But Jay is glad that it's him and not someone else. Jay would never harm you, Jay would never do anything wrong to you. He just wants to love you.

His hand moves instinctively, and he's groping your soft thighs, eyes flickering up instantly to watch you with a bated breath. When you don't show any signs of waking up, his movements get harsher, his hold sliding up,grabbing a handful of your ass. A groan falls from his lips at the feeling of your soft skin against his rough palms, his dick hardening inside his pants. Your shorts are too thin to leave anything to the imagination.

Before he knows, his hands are roaming and exploring your curves freely, caressing every inch of your naked skin that he can find. God you're so soft, so fucking soft. He doesn't overdo it tho, doesn't grab you as harshly as he wants to, aware that he can't leave any marks. He leans down and bites on your lower lip inadvertently, eyes closing in delight when your taste overwhelms his senses. You're sweeter than he imagined, and he automatically presses further into you. He moves his lips, tries to kiss you, but your lack of reciprocation irks him to no end. Fueled by his desperation to taste you, his hand comes up and he's cupping your plushy cheeks, making your mouth pucker up like a fish, the little peek of your red tongue from inside drives him up the fucking wall. Without thinking, he dives in, his tongue meeting yours, licking into your hot mouth messily, slurping in your saliva like a freak.

It's too much, the feeling of your body so close, your taste, the fact that this was wrong on so many levels, it all just added up to his arousal.

He trails his lips downwards,kissing and licking every inch of your tempting flesh.

As if a switch is flipped inside his head, Jay pulls back hurriedly and unzips his pants. his hands shake on the zipper, high from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His dick throbs against his boxers, begging for some sweet relief. His breathing is deep, the fact that he is finally about to act on his perverse fantasies hitting him hard. As he pulls his leaking dick out of the confines of his boxers, shoving them unceremoniously down to his knees, he leans back over your figure again, supporting himself with one palm resting beside your head.

He hisses painfully through his teeth, the feeling of his palm wrapping around his cock being too much.

Jay wants to see your pussy, god, he wants to taste it, he wants to fuck it till you're screaming, but not yet. He knows his limits. He knows that once he gets a peek of the treasure you hide between your legs, he might not be able to stop himself from pounding your limp body into the sheets; and so he controls the itching in his loins, resists the temptation. That can wait for another day. Right now though, he just wants to cum.

He pulls down your tank top impatiently, exposing your bra clad tits to his starving eyes. Lace, of course you wear lace.

"fucking slut" he grunts. Fuck, the way your boobs spill out of the cups, your nipples peeking through the sheer fabric makes his dick twitch. Without further ado, He wraps his palm around himself and starts stroking.

"fuck baby, look at what you do to me" he groans, leaning down to kiss your plump cheek, nuzzling his nose into your warm flesh.

His bottom lips is tucked between his teeth, his grip tightening around his leaking shaft, moving his rough palm up and down languidly. As much as he wants to take his time enjoying your body, he knows he can't take a risk. On top of that, he's too pent up to be able to drag this out, he can already feel the familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach. Too good,everything feels too good.

He whines as his thumb rubs over his engorged tip, the pleasure driving him insane.

"are you tight baby? fuck, I bet you're so fucking tight, would make my dick feel so good won't you?" He gasps into your skin, brows furrowing as his movements become harsher, faster. His abs flex and his hips jerk forward into his tight fist, imagining it's your pussy that he's fucking into.

“god it feels so good to finally fuck my fist” he pants, his warm breath fanning your flushed face.

His thighs tremble and he leans his body into yours, pressing himself flush against your unsuspecting figure. He slots his throbbing cock between your plush thighs and starts humping against you eagerly. He just can't help it. It's all your fucking fault.

"Mhmm, baby, baby, fuck you feel so good" He whimpers, fingers digging into the fat of your waist, nose buried inside the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You smell so fucking intoxicating, and he feels his sanity slipping away. God, how he wishes he could thrust inside of your wet heat right now. How he wishes he could jerk his cock off using your tight little cunt.

Its getting wet and messy, the squelching sounds coming from his cock moving back and forth against your flesh are downright filthy.

A strained moan slips from his throat and the knot in his stomach tightens. He's so fucking close.

Jay gathers a copious amount of saliva in his mouth and spits in his hand, rubbing it all over his dick, lubricating it for more pleasure, flicking his wrist faster.

"wish I was inside you right now, look how hard you make me baby, gonna cum so much f’ you-mhmnp-fuck-fuck" His whines become louder, groans get breathier, indicating the approach of an impending orgasm.

The heat inside his loins becomes unbearable and he needs contact. Direly.

Naked skin, soft flesh rubbing against his sweaty body while he jerks himself off, that’s exactly what he craves. He lets go of his cock momentarily and strips his shirt off, throwing it aimlessly across your room. He pants while he slides your bra down your chest, letting your boobs spill out in the open. The sight so lewd, he could come from this alone.

His pupils dilate, sweat trickling down his neck in effort and desire. he leans forward and presses his nipples against yours, hissing harshly, gasping in pleasure at feeling his naked chest rubbing against yours. Is this what sex with you would feel like? Sweaty bodies rutting against one another, chasing carnal pleasure?

Jay pants, and starts to jerk off furiously, wanking his dick like a mad man, palm moving back and forth while he thrusts his tongue inside your open mouth again. A groan escapes his lips, it really does feel like he is fucking you.

"God I wish you could see me right now baby, using your body for my pleasure, just like it's supposed to be" He grunts into your mouth, coating your lips with his saliva.

His hand picks up speed, he's so fucking close, his hips jerk into his own touch, chasing that friction like an animal in heat.

"God yeah, oh fuck yeah baby, gonna cum so hard for you" He groans, squeezing his eyes shut while he spurts long strings of cum onto your naked skin, hot pants fall from his mouth into yours. He squeezes his dick, tugging at it a few more times, cumming so much that it doesn't seem to stop.

"oh fuckk yeahhh, just like that" he moans, rolling over and falling onto his back beside you, rubbing his dick raw. He pumps himself shallowly, milking himself for all that he's worth, his breathing getting slower, sighs of contentment falling from his lips.

Fuck. That was so good.

He looks over at your mess of a body and quickly gets into action, getting dressed haphazardly and adjusting your clothes while he tries his best to clean every drop of cum from your skin and clothes.

The next morning when you whine about a headache, he pretends to be worried, and when you hiss in pain, telling him that there's a painful redness in your inner thighs, he tells you that it might be from your sheets rubbing against your soft skin, and that you should probably buy new ones.

If his dick twitches as he remembers rutting in between your flesh like an animal in heat, that's between him and God

Jay is thoroughly convinced that he's losing his goddamn mind.

With each passing moment, He can feel himself descending into madness.

Nothing feels good, nothing feels worth it, time thoroughly stops if he's not constantly touching you or moping around you.

After that night, he did not get another opportunity to have you alone, and it was promptly causing havoc in his brain. It was fucking him up from the inside.

He wonders if you notice the lack of proximity between your bodies every time you both hang out together lately. But if you do notice the small lingering touches he leaves on your skin here and there, you don't mention it.

"fuck, j-just shut the fuck up" he growls, pushing the woman's head further into the pillows while he continues to plow her from behind.

Ever since he got a taste of you, Jay has found it harder and harder to find pleasure in anything or anyone else. He fucks and fucks but deep down, he knows that no pussy can ever feel like yours.

The cunt wrapped around him is warm and wet, it feels good, making hot pleasure run across his abdomen, but every time he feels his high approaching, the glaring realization that this isn't you underneath him, hits him hard. Fuck.

Jay grits his teeth and closes his eyes, remembering the taste of your soft lips on his, reminiscing the addicting feel of your nipples pressing into his hard chest; his hips pick up pace. He's fucking the woman underneath him brutally, her screams echo in the entire room, her body flailing to get out of his grasp; but Jay can't seem to stop.

"G-gah God just-take it" He groans, hissing in relief when the knot in his stomach snaps, his hips plowing at an animalistic pace, riding his high against the warm pussy in which he's buried.

"fuck fuck fuck" He chants, sighing in hot pleasure, eventually loosening his grip on the slut's body. As soon as he does tho, she pushes him off of herself, turning to him with tears streaming down her red face.

"You're a fucking animal you know?" She spits, sniffing and sobbing as she limps to her feet, his cum running down one of her legs. She collects her clothes and throws a dirty look over her shoulder towards him before she leaves.

Jay scoffs and runs an exasperated hand over his sweaty face. Refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room. All that talk and she didn’t even satisfy his dick.

What the fuck is happening to him? This type of aggression isn't typical of him and yet, he can't seem to control his emotions in the heat of the moment.

Before he can get immersed too deep into his self reflection, his phone rings, your face glowing like an angel on his lock screen.

You. The bane of his existence.

His dick twitches as he swipes right.

"Jongieee" you squeal, going on a tangent about your eye contact with heeseung across the hallway. The visible vein in jay's forehead throbs, as if all the blood's being pumped through that one particular artery in order to give him the strength to cope.

He's going to fuck heeseung's pretty face up. The rage that fills him up at the thought of another man touching you is insurmountable. It wasn't always like this. But somewhere in the middle of your budding friendship, the dynamic shifted drastically.

At first it was a stupid crush, he thought he was in love with you. But he isn't so sure now. This isn't love, no. This is beyond love. A vile, dark version of it. This is an obscene obsession. Jay is fucking obsessed with you. The need to attain you weighs heavy on his conscience.

As he hears your voice, he focuses on the sweet melody and drowns out the words. This makes the throbbing in his dick return ten fold.

He wraps a shaky hand around his slick shaft and starts to stroke it. Real nice and slow. Just how he likes it. Just like he knows your small hands will do to him.

He bites on his lower lip to prevent any sounds from escaping, and he continues to jerk off to your voice. The veins running along his cock throb in his tight grip, the swollen tip squirting precum onto his moving palm.

"Hmm yeah? Tell me more" he whispers, hoping that you don't notice how breathy his voice sounds, or how pure lust drips from his panting breaths.

The slick squelchy sounds from his palm moving up and down his leaking length echo loudly in the room. A part of him wishes that you catch him in this filthy act, relishing in the surprised and scandalized gasp that would leave your lips when you realize what he is doing.

Fuck.

His hand picks up pace, his second orgasm getting closer and closer the more that your sweet voice rings in his ears.

"Jay?" you ask, obviously confused as to why he hasn't said a single thing yet.

Jay, on the other hand, mutes his side of the mic and groans loudly.

"fuck yeah baby, say my name" He whimpers, his hips thrusting up into his tight fist.

He's jerking himself furiously now, closer, closer, he can taste the sweet release at the tip of his tongue,

"Yeah, shit y/n, make me fucking cum" his mewl fades into a high pitched moan as he shoots thick strands of cum after cum into his own fist, watching with hooded eyes , how it spurts everywhere, his abs contracting at the immense force.

God you drive him batshit crazy.

He hangs up on you, ignoring your voice calling out to him, not trusting his own voice enough to talk to you like a normal person, right after he wanked off to you like a perverted freak.

He shoots a quick message to you in explanation tho, getting his cum all over his screen in the process.

"can't hear you, network issue I think. Call u later?"

Later when Jay lets the hot water of the shower run all over his spent body, his mind drifts off to you and the events of the last few months.

He needs to fuck this madness out of his system, he decides.

Maybe once he gets his dick inside of you, he might be able to get you out of his mind.

You look beautiful.

You always look beautiful, but something about the way that tight little red dress hugs your curves tonight has every man in the room salivating. You're like a piece of meat that's dangling in front of a pack of hungry wolves. And Jay is sure that he's the hungriest of them all.

When you had called him that afternoon, your voice sweet and pleading, begging him to accompany you to yeonjun's party, he didn't know what it would entail.

"Please, please come with me Jay, you know it's my best chance at getting heeseung to notice me" your words had been whiny, travelling straight between his legs.

He had clenched his jaw and hummed in response, not having it in him to refuse your offer. As much as it enraged him that you would take another man's name when he was right there, he also knew that his time would come.

"I love youuu, you're the best" you had squealed, making his heart do weird flips inside his chest. Yeah, he was the best. And he was going to make sure that you knew it too by the end of the night.

He's sure he's drooling, eyes tethered to the way you grind your hips on the dance floor.

It's sexy, you're so fucking sexy. Your lips are stretched into a small smile, as if you know that all eyes are feasting on you. He loves how you thrive in it, loves how you're eating up all the attention.

What he doesn't appreciate tho, is the sight of heeseung's figure making his way towards you on the dance floor. Jay's body works faster than his brain, his nostrils flaring as he makes his way towards heeseung, red hot rage propelling him forward.

Sweat trickles down the valley of your breasts and the air feels stuffy. You need a drink. Right now.

You're mildly disappointed when you don't find heeseung anywhere in sight, all that show that you put on, and for nothing?

You sigh dramatically and make your way to the kitchen, recognizing jay's hunched over figure in the corner, doing God knows what.

"Jay? " you call out to him. His figure freezes upon hearing your voice, he turns his head to meet your eyes and shoves his hand inside his pocket without a second's delay. His behavior makes you furrow your brows "what?" you ask him incredulously. Why was he behaving like a child who'd been caught sneaking where he shouldn't be sneaking.

He shrugs his shoulders and turns fully to face your approaching form.

Jay knows that he's staring, but he just can't help it. Not tonight.

You pick up the drink from the counter and swirl it, looking around the kitchen, scrunching up your nose adorably at the intense make out session near the sink.

Jay follows your line of vision and almost groans. Did you have any idea, how badly he wanted to recreate that scene with you.

"Where's heeseung?" you question, your curious eyes looking back at him.

Jay hopes you don't notice the way his jaw immediately locks up, his mood dampening at another man’s name. Jay likes you best when you’re calling his name, he decides.

"He left" He quips, reaching for a drink with his free hand that isn't buried inside his pocket in a meticulous manner.

You look at him heatedly, and Jay sighs.

"He left, or you made him?" your voice is angry, irritated when you ask him that, and Jay feels his own anger flare up at your tone.

Not wanting to cause a scene, he grabs your hand and drags you inside the bathroom instead, grateful when you don't resist.

The way you free your wrist from his grasp to create some distance between you two, is what he doesn't like.

"What did you do?" You demand, folding your hands across your chest, pushing your boobs up in the process. Jay's eyes flicker down to your beauties and the heat in his head travels all the way down to his groin. He needs to have you, now.

You watch in horror as Jay retrieves his hand from the pocket of his pants. The cuts and bruises all over his knuckles make you gasp. Your hands fall to your sides and you look up into his eyes disbelievingly.

"I-w-why? Jay? What the fuck is wrong with you?" you ask, disbelief and anger making way for concern.

"You! you are what's fucking wrong with me!" Jay bellows and it makes you flinch, terror filling up your viens , because this isn't your Jay. Your Jay was calm, and so, so quiet.

Raging eyes look into yours as he stalks towards you. You don't see it coming when he cups your cheek in his hands and thrusts his tongue inside your mouth. Your hands come up to bang against his chest but it only propels him to pull you further into his chest. Fuck, it feels so fucking good when you move against him.

You whine while his tongue tastes your hot mouth hungrily, forcing it deep inside the crevices of your cavity.

Mustering up all the strength that's left in your body, you push him away, heaving heavy breaths as he stumbles back by a few steps.

Your watery eyes look at him in horror and disbelief, refusing to believe that your best friend just forced himself upon you.

"You're insane" you whisper, your voice hauntingly quiet.

He pulls your body closer to himself and kisses you again, diving into your taste desperately "for you, so fucking crazy for you" he murmurs between kisses, continuing to make out with you, making a mess at how forcefully he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

You hit against his chest, thrashing your body in his hold. He pulls back a little and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes are crazed as they look into yours. A string of saliva connects your mouth to his famished one.

"Let me fuck you" He pants.

His words hit you like a slap across the face. What the fuck.

Your head feels dizzy, too much was happening for you to process. Using all the force you could, you push him away from you again.

"Stop acting like this jay!" you cry, just wanting your best friend back. But from the looks of it, he's nowhere in sight.

No, no, no. This can't be happening to you

"Come on, you know you want this" Jay hisses, malice dripping from his eyes.

Your lips wobble and you can do nothing but shake your head, it lolls on your neck lifelessly. You want to say something, but words feel foreign, as if not knowing how to bend your tongue to make the syllables sound quite right.

The bathroom is a tight space, not much expanse for you to run or hide. You see the door from your peripheral and it gives you some hope. If you can get the door to open up in time, you can scream. Maybe someone might hear you through the bass boosted music thrumming in the house.

You stumble back a few more steps but before you can stretch your hand towards the bathroom door, he pounces on you, a sharp whoosh leaving your mouth as your back thumps against the wall behind. He buries his nose inside the crook of your neck, gliding it's slope across the expanse of your soft skin, humming in desire.

His hands run all over your body, cupping your boobs through your dress, making you mewl as he twists your nipples painfully.

"it's about time we had sex baby" he whispers in your ear, biting and nibbling on your earlobe sensually.

"J-jay p-please think about this" you plead, your voice small and frightened, tremors covering your entire figure when he starts to unbuckle his jeans impatiently.

"Think? Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how much I've thought about this do you? " His eyes stay on yours, maintaining eye contact while his fingers unzip his pants. Jay had forgone boxers, too impatient to take his time undressing. His sole purpose was to get his dick inside your stomach tonight.

"This is all I've been thinking about for the past year baby, your cute little cunt is all i fucking think about" He grits.

His dick plops out of his pants, hitting his abdomen, smearing a blob of precum on his happy trail. Your eyes widen and water further, little sobs start to wrack your body. Your eyes take in the view of his uncut cock, curving upwards in sexual need.

"Too big?” he asks, tone mocking your deer caught in the headlights expression, his body presses closer to yours while he works to slide your tight little dress up your thighs, exposing your panty clad pussy to his eyes , fuck yeah.

“I'll make it fit" he groans, running his fingers over your vulva, pinching your clit in the process. You sob and start flailing in his hold, your fists coming up to hit against his chest.

"Jay please, please,no" your voice shakes urgently when he tears your sheer panties apart in pieces, his tongue coming out to lick over his dry lips.his eyes are wide and unseeing, they terrify you.

"Fuck, this pussy has been driving me fucking crazy" he pants, taking a hold of his dick and running it's bulbous head along your slit, coating it in his precum. His eyes come up to momentarily look in your terrified ones and he bites his lower lip, gaze famished and hungry, drinking up all your reactions.

He pops his head in between your silky folds and his knees buckle at the delicious feeling, his free hand coming up to rest against the wall behind you, as he cages you against it.

"fuck, you're tight, gonna have a field day forcing myself inside" he tuts, amused.

His words make you sob, an inexplicable heat spreading across your pelvis when he bullies more of his throbbing shaft inside, satisfied moans leaving his mouth in stuttering gasps.

He wraps your leg around his waist and without warning, buries himself inside your cunt in one harsh thrust, doubling over in pleasure.

"Oh fuck yeah baby, shit" He growls, resting his forehead against yours, his hot breaths falling on your wet cheeks.

You wail and scream but Jay doesn't stop moving, your small fists do nothing to deter his movements, his hips starting to pick up pace instead. His brows furrow in pleasure and he moans into your mouth, urging you to cry more as his cock pumps deep inside your guts.

"Tight little slut, this is what you fucking wanted didn't you? Fucking cock tease" he hisses, throwing his head back in extreme ecstasy, pounding his hips rapidly into yours. The feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck makes him groan in pleasure.

"Yeah baby, you wanna fight? let's fucking fight like this" He whispers silkily, grabbing your ass in his big palms, groping your soft flesh painfully, digging his own nails into it.

"h-hurts so much Jay, stop please, p-please" you sob, tears blurring your vision, the stretch from his cock being too much for your tiny little pussy. The way your nails dig into his shoulders, you're sure that if he was naked, you would break his skin.

Jay scoffs and presses your body further into the wall, snapping his hips faster into yours, fucking desperately into your wet, hot cunt.

"Yeah? But your cunt is sucking me in baby, looks like you like what we're doing"

You throw your head back at his words, unable to stop your hips from gyrating against his thrusts. Pleasure was starting to cloud your mind.

"fucking finally, feels so good to be buried in this pussy, should have forced myself in it a long time ago" He pants, taking your lower lip in his mouth while he increases the intensity of his rut. You moan into his mouth when he digs his teeth in your plump flesh, his actions barbaric.

The squelching sounds start filling up the small cubicle, the filthiness of the whole act only working to fuel your desire more.

Before you can get submerged in pleasure tho, Jay pulls out of you with an embarrassing ‘plop’ and forces you to your knees instead; ignoring how you hiss in pain at the feeling of the rough tiles scraping against your bare knees.

He penetrates your mouth with his cock and starts fucking, plowing it like it's your cunt, moaning and groaning in pure pleasure.

You dig your nails into his thighs but he ignores your pleas to breathe, pushing your head further against the wall instead. He digs his fingers in your hairs and grinds his hips into your plump mouth, his dick hitting the back of your throat mercilessly.

"God yeah, just like that, jerked off so much to you baby, suck my dick like you fucking mean it" His whiny voice travels straight between your legs and you moan. The vibrations of your throat make his dick twitch inside your mouth and he pulls out with a groan.

He rubs his cock head against your lips and buries himself to the hilt inside your throat again, pressing your nose against his pubes while his cum filled balls slap against your chin.

The lack of gagging makes him chuckle in disbelief “no fucking gag reflex, god your throat is just like a fucking cunt”.you mewl and rub your thighs together at his words.

"Fucking hell, should have done this before, we could have been fucking so much" he grouches, kneeling down and forcing your body onto the floor. It's a tight fit, but jay doesn't seem to care. He folds your body in half and thrusts inside your pussy again. His movements are so impatient and hurried, you aren't used to being desired this way.

"mhmnm yeah, pussy feels so good" He growls, his hold tightening further around your legs that rest against his shoulders and he starts to rut into your tight heat again. This time it's more desperate, downright filthy. He's panting on your face, letting a string of saliva drip from his mouth into yours when he sees your mouth open in a silent scream. You choke on it and he laughs, condescending, hissing through gritted teeth.

"Get used to this baby, we're gonna be fucking so much after tonight, gonna keep my cock buried in your fuck hole" he groans, bullying his cock into your hole over and over again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and start grinding into him, staring back into his eyes to let him know that you want this.

His eyes widen upon feeling your hips thrusting upwards, humping his cock, hot pleasure running down his spine.

"Yeah baby? fuck, you like this? fucking slut, you did all of that on purpose didn't you? wanted to drive me fucking crazy for this pussy?"

You nod in pleasure, all rational thoughts leaving your mind. All you know is, that his dick feels a little too good when it rams against your cervix.

You are close, way too close, your body convulsing in carnal lust as your orgasm washes over you all of a sudden.

Moan after moan of his name falling from your red bitten lips.

He laughs as he feels your cum trickle down his thighs, drenching his balls in your juices.

"fucking slut" He moans, throwing his head back as he enjoys the clenching of your throbbing cunt on his leaking shaft.

He feels himself close to his high, but he doesn't want this to end. Not yet.

Jay pulls out and rests his back against the wall, patting his thigh for your spent figure as you lie on the floor.

"Come sit on it " He breaths, his voice strained due to how much effort it takes for him to not start jerking off to the sight of your sticky cum running between your pussy lips.

So fucking hot. He wants to obliterate your pussy.

He watches with hooded eyes as you get up on your knees and crawl towards him, eyes trailing down to his hard dick. Jay groans at your hungry gaze, fuck yeah. You want him. You want his dick.

This singular thought forces him to wrap his palm around his leaking prick. Your eyes widen and a small mewl escapes your lips as you watch him stroke his length slowly, wet sounds resonating between the space between your hot bodies.

Jay bites on his lower lip and starts to stroke faster "yeah you like this? This is how I jerked off to your thoughts baby, rubbed my dick raw every night, imagining it was your pussy instead of my fucking hand" He pants, cupping his balls with his other hand, the double stimulation driving him insane.

The sight in front of you is so lewd, it makes your pussy drip. The way his pants are not all the way off, resting against his ankles, hanging on him unceremoniously is so hot, your cunt clenches around nothing.

Without a single thought, you close the gap between your bodies, straddling his lap while you maintain a hungry eye contact with him. He looks famished as he watches you replace his palms with yours, tugging on his throbbing cock a few more times before you guide it to your wet hole.

"Yeah baby put it in, come on, put my dick inside" He groans, his hands coming up to wrap around your waist, pulling you down onto his length impatiently. You both let out gasps of pleasure when his dick slips inside, buried in you balls deep.

"f-fuck" you moan and he hums, throwing his head back in pleasure. The itch in your pussy starts to intensify and your hips start moving on their own, looking a way to satisfy it.

"Yeah, ride it, ride it like you fucking want it" he moans, thrusting up into your hole. You gasp and hold onto his shoulders, slamming yourself up and down on his shaft. The sex feels too good. So hot and so messy. It makes you wonder why you were resisting it in the first place.

Your hot, sweaty bodies rutt against one another desperately, feeling your highs approaching at a rapid pace.

"Bounce on it baby, come on, make me cum, wanna fill this pussy up" He pants, digging his nails into your thighs as he begins thrusting up at a rapid pace. You squeal at the sudden action but bury your face inside the crook of his neck in pleasure. Too good. Fuck it's starting to get too hot.

Desperate gasps escape his lips when your cunt starts clenching around him again, he's close, so close. Fuck yeah. He can’t believe he is finally gonna cum in your cunt, and just the thought of it was enough to make the knot in his stomach snap.

"Just like that, oh yeah, oh fuckkkkkk" he growls, humping upwards as he holds your body down and squirts his cum into your womb, thrusting rapidly into your swollen pussy, making you cum again.

You moan and whine when he doesn't stop moving, his hips pick up pace without break and your head gets dizzy. The over-stimulation getting to your head.

"can't stop fucking, let's do it again yeah? let me pound this cunt again I'm so fucking hard"

Before you can protest, he is flipping you around, pressing your body against the bathroom floor, your boobs squished against the cold tiles. The tiles were so dirty, probably because of the number of couples before you both, who couldn't wait to get down and dirty. You wonder, how many people fucked in this cubicle before you, and your back arches on its own. You feel his body mounting you and he envelops your sweaty body with his meaty arms.

You gasp upon feeling his thumb prodding at your asshole, dipping in and out experimentally.

"Jay not there please please I've never-" your begging gets cut off with a shrill scream as his entire head bullies inside your sphincter.

Jay's eyes roll back in pleasure and he moans, the sound so pornographic that it makes hot lust run through your womb.

"fucking hell baby, it's tighter than your pussy, gonna fuck it so hard"

Your legs flail but Jay doesn’t stop dicking you down, he thrusts his entire length inside your virgin hole and groans in ecstasy, it is the tightest hole he's ever been buried in. His hips start moving, plowing into you at a rapid pace. He puffs and huffs like a dog in heat, the stimulation around his dick pushing him closer to the edge again. Your hole stays tight as a clamp around his meat.

You, on the other hand, wail in pleasure mixed with pain. It hurts, it hurts but God does it hurt so good. His balls slap against your ass cheeks painfully.

Skin slapping sounds fill up the bathroom and you push your ass back against his dick, moaning and bucking back, needing it deeper inside your stomach.

"That's right baby, fuck back on me, gonna cum so hard again" His plaintive groans indicate his arousal, lust drips from the frantic movements of his hips.

He thrusts inside you wantonly, his desire to nut overpowering all other senses.

The desperate rut and stimulation of your hole sends you tumbling over another orgasm, your legs quivering as you come with a pleasured moan, chanting his name in a prayer.

The tight clamping of your two sphincter muscles on his fully engorge cock send jay over the line. He bellows loudly, cursing and grunting as spurt after spurt of his pent-up sperm paint the inside of your fuck hole

Finally satiated, Jay falls onto your limp body, kissing your earlobe, mumbling lazily about how he's gonna fuck you again and again till he erases heeseung's name from the forefront of your mind.

You don't tell him that there is no heeseung anymore. You don't tell him how every cell of your body only craves his touch now, aching to be plowed by his dick alone.

#enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen hard headcanons #enhypen hard hours #enha #jay smut #park jay smut #jay enhypen smut #jay enhypen #ehypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen jay smut #park jongseong

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zorostitties · 3 days ago

Text

Aurora; 1 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: i made a post some days ago complaining that there weren't enough alucard fics on tumblr. because of that, a demon possessed me to write this story. i hope you'll like it so i can continue writing the next parts lmao ❤️ feedback is always MUCH appreciated! and, as usual, english is not my first language.

⤕ Chapters: soon! ⤕ Also on AO3

Before they gave you a name, they taught you the three simple rules for survival.

Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t fight.

Those rules weren’t taught using words. You learned them as they were engraved on your skin, repeatedly. Night after night. Day after day. Teeth sinking on your neck sending shockwaves of pure pain through your body. Jaws so tight around your jugular that you couldn’t breathe anymore; made you desperately grasp for air in vain. The suction noise. You hated that noise. It was coming from you. The liquid dripping from your wound, warm and sticky, gluing your dress to your skin. The smell of iron. Pain pain pain pain pain. The intense headache that followed. The darkened vision, the dizziness. Your limbs losing all of their strength.

Then - pitch black unconsciousness.

You might’ve fought the first time it happened… or the first times. It is hard to remember. You struggled. You tried to push her away. You tried to punch her, claw her face, pull her hair. And that’s when you learned the don’t fight rule. Every time you put up some sort of resistance, she’d crush you with ten times more strength. You learned, very quickly, that having your blood sucked off wasn’t the worst she or her servants could do. You learned it after broken bones and pierced organs. You learned it after ripped teeth and hair.

You learned that she took pleasure in it.

She liked to see tears streaming down your face. She rejoiced every time you begged her to just let you die.

So, you learned. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.

If you stood still, if you offered no resistance, if you just let her have her way - it would be over quicker. You learned that your blood was valuable to her. You learned that not many things were valuable to her… but your blood, for some reason, was - even though you’d see her feeding from other girls as well.

However, you also learned that all these other victims would simply die after she fed off them. Not only her victims; the members of her entourage’s victims as well. They’d get pale and lifeless very quickly. They’d get thrown away after they stopped moving, their cheeks hollow and eyes rolled back.

You learned that you weren’t like them. For some reason, you always woke up the next day as if nothing happened. Cheeks still full. Skin still colored. Heart still beating.

Perhaps… perhaps that’s what made you valuable.

So you behaved.

They gave you a bed after a while. She realized that your blood tasted better if you were well fed, so the meals got more elaborate over time. She started complimenting you. She’d make you wear the most beautiful gowns. She’d make you sit by her side, silently, as she held her numerous balls. Her guests - her subjects - would bow after her, pledge loyalty, kiss her feet. Sometimes she accepted their words. Sometimes she killed them on the spot.

You’d sit there for hours, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Her abnormally tall figure projected a shadow over you. The sound of her voice made your skin crawl. Her smell made you want to vomit.

Still, you’d behave.

She’d turn to you after she was bored of talking or sick of feeding from other girls. Her hands were bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen; her claws, as sharp as an eagle’s. Her grip on you seemed to weigh tons.

With somewhat delicacy, she touched the necklace they made you wear that night. A huge ruby stone sitting over your collarbones.

“Ruby,” she said almost in a purr. “The same color of your delicious blood.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“It sounds like a fitting name, My Queen.” The woman that never left her side commented. Her most loyal servant.

She chuckled, passing the tip of her tongue on her fangs.

“Indeed.”

That night, they gave you a name.

Jaw tightened around your jugular. No air. Pain pain pain pain pain. You didn’t fight back. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling silently down your cheeks. Headache. Dizziness.

And then - darkness.

“My sister, the moon, burns brightly tonight. She’s very excited, of course.”

The full moon, indeed, lightened the entire scenery, painting it in a gorgeous silver color. It reflected on Erszebet’s golden armor with a hauntingly beautiful glow. A soft breeze played with her white skirt as she gesticulated in her speech. She sounded tired, a calculated tone of hatred in her voice, as she explained in detail the revenge she’d take on her “father”, Amun-Ra.

You scanned the new place with your eyes. A vast garden expanded ahead. What did Drolta say…? Oh, yes. France was the name of the country you’ve arrived after weeks of travel. Although the night was chilly, it was still much warmer than Erzsebet’s home, which was always covered in meters of snow. At least thirty cloaked vampires waited in line for their Messiah’s arrival, being leaded by Drolta, of course.

In the moments your brain was working with somewhat lucidity, you heard conversations about some revolution. It was hard to make much sense of what they meant exactly, for anytime they had “important” conversations with you around, you’d be usually with an open wound on your neck trying to fight the overwhelming weakness and pain. They had the care to not let you be near while you were fully conscious. During the day as most of the Messiah’s court (and herself) slept, you were locked in your quarters. You were allowed to walk out only when Erzsebet needed to feed.

You didn’t understand exactly what they meant by that - in fact, you didn’t understand much of anything at all. You didn’t know why these vampires considered Erzsebet their queen; you didn’t understand why she considered herself a queen - no, she considered herself a goddess. You didn’t know what they meant by “crushing the revolution”, and you didn’t understand what you were doing in France.

Most importantly - you didn’t understand exactly what was their interest in you.

The obvious part: you seemed to be Erzsebet’s infinite source of blood and court jester, as the fact that she could break you in every way and you’d still wake up as if nothing happened the next morning entertained her. However… she didn’t need you. The Vampire Messiah had girls being fed to her daily. It’s not as if she was going through a blood shortage anytime soon. And… it seemed that she also had immense pleasure in simply killing - something she could not achieve with you.

So why keep you around? Why keep you locked with guards holding you at all times? Why drag you along anywhere she went?

There weren’t many moments in which your mind was clear - and in those small moments, such questions screamed in your mind relentlessly. Just… just why?

Why is any of this happening?

Your mind snapped back to reality the moment you heard a new strange sound. You lifted your head to see a big golden cage being brought closer to Erzsebet.

A frightened young girl locked inside it.

The sight didn’t shock you. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a sting of sadness.

“Daughter of a revolutionary deputy. Member of the Jacobin club.” Drolta introduced maliciously as she opened the cage with the help of her clutch. A servant dragged the brown haired girl out of the cage. You watched in solemn silence as Erzsebet floated out of her chariot.

For a moment, the girl made eye contact with you. She immediately recognized your human features. Maybe, for a split second, she might’ve found some comfort in your image, finally seeing someone like her. Her eyes begged for an explanation; begged for help.

But there was nothing you could do.

You looked down again, not wanting to see Erzsebet sinking her fangs in the young girl’s neck. Silently, you apologized for being somewhat relieved that she was there. Erszebet would leave you alone until she got satisfied of her new victim.

As the sound of her strangled whimpers filled the area, Drolta approached you.

You never got used to it - how vampires could move unnervingly fast. You had barely realized she was standing by your side when you felt her hands hold your waist on both sides, taking you off the horse back as if you were a toddler, and putting you on your feet.

She smirked.

Goosebumps crawled your skin.

Erszebet was cruel, irritating, violent and loud. You knew that very well. Yet… perhaps the fact that you knew she was incapable of actually killing you made you somewhat anesthetized of her presence.

Drolta, however, actually scared you.

She wasn’t loud or reckless, she didn’t act on her instincts like her master. No… she was calculated. It seemed that her eyes were always over everything, like she knew what anyone would do before they even moved. There was something truly ominous deep within her pink eyes. Much smarter than Erszebet. In a way, much crueler.

She caressed your cheek with the back of her fingers.

“Rejoice, Ruby. You have a very important task ahead of you.” She said in what sounded like a purr before dragging you towards a carriage.

Oh.

You… actually knew what she meant already. A memory from not long ago - or was it long ago? - came; the last time you were required to do this… task. And once more, you hated the fact that your memory was so weak, how you couldn’t recall things that should be important, should be essential. Deep down, you knew your real name wasn’t “Ruby”. You knew you might’ve had a past… maybe even a family. Yet, any time you tried to tap on these memories, nothing came. Just frustrating emptiness.

There was actually a third reason for Erzsebet to keep you around and close. A valid reason.

And it filled you with unfathomable remorse.

The chateau was a magnificent place.

You didn’t have time to explore any of it, of course – you were immediately dragged into a room as soon as the entourage arrived, mere hours before sunrise. Still, you had time to see the exquisite gardens that decorated the entrance, the river that seemed to isolate it from the rest of the world. The interior of the chateau was just as mesmerizing. Opulence radiated from every corner, with golden arabesques and crystal chandeliers.

Your room was no less impressive. The bed, big and comfortable; it was a relief to sleep on a soft surface after weeks of uncomfortable travel. The towering windows faced the back gardens and the reflective pools of the water fountains. It was even equipped with a marble bathtub.

Nothing but a golden cage. You were locked in. Two guards stood outside the doors at all times. The door only opened to deliver food three times a day and to clean the latrine.

It was… tranquil.

It had been two… three…? days since you arrived. You couldn’t be sure. In the meantime, your presence was not requested – which made you question if that same poor girl was still alive or if they’d found someone else to entertain Erzsebet. It was a relief. Truly. You didn’t have many opportunities to stay awake and sane for such a long period.

You heard music and voices coming from downstairs, meaning they had a ball at some point. From the peek of the curtains, you saw that the chateau always very busy at night. Yes, it was tranquil – but all that movement filled you with constant apprehension. A strange heaviness in your gut that didn’t let you have a peaceful sleep. Something was going to happen. Something big.

The awful feeling in your gut only got worse when, in the middle of the night, a handful of maids entered your room without warning.

They washed you without any care. They perfumed your body. They brushed and styled your hair with intricate braids that curled at the top of your head in somewhat of a bun. They applied rouge to your lips. They dressed you in a jaw-dropping, beautiful blue gown; as dark as the night sky, embroidered with silver silk lines that seemed to imitate stars peppering around the skirt. The corset was tight but not uncomfortable. It was actually a much lighter dress than the ones you used to wear back at Erzsebet’s country, given how much more pleasant the temperature in France was.

Erzsebet loved luxury. She loved jewels, diamonds, gold, beautiful dresses; she did not allow anyone to appear anything but perfect anywhere near her, as ugliness displeased her eyes. She loved the theatrics of it. That is why, as you looked at the absolutely gorgeous image of yourself in the mirror, the only thing you felt was disgust. Perfectly well put, devoid of any personality trait. Just the way Her Magnificence liked it.

And that… that fucking ruby necklace sitting over your collarbones. It seemed to burn your skin. She demanded you to always wear it.

Your personal collar.

That morning, Drolta herself came to escort you.

The woman wore a black gown made of what looked like leather. You saw her reflection on the mirror and shivered, not having noticed she had entered the room at all.

That same vicious smile adorned her features. She stepped closer, putting her hands over your shoulders, and looked straight to your eyes through the mirror.

“Beautiful as always, Ruby.” You hated that name. You hated the way she said it. Almost a mockery. “You know what you have to do, right?”

You gulped and nodded as your suspicions were confirmed. Drolta rolled her eyes.

“Did you unlearn how to speak? It has been ages since I last heard the sound of your voice.” But she didn’t give you time to answer, dragging you out of the room by the arm instead. The two cloaked guards followed shortly. “You should be proud of yourself, Ruby. Being able to help Her Magnificence is the greatest honor of all. You do know you are the only human she allows in her court, right?”

Oh, what a great honor. You felt your fingers beginning to shake as you approached the ceremonies hall, hearing the sound of multiple voices fast approaching.

It was, indeed, crowded.

The curtains covered all of the windows, since it was early in the morning; the sun reigned in the sky. Some vampires wore the typical black cloaks and some wore aristocratic attires. Quiet conversation filled the great hall. There was an air of expectation and excitement. It only made your guts twist more.

Not many paid attention to your arrival – their queen kept their attention locked on her, standing near the guard rail on the double stairs. You recognized some faces from Erzsebet’s palace; some were completely new. A few sent you the usual looks of thirst upon the realization that you were human. You tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

However, your eyes locked with one of the new faces very briefly. A brown-skinned man, wearing a luxurious purple attire. His long black hair fell to right side of his face, adorning his beautiful features. His green eyes didn’t hold any thirst or malice like the others. He just looked… curious. Astute. You quickly averted your eyes somewhere else.

Just to spot another face – and this time, the sting of sadness in your heart came back.

It was… it was that girl from before.

She wore a white gown – but the collar of the corset was tainted with her own blood. She had very visible open wounds on both sides of her neck. Standing by the stairs, she barely had the strength to support her own weight; her once olive skin now looked unhealthily pale.

You gulped.

Watching her in that state was like seeing yourself. Except this girl was going to die. Very soon.

How was she still alive?

The vampire kept dragging you by the arm, seemingly not noticing your apparent shock. When you passed by the girl on your way up the stairs, she recognized you again – and, once more, sent you a gaze that seemed to scream for help.

That was worse than a punch in the gut.

Drolta made you stop some steps away from Erzsebet. The Vampire Messiah did not bother to look back at you; as you already knew, she was preparing herself to what was about to come. Behind you, an obelisk with inscriptions and engravings was placed. Another cloaked servant approached. He carried a heavy, ancient book on his hands; its cover was made of black old leather, and although it was fading away due to the book’s apparent antique, you could see the outline of an image of the moon on it.

Drolta took the book in her arms, opening it on a specific page, and handed it to you.

“It is time.” She said with a voice filled of pride. “Take your part on the rise of Her Magnificence, and you may have our eternal gratitude.”

You didn’t want their eternal gratitude.

But that’s not what made you hesitate.

After looking at the book, your fragile memories came back with more clarity. You… you did this ritual twice before. You couldn’t tell how long ago. After it was over, you were locked back to your cell as usual, you didn’t exactly see what happened next – but you didn’t really need to see anything to understand the gravity of what it caused.

Even inside your room, you remembered feeling the stench of rotten human flesh for days.

Just… how many people must’ve died?

At this point, you were resigned to being hurt. You didn’t really see any point in trying to escape the claws of those two supernaturally powerful vampires – it’d only bring you more pain. But one thing was getting hurt... another was getting others hurt because of you. You didn’t want to be the harbinger of death again. Whatever they were planning, you didn’t want to participate.

So you froze in place. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your heartbeat increased.

“What… what are you going to do?” you asked, mustering the courage to speak in a quiet voice.

Drolta wasn’t smiling anymore.

She stepped closer, towering over you. Her eyes burned with contempt and cruelty. She brought her lips close to your ear, not to draw unwanted attention.

“Horrible timing to decide to be brave, darling.” She hissed. “Do what you’re told or she’ll face the consequences.”

She grabbed your face by the cheeks and forced your head towards the stairs.

The girl in white stood there, watching everything with frightened eyes.

You gasped.

She had noticed.

Drolta chuckled.

“We know we can hurt you as we please, dear Ruby… but her? How much do you think she can handle?” You felt the warm press of her lips on your cheek. “Will you condemn her to a slow, horrid death in the name of your bravery?” She whispered, her voice dripping with mockery.

Your breath came shaky and difficult. The room seemed to blur for a second. You knew she wasn’t bluffing. She never did.

Slowly, you took the book from her hands.

Drolta released you with a satisfied grin. She patted the top of your head.

“Good girl.”

She stepped aside.

Your fingers were shaking. The book was heavy. It smelled of mold.

You sat down on the cool marble floor directly behind Erzsebet, the long skirt cascading around your body. You placed the book in front of you. The paper was yellowed and frail; it might rip off if you touched it. The pages had no images, only text handwritten in red ink.

You didn’t understand the words written. However, for some reason, you could read them clearly, although it sounded like nothing to you. You closed your eyes tightly, silently apologizing again for what you were about to do.

Erzsebet raised her head.

It was your sign.

You started to read the enchantment.

Your voice was nothing but a whisper. As the unknown words left your mouth, an already familiar feeling of disgust grew. You didn’t know what those words meant, but something deep within you – inside that darkened part of your brain where your memories must’ve been hidden – knew you were saying something blasphemous, hideous, something that went against your very nature.

Erzsebet seemed to fall into a trance when she heard those words. She inhaled them – the spell – as if they were smoke. Something as heavy as iron weighed over the hall, making all the spectators apprehensive. The tall, red-haired vampire started to gesticulate with wide, almost dance-like movements.

There was a crack in the air in front of her. Then, as she gesticulated, an orb of pure black and white energy materialized. The spectators gasped in awe.

Her movements became more frantic. The orb grew larger. You kept reading, feeling your throat going dry, your body getting weaker with each word. It’s as if Erzsebet was not only absorbing your words, but also your strength. Your eyes blurred with tears which you blinked rapidly to dissipate.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.

The eclipse started.

Slowly, a shadow made its way to cover the moon.

More gasps of awe.

Forgive me.

“Behold, the Devourer of Light!” Drolta announced with pride and admiration. Erzsebet laughed.

Please, forgive me. I’m sorry.

The curtains were dragged. The windows were opened with a gust of wind. The vampires rejoiced.

You gasped for air.

The enchantment was over. There was no more strength in your body.

You covered your face with your hand, not daring to raise your eyes and see the horde of vampires flying free through the windows. You didn’t pay attention to whomever took you back to your room and locked you there. You didn’t have enough energy to get up from the carpet.

For the first time in days, you closed your eyes and slept - hoping to never wake up again and face the horrors you helped unleash in the world.

There was something wrong.

You felt it in the air. A heavy tension. A strange silence.

That was not what you expected after the eclipse. Usually, what followed was a celebration of the conquer, a banquet filled with hundreds of victims upon whom the vampires feasted. Laughter, music, screams of agony, the horrible stench of blood and carcasses.

But now, it was… eerie.

With your body aching from sleeping on the floor, you glued your head to the door in hopes of getting a clue of what might’ve happened. All you heard were fast steps and shushed whispers. You noticed something was definitely wrong as hours went by and no one came to bring you breakfast.

Is it possible that Erzsebet’s plan – whatever it was – went wrong?

These thoughts churned in your mind as you took off the jewelry, undid the tight hairstyle and took off the under layers of skirt that made the dress puffier. Who could possibly go against Erzsebet or Drolta? At this point, your only memories were of being surrounded by vampires. The few humans you met didn’t last that long. You’ve been around them for long enough to understand that most vampires were only slightly stronger and faster than humans. It wasn’t easy or quick to become powerful – and the Vampire Messiah had some fairly powerful servants under her command. In fact, you didn’t think anyone could be more powerful than Drolta. Erzsebet could summon an eclipse, but she didn’t seem to be as experienced in battle as her right hand woman.

As far as your suspicions went, you could be sure that, unfortunately, the insufferable red-haired vampire wasn’t defeated. There were still guards outside your doors. Whatever happened, it wasn’t enough to stop her from accomplishing her… plan.

Sitting in front of the dressing table while you untied one of the braids in your head, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Without the rouge, the jewelry, the neat hairstyle. You were just a shell of a woman, really. Whenever you had enough time to really think about your life – in those brief moments when you weren’t in the brink of unconsciousness or fighting against the pain –, the only thing you could feel was… frustration. It wasn’t even sadness or hatred, only plain frustration. You knew there was something wrong with your head. You knew that immense void in your memory couldn’t be normal. Still, there was nothing you could do about it. They never gave you time to think, to maybe plan an escape strategy. But even if you did – how could you actually run away? You didn’t have the strength to face a vampire head on, even the “weak” ones. And you knew the types of punishment you’d be put through if you were caught.

You always healed, yes. But it didn’t make the pain less painful. Drolta could be very creative in her ways of ensuring your utter submission.

In the end, you were reminded of why you always chose to sleep through most of your sanity. While awake, you were constantly reminded of your current situation and your inability to change it. At least while you slept, you had… peace.

The clock on the wall hit noon. Your stomach was empty, yet you didn’t know if you wanted to eat.

That’s when you caught something with the corner of your eye.

It was quick and silent – barely a flap of wings. You turned your head in time to see a strange mass of black materializing in your room, passing through the breach of the window.

Your eyes widened. Your heart jumped.

That mass took the form of a man.

Your immediate feeling was fear. That was, very clearly, a vampire. His skin was pale as snow, just like his long hair, which cascaded over his broad shoulders. His eyes were hazel, almost golden; they seemed to glow faintly under the shadow cast over his face. He was tall. His attire was black from head to toe – boots, gloves, jacket, cape. He had a calm, yet ferocious expression – analytical, even – as his eyes locked onto yours. He held a long silver sword, its tip pointed directly at you.

The obvious threat in his position should frighten you even more. But that was not was you focused on.

Sunlight hit him through the windows, casting a halo on the back of his head. His hair shimmered with the glow of a million silver coins. It made him look… holy. Like the frescoes you had seen of the Christian God painted on the ceiling of a church Erzsebet once destroyed.

How… how could he…?

“You can come with me peacefully.” He said quietly. His voice was deep. Husky. He almost sounded… calm. But you wouldn’t let yourself be fooled by that; it was unyielding as stone. The stranger didn’t blink for a moment, his eyes tracking your every small movement like a tiger stalking its prey.

He was, in fact, not giving you a choice. The sword in his hand, unwavering and pointed at you, made that very clear.

Your breath got caught in your throat.

There were many things you could’ve said. You knew that man could and would hurt you if you moved too abruptly. Barely five seconds in his presence and you understood: like Drolta, he wasn’t one to bluff.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel more afraid, because as he spoke, you caught a glimpse of his fangs – and that other feeling grew stronger.

Curiosity.

“Y-You’re a vampire. How are you standing in the sunlight?” was all you could mutter in frightened amazement.

The stranger didn’t drop his threatening position, yet he tightened his eyes in a subtle sign of surprise. It seemed that your sudden question caught him off guard.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, keeping the same tone. It was your turn to frown. You clasped your hands together, resting them over your legs, and shook your head. How and why would you know him?

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes even more. It looked like he was searching for something, inspecting you with a new type of interest.

“I find it hard to believe that one of Erzsebet’s servants wouldn’t know of me by now.”

You gulped, tightening your own clasped hands.

“I… don’t know many things, sir.”

The stranger still watched you, in silence, for a few more seconds. It hit you in that moment the reason for his apparent confusion. He expected you to fight him.

Then, he straightened his position. You eyes widened with apprehension and shock when he let go of his long sword and it floated – the weapon stood with its hilt turned to the ceiling a few centimeters away from the floor, emitting an eerie metallic sound as it moved.

The man approached you. He was silent – so silent that, if you weren’t directly looking at him, you probably wouldn’t know someone was moving in the same room as you. As if he had dropped that ferocity, he sat down on the bed in front of you with a newly serene expression.

“I was rude in my approach. My apologies.” his voice mirrored the serenity of his face. “I am Alucard.”

Your breath got caught in your throat once more.

You didn’t know what was more shocking. His sudden change in behavior, his absolute calm while in enemy territory… or the fact that he was beautiful.

Again – you were more used to vampires than humans at this point. Every vampire had an uncanny beauty to them. They were attractive and scary at the same time. While you could see and sense very well that this man still represented danger… the “uncanny” aspect didn’t apply to him. He looked young (being a vampire, that didn’t mean much), a man of soft yet striking features.

Ethereal was the word you were looking for.

You noticed that he was paying attention if you were going to react to his name, which you didn’t. You also noticed that he was waiting for you to present yourself as well. Slow reactions. You weren’t used to talking.

“My name is…” your words trailed off.

For the first time, you averted your eyes from his, grabbing the blue fabric of your skirt in discomfort.

“They call me Ruby, sir.”

The man – Alucard – quirked one eyebrow slightly. “Is it not your real name?”

You sighed tiredly. “I don’t think so. No.”

Alucard hummed. His voice was so deep that it seemed to reverberate in your bones. He crossed his arms. “And do you have any idea of why I am here, Maybe-Ruby?”

The unexpected humorous way in which he called you caught you by surprise. Still, once more, you gulped, apprehension growing yet again.

“To… get revenge, I suppose?” The vampire looked genuinely confused for the first time. His quirked eyebrow was an unspoken question. It made you avoid his eyes once again, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. “For the eclipse.”

He went silent for some moments.

“Did you cause the eclipse?” You heard a sting of danger in his question that only made your heartbeat increase.

“I helped. Somehow.”

“Why?” He was growing more inquisitive.

“I didn’t have a choice, sir.” You blurted out nervously.

Alucard hummed yet again.

When he let out a tired sigh, you finally looked back at him.

“To answer my previous question,” he said as he got up from the bed. “I came here to kidnap you. But it looks like I’m saving you, as Erzsebet seems to be as much of a threat to you.”

You gasped, widened you eyes.

He… he wanted to take you out of here?

The anxiety made your fingers shake. You felt nervous, excited, hopeful… scared. Hell, were you scared. How in the world would this man take you out of here alive? Floating sword or not, did he even stand a chance against Drolta?

“However, I will need your help in return, Ruby,” Alucard continued, now looking back at the windows. “I see you don’t know many things, but I’d appreciate if you made some effort. Now, let’s go. I’m already abusing the opportunity my associate gave me…”

“Wait.”

You grabbed his wrist in a desperate move.

Alucard looked at your hands, then at you – once again, confused and shocked.

You were shaking.

“Thank you for your help, sir. You are very kind.” you managed to blurt out somehow. “B-But I don’t think Erzsebet will ever let me go. She… she has very powerful servants. One of them, Drolta… she will hunt me to the ends of the earth. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, sir.”

You didn’t dare to look up at him.

Perhaps you were being too emotive. You barely knew this man at all; what proof did you have that he wasn’t as cruel as the vampires that were keeping you imprisoned? But at least – and for the first time you could remember – he was somewhat kind to you. He didn’t offend you, didn’t physically hurt you… and that alone was much more than anyone had offered for as long as you knew.

Maybe he could get out of here safely. He wouldn’t have Erzsebet and her entourage hunting him down. Maybe he still had a chance-

Your train of thought derailed the moment you heard his… chuckle.

Your heart jumped within your chest the moment he, with much delicacy, put his own gloved hand over yours and squeezed it reassuringly.

You finally looked up.

Alucard had a small smile on his lips. It wasn’t one of the mean, mocking smirks you were used to. The suspicion disappeared from his eyes, his eyebrows were not longer tense. He looked… gentle. More than that… there was a glint of humor in his eyes, as if he found the situation funny.

The sun that streamed through the windows seemed to shine even brighter, surrounding his entire figure in golden glow that matched his eyes. Yes, he looked holy. Otherworldly.

“I won’t get hurt,” he assured with tenderness. “And neither will you.”

Time itself seemed to stop at that moment.

He didn’t boast about being all-powerful. And you realized that he didn’t need to. Underneath his gentle eyes, you saw unwavering confidence; quiet, motionless and imposing like a mountain. In a way, it was much more menacing than any of Erzsebet’s scandalous actions or bloodbaths.

And for the first time, such menace wasn’t directed at you. It was on your favor.

That was your chance. The only real chance you ever got as far as your frail memory knew. A chance of living in a world where you didn’t have to follow the three survival rules.

Don’t fight. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.

But you wanted to fight. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.

You wanted to live.

So when Alucard offered his hand, you took it and got up from the chair.

You didn’t need to say anything. The silver-haired vampire nodded with satisfaction as his sword companion floated closer to him.

“Let’s go.”

Then, you followed Alucard towards the sun – towards the dawn of a new life.

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #castlevania alucard #alucard adrian tepes #castlevania x reader #I AM ACTUALLY VERY EXCITED ABOUT THIS FIC YALLLLL #IT'S BEEN A WHILE!!!!#i will edit that cover tho after my photoshop stops acting up

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phyrestartr · 1 month ago

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Deal With It (P.1) | Gojo x M!Reader |

W/C: 2.8k C/W: depictions of self-harm, depictions of depression, poor mental health, stress, mental illness, arranged marriage, hostile relationships, smoking, language, violence Tags: SFW, hurt/comfort, drama, canon-typical violence, character growth, eventual romantic feelings, eventual fluff and good vibes, kouhai gojo, senpai reader, plot and lore

Tag List: @pleniluneg4ze @aizen-lover @easnowpw @tomiokasecretlover @snoweclipsese @mef0rg0r @soulsire @kiiyoooo @reiluvr @fricking-ur-mom @cucumbertoptier @enchantingkitty @mira-la-sol @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @animadi888 @cloudserenity @sageofspades @dietothemusic @prettorett @animadi888 @playboygeniusphilanthropist @chikai-k @starrykie

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.”

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day.

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but.

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.”

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.”

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it?”

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?”

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.”

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.”

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice.

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found blood coating the tips.

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.”

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him.

Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day.

—

“Sorry about Satoru,” Getou said. He'd found you outside, tucked close against the stone wall with a cigarette in your mouth as you watched the downpour. Apparently, he liked the rain, too.

“You don't need to apologize,” you said after a drag. “It's not your fault.” Probably.

The younger sorcerer smiled a little bit wider. “In a way, it almost is; Satoru wouldn't be coming after you if it weren't for my, ah, sheer existence, I guess you could say.”

You shrugged. “You didn't ask to exist,” you said, secretly cringing as the words left your mouth.

Getou laughed. “Ho, that's a good point, I didn't think about it that way.” Another chuckle left him as he leaned against the wall beside you and stared at the rain. “It's definitely Satoru's fault, then.”

You hummed in agreement and offered him a cigarette. He blinked, but plucked one out of the box and looked it over before fumbling to tuck the end into his mouth as you held the lighter's flame out for him. You blocked the wind as he leaned in and inhaled deeply until the butt hissed to life with molten red. A beat later, Getou sputtered and coughed wildly, waving his hand through the air to dismiss your stare and the smoke's mockery.

You frowned. “You don't smoke?”

Your company wheezed and laughed, leaning back against the wall with a humbled smile. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said. “You and Ieiri—I feel like I never see either of you without a cigarette.”

“Life’s stressful, I guess.” You looked at the half-spent smoke in your hand, exhaling smoke through your nose as you thought.

You saw Getou lean in out of the corner of your eye. His dark hair brushed against your shoulder, though it could have just been the wind, too. “It doesn't affect you?”

“Shoko reverses the negatives,” you grumbled. You stuck the cigarette into the corner of your mouth again before pocketing your hands. “Lung cancer would be an easier out than getting ripped to shreds by a curse, besides.”

“Ho? You think so?” Getou teased. “You don't think you'd go mad? Laying in bed, suffocating in your own body, just waiting to die?”

You shrugged. “It's a human way to go, at least. Random. Maybe self-imposed, sometimes. But…normal.”

Time slowed for a second as Getou stared at you. You hazarded a look for once in your life, and caught the enigmatic thing's warm, obsidian eyes. They gave you pause, made you wonder, sent your mind reeling as you caught glints of jagged edges disrupting smooth, volcanic glass.

“Are you alright?” You asked without thinking.

Getou blinked, then smiled. “I just think you're interesting, senpai.” He glanced down at the smoldering stick caught between his fingers. “It's a surprise, to be honest. I think Satoru'll be in good hands with you.”

You stared down at the puddle pooling around your boots. Another self stared back, his image ruined and distorted by raindrops crashing into him, yet he was still clearer than the version trapped in your skull. Maybe the mirrored image was your real self, and you were just the distortion. “I don't have much of a choice, I guess. But I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all we can really hope for with partners, right?”

“Right.” A moment passed. “You’re oddly okay with this.”

“I’m not taking it personally,” Getou said. “How can I? Neither of you want to do this, anyway—you hardly even tolerate each other in the first place, and now Satoru’s gone extra crazy about it.”

The ground felt a little more solid under your feet, and you were a little more real, after those words were spoken. Even the reflection in the puddle grew clearer, revealing fresh colours once concealed by grey thoughts. Something would drain the world of its saturation again, but that moment would stay with you until that day came.

“Thanks,” you said with some difficulty. “The thought’s appreciated.”

“It’s the least I can do.” His hand clasped your shoulder and squeezed gently. You forced yourself not to shrink away from it like a slug trying to flee a grain of salt. “Thanks for putting up with him, senpai. Most people aren’t so charitable. Besides,” he said, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against your ear, “I get whatever Satoru gets, and you get whatever he has, no? What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours, and all that?”

Heat scattered across your face and prickled the length of your spine. You were foolish to forget that Getou was a menace, just like Gojo, yet somehow more lethal.

“Sure.” You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at him. It’d be a death sentence. “You’ll get as much as he gets, I guess.”

Getou chuckled and backed off. “We’ll see.”

–

Gojo threw open the door to your room and zoomed inside, socked feet sliding against smooth hardwood. “It’s me!”

He slipped and fell as soon as you turned to look at him. “It’s you.” You snatched your walkman out of the air as it tipped off your desk following the sorcerer's tumble. “Why is it you?”

“Rude!” Gojo spat out in-between his pained whining. “I'm your fiancé! I'm allowed to be here!”

“That's not really how that works.” You watched Gojo melt into a starfish, stomach down, cheek smooshed against the floorboards.

And you turned away, back to your work of flipping through astronomical charts and comparing the dates and info with the briefs sent to you, the one third year who bothered to stay. The admins relied on you too much, yet thankfully left the role of guidance counselor and teacher to someone older and more tolerant like Yaga. Still, the sparks of hope that were Utahime and Shoko promised some future relief for—

“Mou, why aren't you more concerned for your fiancé’s well-being?” Gojo whined.

“I'm more concerned about your sudden desire for me to be concerned,” you offered.

Gojo gasped and sat up in a whirlwind. “I never said I desired your concern! That's so salacious.”

“Is this because Getou spoke with me?” You asked, leaning back into your chair with a sigh.

“No!” He rebuked. “Maybe,” he said. “You better not be trying to win him over ‘cause you’re jealous.”

“I’m not interested in him,” you snapped. “I’m not interested in you.”

“Hmmm, sounds fake. Everyone loves me.”

“Right.”

“You think there’s any chance they’ll call off the engagement?”

“No.”

“Can’t you, like, look into the future and figure it out?”

You frowned and sent him a look. “What?”

Gojo swayed side to side, hands tucked in the middle of his criss-crossed legs like a kindergartener. “Isn’t that your thing?” He huffed. “Doing pre-op stuff, predicting future events, never really going out on missions ‘cause you’re low-key kinda weak in the field?” A ghoulish snicker left him. “I mean, you’re waaay weaker than me, so—”

“I don’t divine for myself,” you said, voice sharp and jagged. “I help avoid disasters. I help foresee assignment outcomes and the best way to move towards or away from them. I don’t—” You swallowed and caught your breath. “I don’t divine the fates of people.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Gojo said, sobering slightly. “I don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna do this, why don’t you just check and see how we can avoid it, huh? This is kind of a natural disaster in its own way.”

“It’s just an arrangement,” you rasped. “You’ll get over it.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Gojo frowned in return. “I’m gonna be the strongest sorcerer in the world. I don’t have to settle for an arranged marriage.”

Your heart thudded dully in the back of your skull, its rising pace shaking the cage keeping it safe. Your throat tightened, too, while your thoughts warped and rippled into one another like your reflection, unable to stay whole under the devastation of falling rain, until you heard everything but nothing at once.

Your face must have done something strange for Gojo to look at you like you were a kicked puppy. You hated it, the way his expression flickered and the way his posture lost its self-righteous poise despite his childish way of sitting. He looked less-than. You didn’t mean to make him look that way.

“I—” He tried, but you raised a hand. He fell silent.

“I’ll look into it,” you said. “You’ll know if I find anything.”

If Gojo said anything more, you didn't hear it. You shut the rest of the world out and lost yourself in the positions of planets and the elements of each sorcerer available for future missions, comparing and contrasting the direction of energies to decide who would be best suited for which job. Losing your mind in the charts and data calmed your mind and spirit, easing you back down to an equilibrium until the sun rose again and you’d forgotten the turmoil of the hours before.

Morning already. You squinted looking out your window and closed the blinds with a quick snap. Right after the blinds settled, you heard a snore.

Gojo Satoru was asleep in your bed. His gangly arms hugged a pillow to his chest as he laid on his side, facing your way. The odd sight of peace on the younger sorcerer's face drew you in, bringing you close enough to get a good look at the snowy lashes resting against porcelain skin. He always looked odd to you, as though he were some kind of inhuman human, like an alien trying to put on the guise of your fellow terrans. But he was very much human; the glimpses caught of him during a distantly shared childhood proved as much.

I don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna do this, why don’t you just check and see how we can avoid it, huh?

You'd never tell him you already tried to divine that. You could never relay properly how your mind burned with ways to discount your work and force self-doubt into what you knew to be true time after time after time; you were going to marry him. There was no way out.

But there were still some things you could judge.

You sat down at your desk and skimmed through files until you happened upon Getou Suguru. Your heart hit your ribs a little faster, a little harder, as you found his birthdate and recognized his element as metal. It suited him. Gojo, on the other hand, held earth energy. That coupled with the more Western-normalized fire sign Sagittarius, explained him in a way that could be regarded as violating by those who didn't understand.

You rubbed your brows and squeezed your eyes closed until sparking colours and inky black splotches danced against your eyelids. Charting the stars, understanding people, contrasting energies and suggesting changes to ensure favourable outcomes—all were the culmination of onmyoudou, the ancient art that carved the path and existence for jujutsu, but people feared an onymoji’s ability to read people more than the destruction caused by sorcerers. Onmyoji helped empires move, assisted in bringing them good fortune and positive outcomes; they could foretell what a person should and shouldn’t do. Clairvoyance born from calculations, and the wielding of shikigami by those clairvoyants, reeked of power and the abuse of it.

Curiosity wrenched your eyes back open. You blinked away the stars and darkness until your vision and mind cleared enough to let you draw up a timeline of events and planets you’d already looked over a thousand times.

You frowned and double checked, triple checked, quadruple checked the facts after a first look. You glanced at birthdates again and again. You looked for anomalies in the calendar and cross-referenced your sources. All stayed the same, all were as they’d been five and sixty minutes ago—you were too good at your job to be wrong, yet you still always held out hope for errors and your own incompetency.

You leaned back in your chair and picked at a hangnail. You can always redirect energy for the sake of a client, you recalled; your mother had taught you as much. It might not be perfect, but we can try. You pulled at the sliver of skin until you gouged it out of your finger, leaving a bloody wound and a shred of relief in its wake.

You jumped as your door slid open to reveal Yaga. His train of thought stopped dead in its tracks as he spied the bratty Gojo curled up in your bed, snoozing without a care.

“What the hell is he doin’ here?” Your teacher groused.

“He came in to harass me, I guess,” you said. “Then apparently fell asleep when I started ignoring him.”

“Hah. Yeah, that kid can't function unless someone's giving him attention.” Your superior sighed and crossed his arms. “Anyway, you have those predictions?”

“Yeah, I—yeah, just one second.” You rubbed your eyes and begged the rest of your lifeforce to lock it in as you saved documents and compiled them in an email for all the higher-ups to view. Something about the process made your spine rattle; it must have been the fear of not CC-ing someone by accident. “Sent.”

Yaga checked his phone as it dinged. He took a moment to skim through the forecast and nodded, letting you stand impatiently before him.

“Looks like you touched on everything,” he said as he tucked his phone away. “Good job. Now get some rest, you look like shit.”

Yaga took his leave, and you stared at the oversized baby hogging your bed.

Rest. You nudged and pushed Gojo into the wall before collapsing beside him. Right.

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arminsumi · 1 year ago

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growing up with gojo satoru.

NOTE: it's a trash draft abt growing up with gojo and he had a crush on u since ever or smth idk i think it's a potential backstory for a fic?? 👍🗑️

you and satoru have known each other since you were toddlers because the gojo family and your family are very close. he was born just two years after you.

growing up, he was the richest and snobbiest and snottiest. but he could be charming if he needed to be. formal when he needed to be. just not to you, his closest friend. his only friend growing up.

satoru greatly enjoyed picking on you. he annoyed you to death. chasing you down the halls while your parents had tea together. tripping you. ruffling your hair. stealing your sweets and putting them above his head once he had hit that big growth spurt and you could no longer reach them. "accidentally" spilling tea all over your new kimonos. bringing bugs to you just to freak you out.

but that was just all the annoying childhood memories that you dwelled on. if you asked your parents, you'd hear stories of how you and satoru were inseparable; jointed at the hip, the one never strayed too far from where the other was. where you went, he followed without missing a step and vice versa. often you'd be holding hands without realizing. you remember your grandparents laughing and teasing the two of you about that many times, and then you and satoru would throw each other disgusted looks and let go of each other's hands — only to resume that fingerlocking a few minutes later. it was subconscious for him to stick so close to you.

dwelling on the bad memories detracted you from remembering all the good memories.

the times satoru comfortingly slept at your side when you stayed the night during a thunderstorm at his house. all the times he stood up for you and faced off with that brat sukuna. how suguru would console and hug you while satoru threw fists with the other boy; always, always emerging victorious and bearing a triumphant, almost cocky smirk at you. albeit with blood dribbling out of his nose. you remember sukuna always picking on you, but not in the way satoru did; he had a malicious way about it, but satoru's teasing was playful and even cute. he was tasteful with his jokes, never falling victim to crudeness or vulgarity, never genuinely offending you.

and satoru's mother really liked to bring up that satoru had a "boyish crush" on you around the ages 10 - 14. she mentioned it at dinner all the time, when he was reaching the ages of 16 - 18 it really annoyed him.

"i did not have a crush on bugface." he would always deny it. ah, that ancient nickname, the one that still got on your nerves. and it came to be all because a bug landed on your cheek one day at the riverbank and you didn't notice until satoru pointed it out and burst with laughter.

satoru was gifted. you know, a child prodigy. he was the strongest. and growing up with him, he always used his gifts and strength to protect and care for you, whether it was physically or mentally. throwing fists with people who picked on you, acting like your bodyguard at times even if a boy simply wanted to ask you out on a date. studying with you until you aced your papers so that the both of you could go to the same high prestigious high schools.

albeit he was a bit enigmatic with how he showed his care. it was in the little things. helping you out the river when you fell in when you were twelve, confronting sukuna while you cried in suguru's arms about what he had said about your family, or picking blossoms out your hair.

that last one was something he continued to do through his whole life. whenever a blossom or leaf tangled into your hair, or got caught on your clothes, satoru would very gently pluck it off. he did it so smoothly that you never noticed he was doing it. though sometimes, you'd look at him suspiciously and ask why he was standing so close to you. he'd flick his brows up and hum "nothing."

#🗑️ — trash #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru

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farfromstrange · 7 months ago

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Enduring | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, chronic (lower abdominal) pain, mentions of spotting (blood), self-loathing, allusions to Doctors Not Listening To Patients With A Uterus, health anxiety (warranted), non-sexual intimacy, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proof-read

Summary: You’ve been experiencing chronic lower abdominal pain for years regardless of the point in your menstrual cycle. Some days, it’s worse than others, but when the first heatwave of the year hits New York City and you have another flare-up, your day takes a sudden turn for the worse. Thankfully, Matt is there to comfort you in any way he can.

WC: 3k

A/n: Even though I tagged my tag list, don't read if this could be triggering to you! So, I know pain is a very sensitive subject and everyone experiences it differently. I used my personal experience with pain and chasing a diagnosis to write this. That doesn’t mean it’s the only experience. Lower abdominal pain can have many causes, which is why advice from a medical professional is often necessary. That being said, I know how hard it can be to have been born into a female body and be treated like my pain is worth less for whatever reason just because I was born female. There is no shame in standing up for yourself in a man’s world that completely disregards women’s health. I had to learn it the hard way to the point it has taken a toll on my mental health, so I just needed to write a little comfort piece for my own peace of mind before my appointment on Monday. I wrote this for the sake of getting it out of my system, meaning it’s probably not perfect, but if you can relate to what I said in any way, feel free to read it and make up your own mind. (I will not be posting this on AO3 for now. I hope you can forgive me for that.)

Matt always knows when something is wrong with you.

Sometimes, he can smell it. Other times, it’s the way you taste when you kiss him or the sweat that clings to your skin, or when he goes down on you and your essence is slightly tangier than it was the day before.

Matt knows when you’re ovulating because the changes in your hormones make him go crazier than he already is for you, and he is familiar with the metallic scent of blood when you’re on your period. He can tell when you start sweating more often, when your muscles tense up more than usual, or when you are slightly more emotional. He knows before you even do because he has to.

You are miserable almost every day, really, but more often than not it happens around the time of your period. So, he pays close attention to the signs. When the painkillers stop working, or when you get more tired, or when you stop moving around as much. When you tell him you’re fine even though he can feel the muscles of your abdomen tensing under his touch when he hugs you. When he can tell you have been crying and he wasn’t there to help. He has to know because you need him.

You’re not entirely dependent on him, of course; you have lived on your own before and while it was hell, you pushed through somehow. With him, you don’t have to be alone on the days you can’t get out of bed because the pain keeps you locked in a fetal position, or on the days you have to cower on the bathroom floor until you’re too weak to move. Matt has reached a point of knowing you where his four working senses don’t play much of a role in telling what kind of a day you’re having; he just knows.

Tonight, he senses it when he comes through the door after work, finally escaping the raging heat from the streets that made him feel like he was dying on the commute home. He instantly loosens his tie to get some air into his lungs, feeble fingers working desperately to free himself, but it doesn’t take a second longer for him to realize something is wrong. It is nothing but a mere hunch—some kind of aura that emits from somewhere in the apartment that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He calls your name, frantically searching for your heartbeat. Through the rattling of the fridge as it tries to keep up with the rising temperatures inside, he makes out the rapid drumming of your heart against your ribcage. If you’re not dizzy yet, he thinks, you soon will be.

Upon hearing you huff from the kitchen floor, Matt doesn’t hesitate tossing his bag mindlessly into the nearest corner, followed by his keys before he makes his way to find you. He’s overheated, itchy, and sweating through his clothes, but not anywhere near as desperate as he is to get to you.

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

Hearing the sound of his voice, you realize that what felt like five minutes must have been hours spent on the cool kitchen floor. You can’t even remember how you got there. The hours have blended into minutes, the tiles digging into your sweat-coated skin. You’re curled up in a ball, wearing nothing but one of Matt’s loosest shirts. You couldn’t stand the feeling of a waistband around your stomach, so you took your pants off, changing into the oldest pair of cotton underwear you could find. It’s all soaked by now, and part of you wonders if you did finally get your period or if your pores just decided to drench you for the fun of it.

Everything hurts. Your muscles are tense, yet at the same time they are so incredibly weak, you don’t react when the front door opens. He’s worried, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It is as though the pain has made you entirely apathetic, coiling in your lower stomach and spreading into your legs like a parasite. All you can do is succumb to it.

Matt’s feet come into view. The purple cast of the billboard outside falls upon him, painting the shadow of a halo above his head. It’s ironic, really; the man you love as your knight in shining armor, a Catholic looking like an angel in artificial neon light.

His gentle voice reaches for you, “What’re you doing on the floor?”

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows it is futile, but even that question you don’t know how to answer. What are you doing on the dirty kitchen floor?

You clear your throat, trying to sound nonchalant when you answer, “It’s too hot up there.”

He crouches down. “Just too hot?”

You sigh. “No.”

It was a good day until it wasn’t, and then you were in pain again and all the days you spent feeling a little more like yourself are suddenly gone with the wind. The tears wrap a noose around your neck for the second time today, your eyes burning with faint resistance. Every time you think it gets better, it gets worse again. And every time you try to pretend that maybe things are looking up for you and it isn’t as endless of a pit as you thought, the exact opposite proves itself. You’re tired; you’re in pain and you’re tired and you feel so silly for letting it dim the light Natt pointed out a few days ago that he had so deeply missed, but there is only so much hope you can have.

This isn’t the first time he has found you like this, but it truly never gets easier. Hearing the strain in your voice, the quiver in your entire being as you try to catch your breath, telling yourself not to fucking cry. It never gets easier to know how much you beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Because the doctors that were supposed to listen failed you, and now the road to relief is paved with bricks you can barely climb over. You are on your way now, finally, but the future is still not certain. In the end though, what kills him the most is that he can’t help you.

Matt reaches out, his hand shaking as he aimlessly brushes his fingers over your forehead. “Cramps?” he says.

You nod weakly.

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, and that is when the glass overflows.

With a click of his tongue, he wipes the first of your tears away. His brown eyes bore into your soul, completely bare in front of him. Your body is like a complex crafted melody only he knows how to decipher.

The tears quickly form a barrier between you and the tiles. Matt tilts his head. The faintest hint of copper clings to your skin. “Did you get your period?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just… some spotting.”

“Explains the blood.”

He is way too nonchalant about it, you think. The way he accepts your version of normal even though you feel like a failure trapped in a body that refuses to work like it is supposed to.

“How’d you get here?” he asks again, his voice so soft you want nothing more than to hide your face from him and cry some more.

He refuses to let you go, gripping your chin to the point it almost hurts. “I was trying to do the dishes and then–” a broken sob gets stuck in your throat. “It hurts and it’s hot, and I can’t breathe.”

He gently cradles your face in his hands. “I know,” he says like he can read your mind. And maybe he can.

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I couldn’t stand anymore, so I laid down. On the floor,” you tell him. “I just… I didn’t get anything done today.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I–”

He cuts you off, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t. I can wash the dishes, but I can’t replace you.”

His dedication hurts. You used to be called sensitive and not worth the drama, but with him, you count, and that hurts because you are barely hanging on by a fragile thread. You don’t know how to ever give back to him what he has given you. The countless nights you patched him up after he got his ass handed to him do not seem to matter much compared to what he does for you.

He studies your erratic heartbeat for a moment. “You want a heating pad?” he offers.

You physically cringe at the thought of a hot water bottle when the entire city could function as one, and you are quick to deny, “Too hot.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.” He brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Have you taken anything yet? Advil? Naproxen?”

You growl. “You know none of the pills they gave me fucking work!”

He doesn’t seem deterred by your tone. All he does is smile softly at you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, nothing’s helping,” you retort.

“That why you’re lying on the floor?”

Another tear rolls down your cheek and past your cracked lips. “I told you. Nothing helps.”

Snapping at him for only trying to care may be petty of you, but there is nothing you loathe more than feeling so utterly helpless.

Matt moves closer, your words pearling off of him like he is made of stone. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I try something else?”

The voice in your head is screaming, what else is there to do? You are tired of trying everything and nothing ever working. Two more weeks until you will meet with a new doctor, but those two weeks might actually kill you. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

He sighs, “C’mere.” Without another word from you, Matt slides his arms under your sticky frame and lifts you off the ground. His skin offers a stark contrast from the cold kitchen tiles, but he’s clean, and he smells like home. Not this place, not this city, but him.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” is all he tells you.

Your brain is too slow to even dare protest. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on unsteady legs.

“May I?” he asks. You nod, but even as he pulls his shirt over your head, he doesn’t once let go of you.

You close your eyes. The pain in your abdomen is dull yet searing. You try to focus on anything else, but just when you think it’s getting better, it breaks through again, burning through you like a wildfire on the blade of a hot knife. And that makes you sad. It makes you so sad and angry you don’t know what to do with yourself. You want to scream and cry and tear the apartment apart, but you’re exhausted and tired and you know that if this pain keeps rippling through you, you might fall apart.

You hate when he sees you like this. When you’re falling apart and there’s nothing either of you can do, and you blame yourself even though there is nothing to blame yourself for. Matt knows that. You sometimes wonder if you are a burden to him and he just won’t tell you because he doesn’t know when to stop. To stop caring, to stop helping, to stop trying to change everything. But then again, he has always told you that loving you isn’t a burden. If you get lost in the what ifs, you might actually fall apart.

“I’m gonna start a cool bath,” Matt murmurs next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts with his gentle baritone of a voice. “Just stay here.”

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. The thought of immersing yourself in cool water, even for a few minutes, seems like a small mercy.

Water starts to run in the distance. His belt hits the floor, followed by the fabric clinging to his skin. You’re afraid you might get dizzy if you open your eyes. Dizzy because of the pain. Dizzy because of him.

The cabinet behind you rattles when he reaches for it. “Claire gave them to me, but you took these before,” he says, skillfully working on the cap of an orange capsule. “They’re a bit stronger than Advil.”

You don’t protest, you simply let him place one of the pills in the palm of your hand. He is right behind you with his hand on your waist when you take them, swallowing with a handful of water. There’s nothing sexual in the way he touches you, just a tenderness born from years of knowing each other’s bodies inside and out.

Maybe that is why you could never be a burden to him; he has felt like one for most of his life, and the last thing he wants is for his love to feel the same way. And he needs you to remind him that he is everything to you, too, his hands never wavering when they find your skin. You’re his lifeline as much as he is yours.

The cold water hits the inside of the bathtub, pattering down like raindrops on a windowpane. Matt gently tugs you closer to him and guides you toward the tub. At first, when he lifts you in, the cool water is a shock to your overheated skin, but it doesn’t take long for you to welcome the change in temperature.

He eases you between his legs once he is sat, your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hands come to rest on your lower stomach, close enough to allow you to pull your legs up to your chest. It’s the only position that doesn’t hurt.

You remember nights spent crammed in the same position, not because of you but because of his nightmares. The roles were reversed then. When it’s too hot outside, he needs the world on fire to burn a little less bright. Today, you finally realize what he must feel like on days like these.

“How’s that?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod. “Better,” you whisper. Better isn’t perfect, but the pain is just dull now, and the gentle movement of his fingers against your sore muscles lulls you into a state where you can breathe. It’s not perfect, but it is as good as it gets.

Your head falls back against his collarbone. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him.

He shushes you, lips moving to your temple. The gesture is supposed to say, don’t thank me. But it feels wrong not to.

You lift your head enough to look at him, finally, your eyes fluttering open to look back into his hazel orbs. “Matt…”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you confess. It’s a truth you’ve grappled with, the stark realization that his presence has become indispensable. It is a burden, to be loved so fiercely, as much as it is an addiction. Because a life without him seems like a sheer impossibility you don’t ever want to face again.

Matt holds his lips against your skin, smiling. “Good thing you never have to find out, hm?”

You chuckle weakly. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“Then I’ll be sick of you for a few hours,” he says, “and you’ll be sick of me ‘til we’re not.”

Your eyes roam his face for any indication that he might not be telling the truth. “That easy?” you ask.

He nods, fingers coming up to find your lips. He touches them for a moment, exploring the soft skin there. Instead of kissing you though, he halts.

“What?” You frown.

Matt shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re gonna be okay,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

A whimper breaks from your chest. He believes it wholeheartedly, but it is incredibly hard to hear it out loud because you don’t believe it. You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way,” you whisper. “I wish I could be… normal.”

Again, he nods, fingers brushing over your cheek to catch a stray tear. “You are normal,” he insists softly. “Your pain doesn’t make you any less. And ‘cause I know how strong you are, I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Even if I’ll be ill for the rest of my life? Even if I–”

“Of course,” he stops you. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. Not ‘even if’ but regardless of whether it’s endometriosis or… or something else. Your pain is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. I love all of you.”

There is no stopping the avalanche of tears that is forced down the hill by his words. They hit you harder than an arrow to the heart.

You crack under the weight of your emotions. “I love you,” you whisper. Those three words mean the world, but they feel inadequate to describe what you feel.

“I know,” says Matt. “I love you too.”

The once open wounds of the blood you shed just to find him are nothing but scars now—scars you can learn how to live with once you accept that there is nothing wrong with you. Being a human being with an illness, both mentally and physically, doesn’t make you any less worthy of love. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of life.

With Matt by your side, you are no longer alone in this. You have him, all of him, and that makes all the difference.

Matt Murdock (Angst) Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @abucketofweird

Also tagging: @moncherriis

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x afab!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #hurt/comfort #charlie cox #chronic pain

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lara4eclipze · 3 months ago

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“i love you”

sypnosis -» "I don't care what they say — I love you that's what matters" you scolded manon

beware! -» fluff , angst , crying , comfort, sick , swearing, cyber bullying, stupid hoes

talks -» hey so recently manon got sick and she couldn't attend the MAMA Awards — some lame hoes decided to use this as a way to hate her , friendly fucking reminder she's a person not a fuckin' robot stupid bitches , I hope y'all burn btw...!

taglist (open) -» @nyssalvr @ohmyhaely @vrtualstar @c-yerim @jellaaa

it wasn't much of a secret that the girls especially lara and manon got so much hate when the documentary got released — death threats , bullying , racism and etc — it took a toll out of their mental health especially since they were just getting started being an idol

recently katseye got invited to perform at the MAMA Awards , this was big the MAMA Awards is one of the biggest award ceremony in korea — so the girls spent weeks practicing their presentation for the awards

many sleepless nights and hours upon hours of practice took a negative turn for manons body — just two days before the awards she had to announce her mini hiatus due to her having a fever

obviously she was devastated, but she knew the rest of the girls were gonna do good—although she wished that she could also perform

"babyy i miss you :((" manon texts you , it was pretty early so you went to their dorms , you drive faster than usual sensing something was wrong

you knock on the door waiting for her to open it—well what greeted you was manon sniffling with a blanket draped over her frame

"baby what's wrong??" you ask entering the abode , she hugs you not muttering a word , as your shirt absorbed her tears , you held her head closer to you but you felt like she was burning "your burning up , are you alright?— did you take your medicine yet?" a motherly way of concern starts to take over you

"i-im okay" she sniffles yet again , finally she lifts up her head — her eyes were puffy her nose red and her face coated with her tears

"no you're not baby , tell me what's bothering you?" you sternly said to her , you both sat down on the couch with her clung onto you

"I just - I saw videos and comments that I wasn't sick that I was just lazy but I'm not!—i work as hard as everyone does!" manon exclaims her hands flailing around , angry and upset tears leaving her eyes as she stumbled over her words

"I know , you shouldn't care about what they say — they're just jealous of you" you said comforting her , her frown deepens "no they just hate me" she says , your heart breaks at everything manon had to endure

"I don't care what they say — I love you that's what matters , not some stupid comment made by someone who probably can't achieve the things you have" you scolded — her tears soon dried up and a smile forms on her face

"I love you too" she smiles , her lips now on yours as a tint of pink made it's way to your cheeks — "now take your medicine" you mutter , she groans

"it tastes like shit — I'm not even over exaggerating it" manon mumbles pouting at you

"language and no just because you look cute doesn't mean you won't take your medicine" you chuckle at her attempt to stop you from making her drink her medicine

"no fair"

"you're sick not me"

after watching a movie and finally making manon drink some paracetamol — she peacefully falls asleep whilst her head was on your lap , you made a soothing motion on her scalp

"you're so pretty" you mumble looking at her peaceful face

sometimes you wish that manon didn't go thru the dream academy, or even became a member if you only knew it meant her being bullied online — yet your thankful that she was with people that loved her , eyekons, katseye, and you

manon deserves where she is now ,no one and I mean no one could tell you otherwise — she worked hard and shed her blood sweat and tears for this and for that you are proud of her

#manon katseye #meret manon #katseye imagines #katseye x reader #katseye fluff #manon x reader

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 months ago

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HELLO!

Thought of asking you bc I ADORE your writing, the way you write the NikPrice ship is by far my fav, I would've wrote it myself but I love your way of writing more heh.

BUT price, having a nightmare or ptsd attack at night, but not waking nik up nor does he wake up. Prob just stirred a bit. But he doesn't end up telling him, cause hes a big strong boy he doesn't want to show nik how vulnerable he really is. But nik notices how tense he is during the day, which ofc worries him. Que the emotional conversation maybe a cry and long hug :3

If you haven't written something like this anyway! Also ty for the follow made me giggle and die a bit inside from happiness <3

Thank you for this prompt and your fic is below, but! Please write. Write your heart out, bud. No one can write like you do and the world is richer for having your art in it. So please. Write this too. Even if just for yourself.

Price spent three years in a Gulag. That leaves a mark.

cw: PTSD, nightmares, mention of torture, dissociation, depersonalisation, shameless canon blending.

"Prisoner 627, confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-5-1-2-1-0."

A rib cracked. He spat blood onto the table next to the file. The ropes around his wrists tightened.

"Prisoner 627, confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-5-"

He bit through his bottom lip when the fist landed. Someone stepped forward to intervene. You don't break their faces because then they can't talk. Interrogation 101. He coughed. More blood, and they yanked him upright by the hair.

"Svyazat yego."

The chair clattered to the floor as he was pulled from it. The ropes cut only for his hands to be chained above his head. The same knife sliced his shirt off, the rags falling around his shoulders. Metal tools rattled to his left, the embers from the nearby fire stirred by an iron.

"Last chance, prisoner 627," his interrogator held the list of names in front of his face. He recognised five of them. He had attended the wedding of one, "confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Cap--"

His voice broke as pain tore through his back.

Price woke tangled in damp sheets, his body paralysed. The scream couldn't even rip out of his throat because his lungs needed air to make noise. Through sheer force of will, he drew his first shuddering breath, pulling himself back from the precipice.

See: digital clock. 04:30.

Taste: dry mouth. Need a drink.

Feel: hot, no; cold... both? Damp sheets.

Hear: breathing, not mine.

Price sat up slowly, forcing movement through his limbs like he was prying them from manacles. The next breath was easier. Burned less. He dropped his face into his palm and shivered in the cold. Feel: cold, he updated on his mental map.

Breathing, not mine. Price looked over his shoulder to the sleeping face of his lover. Half nuzzled into the pillows, his black hair splashed over crisp white cotton, Nikolai was serene. A small mercy.

All the manuals would tell you about wounded soldiers waking screaming and begging in the night, perhaps wetting themselves in terror at the ghosts haunting the inside of their skull. They warned against storing weapons nearby, of sleeping in the same bed as your loved ones in case you lashed out. There was a laundry list of suggested therapies and interventions too.

Sometimes, Price wished he woke screaming, because at least then he would know he was alive. His throat and lungs would burn as he roared, his hands would flail and he would be left panting, raw, but fighting. Alive. Now, in the numb silence, he wasn't sure.

He touched his cold wrist with cold fingers and just felt... cold. Like an absence of something. Prisoner 627. No name, no identity; a nothingness stored in a castle with hundreds of other voids where people should have been. Everything human about them stolen away until just the cold and the pain remained.

Price stumbled from the bed, his legs barely working as he groped his way out of his bedroom. He had to sleep with the doors open these days, even on base. Even if it was just a crack, a sliver, he still needed to be able to lift his head and see an escape. A beyond the little box room of his quarters. Not imprisoned, not restrained.

His feet registered the change from carpet to tile as he navigated his way down the hall to his flat's little kitchenette. Lit by the full moon streaming in through the balcony door, Price managed to fill the kettle and set it to boil.

There was a small blue light inside - one of those modern glass varieties that showed all the bloody limescale on the inside - and it illuminated Price's face against the black laminate of the back splash behind the hob. Price stared at the phantom image, blue and featureless, and saw nothing of himself.

He remembered being rescued, watching the castle fall to the joint task force attacking it, but when you spent three years bleeding in a place, did all of you really ever get to leave? When they spent those three years chipping away at you, breaking parts off, what was left to bring back at all?

As he stared at the ghostly blue outline of his own face, he felt a disconnect. A hollowness where that familiarity with self should be. Lost in the cold and the dark. Prisoner 627.

The kettle clicked loudly in the silence and he startled. His heart beat hard against his rib cage, felt like a distant echo, and he drew another deep sigh. Numb fingers pawed at the cupboards and he found his Liverpool FC mug, the one his sister had got him for his birthday while he'd still been in training at Sandhurst. There was a chip missing out the rim, dark stains and scrapes in the ceramic at the bottom that would never wash out; evidence of hundreds of cups drunk, a small shard of a life lived. An anchor to himself.

As he poured the water over the tea bag and dumped four teaspoons of sugar in, Price fluttered his fingers through the steam, rubbing his thumb through the dampness it left on the tips and letting the sensation crackle through his nerves. He drew another breath and muttered, "Price, Jonathan, Captain..." Prisoner 627.

He cupped both hands around the mug and carried it slowly, stumbling, towards the balcony window. The sky wasn't quite dark anymore, but a fuzzy, ashen grey. His eyes turned east. And he waited.

Waited...

Unmoving. Frozen in place. Like the cold had taken root and turned him to stone. The only things that kept him anchored were the cooling mug of tea clasped between two hands and the yellow light bleeding over the rooftops of the Clydeside.

The sun chased the dark away across the sky, bleeding an ombre of fire into the midnight black. With the sun came the heat. He couldn't feel it though. One hand left the mug, alive with warmth, and played in the dust motes illuminated by the morning light. They whirled around his fingers in white spirals, untouchable light.

He turned the key in the balcony doors and staggered outside, thrusting his arm into the dappled orange light passing through his neighbours fluttering laundry. "Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-" he leaned over, and--

"John!"

Nikolai's hand wrapped his elbow, pure, scorching heat and strength, and it knocked the breath from Price's lungs. He nearly dropped his mug, but Nik caught that too, scooping beneath it as he drew Price to him in a bear hug.

His ear fell against Nik's chest, listening to his heart thundering on the inside. Ba-dm-ba-dm. Price's hand lifted and buried itself in dark chest hair, feeling it run between his fingers, soft, warm. The sensation rolled through him, cracking away the ice, and he turned his face into it with a shivering gasp.

Alive.

I'm alive.

The mug clattered on the glass surface of the little balcony table they had smoked at only the night before, Price lost in his thoughts while Nikolai had watched him pensively from the other chair. Both big hands now free, one stroked up his back to grasp his neck, and he shuddered again.

Nik looked terrified, his usually calm eyes blown wide, glistening. "You nearly fell," Nik said, so softly, and yet so clear. So real. Price touched his lips, relaxing into his hold.

"Was fine, Nik. Just got a bit carried away with the sunrise."

Nik glanced at the rooftops, his brows knitted together. "It is... pretty, but better viewed from inside, hm?"

"Yeah, s'pretty chilly out here, ain't it?"

Nik hesitated before he let go and Price missed the warmth of his arms immediately. He followed inside, let Nik pull him onto the sofa and drag one of the big fleece blankets over them. The heat of his body as it closed around Price's burned with intensity and a stuttering gasp broke out of his throat. Nik only held him tighter.

Every moment he laid there, wrapped in the bed warm scent, a piece of Jonathan Price thawed. From the tips of his toes to the cheek pressed to Nik's chest, warmth and feeling returned, bringing with it a sense of reality and connection to the world. To himself.

"Why were you on the balcony, John?" Nik asked. Price got a sense that he was afraid of the answer, and wasn't entirely convinced he would be given the truth anyway.

"In Petrovpavlosk, my cell faced east," Price said. "Would watch the sun rise every morning. It was like... No matter what they did, no matter what they broke away, if I could feel the sun on my skin, then I was still alive. Still me. Not just a dead man walkin'."

Nik sighed, burying his face in Price's hair for a few deep breaths. "You thought you were there again?"

"Dunno if I ever really left, Nik."

They held each other in silence as the light continued to creep into the flat, illuminating the empty bottles of beer they had left on the coffee table to clear up. "I sensed these past weeks you have been struggling, I know the anniversary of your escape is soon, and I feared you were..."

"That I was gonna throw myself off an' give Beryl a fright."

"John, do not joke about these things..."

"'m sorry, I... I wasn't gonna do it, Nik. Swear to you. I..." he struggled upright a little and Nik let him go reluctantly, "I struggle in the cold. The winter is... I dunno... it's like the cold makes me think I'm still there. That I never got out. That this," he glanced around the flat, his voice cracking as he spoke, "is just some dream my mind made up to escape to. I... I didn't know whether I was real, whether I was me... or... I didn't... Nik, I didn't know whether I was even alive, I..."

Nik's fingernails raked through his beard and he leaned into it. Felt them graze gently over the soft skin beneath his ear, and then into his hairline to draw him down. He yielded to the kiss, mouth opening desperately to let Nik in; he pawed at Nik's chest, stealing stuttering gasps as their tongues worked together.

He didn't notice the tears until he pulled back and one dripped from his chin to Nik's chest. "You are here, solnyshko. Right here, with me," Nik whispered. "Captain Jonathan Price, serial number 9-0-5-1-2-1-0," Nik took the hand on his chest and placed a kiss to the knuckles, "Bravo Six, you are home."

Price crumpled into Nik's arms and his shoulders shuddered as he sobbed. No longer mute, no longer cold, no longer frozen out of his own fucking body, the raw pain of it sunk its claws in, overwhelming and savage.

Nik's hands stroked down Price's back to the burn scars at the base; an uneven, mottled pattern that stretched over his right hip. The sensation was sporadic, some sensitive, some numb, but the muscles underneath still seized with pain. Nik placed his warm palm over them, chasing away the last shadow of Petrovpavlosk hanging over him.

As the morning ticked over and the rest of the block woke up, Nik dragged Price back to the kitchen and pushed a pan into his hands. He stood behind him, huge body looming as a bulwark, chin on Price's head, hands caressing his belly and chest, as the eggs cooked.

Home, Price's mind offered weakly, battered and bruised from its fight with the cold. Home.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #i got too in my head about it ah-haaa #canon blending yay!

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andre-and-cal · 4 months ago

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TOP CAL AND BOTTOM ANDRE HEADCANONS WHEN?!!?!??!?!?1!1?1!?1!1?!??

Guess who arrived with her top Cal hcs !! :3 I’m so excited,, I hope you guys like these— cuz I gotchu my pookies !! 😼🙏 I hope I could deliver and feed you guys well 😌💪

Lmk if you guys want more !! I’ll get to all requests when I can :3

Top Cal, Bottom Andre

Calvin uses derogatory names to break Andre down to his most raw, exposed self. Cal gets an intense, funky surge of power and control knowing that he is the only one who ever has and who ever will see the real, shielded part of Andre Kriegman— the part Andre had never shown anyone before, except Calvin. Despite many judgmental assumptions of Andre and unfortunate concerns for Cal, the two boys both know what’s true about each other— what really goes on behind closed doors. Andre honestly just lets Cal get all rough with him and call him whatever he wants, because it’s just them two alone, with nobody knowing what Calvin does to him when they’re together. After all, Andre doesn’t have anything to hide from Cal, and he knows that,, considering Cal’s obviously the only one who sees, touches, tastes, and wrecks Andre’s asshole. But he still keeps it a firm secret that Calvin fucks him sloppy like a bitch, and that he likes it when Cal mumbles such demeaning, dirty phrases in his ear, such as, “You’re so fucking wet, dude,” as if he were a girl, while also calling him a “Whore”, “Bitch”, or “Slut”.

Andre experienced a lot of internalized homophobia in middle school until him and Cal started dating in high school. Still, even after they started dating, he didn’t want to explore his asshole with his fingers, not even to see how it felt— because he could never really rid himself of that shame and embarrassment he felt toward his personal acceptance of wanting to take Calvin’s dick up his ass. It made him feel inferior. He knew Calvin was going to have to help him get over it, though, so he mentally prepared himself for their first time. Calvin could tell he’d never tried to do something new— such as anally penetrating himself to try and get himself ready for sex— when he noticed how much pain Andre was in, and how tight he was when he was prepping him during their first time together. It was awkward and uncomfortable for Andre at first since he’d never exposed himself to anyone this way, but he trusts Cal. Yet hearing Andre’s pained groans and whines when he was stretching him out fueled Calvin’s arousal quite a bit. When Andre noticed his raging erection, he was able to infer that Calvin kind of liked seeing him in pain deep down, so he got a little agitated and snapped at Cal for getting hard, spitting out, “Can you get your dick to fucking stop sticking up like that?” ,, And despite the bolts of arousal Cal had gotten from seeing the usually hardheaded, stubborn Andre all squirmy and endearingly docile underneath him for the first time, Calvin isn’t a complete jerk (though he can be for obvious reasons ;3), so he wanted to make sure Andre was mostly taken care of before he popped his cherry.

Calvin cannot stand not leaving marks on Andre’s body. He gets all pissy and annoyed when Andre tries to tell him he doesn’t want his parents or anyone else to see the hickeys on his neck, for fear they’ll find out about their relationship. Ultimately, Andre’s still always leaving with glistening hickeys and bite marks all over his neck and fresh new cuts on his thighs, tummy, and arms— either patched up with bandaids or puffy white bandages. He initially called Calvin a borderline lunatic when Cal brought up leaving little lacerations on Andre’s untouched, freckled skin, but he contradicted Andre by saying he’s just as psycho as he is. Which is true :3 !! And sometimes, if Cal is feeling particularly horny, he’ll drag some of Andre’s blood down between his legs and coat his rim with it so that Cal can slide in a tad easier. He likes the feeling of Andre’s blood on his cock, even though it’s usually only a little. He loves Andre more than anything and anyone and he doesn’t want him to get seriously injured, especially not before Zero Day.

Andre secretly feels appreciated when Cal touches him, even though his first instinct is to try to brush him off— but Andre perceives Cal’s caresses and common groping as him admiring his body. Which, Cal most definitely is admiring Andre. In fact, one of his favorite things to do to him is tasting him— he really likes to lap at Andre’s asshole with his tongue when he stretches him out. Cal feels triumphant at the thought of himself getting to be the one to stretch Andre out. Reflecting back to when Calvin took Andre’s anal virginity, and when Andre took Calvin’s cock virginity— Cal’s secretly glad that Andre hadn’t fingered himself prior or done any of that kind of stuff to himself. It makes him feel more in-control. Additionally, Calvin really loves Andre’s ass, and he squeezes the small buildup of muscle in his thighs, which Andre had developed after being on the track team and all.

Cal’s voice gets surprisingly rough and raspy when he’s turned on as FUCK. For example, when Andre’s on his knees blowing him, Calvin will grab the back of his hair and tug on it a little, groaning out a few little words of profanity. Sometimes he likes to shove his fingers into Andre’s mouth as well, easing his fingers so far back that Andre nearly vomits due to his gag reflex being triggered. But over time his gag reflex began to weaken. Also, especially when throat-fucking him, Calvin likes to promise Andre things like, “Mmh, god, I’m gonna fuck you so bad you’ll be crying to your mama,” or, “I’m gonna ruin you so good, man.” Which, Cal doesn’t favor breaking any promises he makes to Andre— in fact, he gets angry if Andre breaks any promises with him. So Cal always keeps his promises— even if they sound like threats. ;)

Feeling like a weak man in Calvin’s gaze honestly turns Andre the fuck on. He feels defensive and enraged when other people try to make him feel this way, but differently with Cal. As a result, he allows Calvin to videotape him with his camcorder during his most vulnerable moments— during sex, where he’s bare, practically emasculated, and completely at Cal’s mercy. But he’s quick to hide the tapes when they’re ready so that nobody finds them and that nobody can watch them but him and Cal. Going further, Andre gets easily driven over the edge when Cal records him with the camcorder, specifically while they’re doing missionary and while he’s pounding into Andre. Cal records Andre from his point of view and not in third person,, like, not off to the side or sitting on the nightstand— nothing like that. No, Cal prefers filming Andre’s flushed face and capturing every detail of bliss on his handsome visage. Once again, it’s for no one else’s eyes but theirs. He holds the camera with one hand while sometimes running the other down his body, or rubbing his thumb over Andre’s nipple. The footage is always unstable and shaky, of course, but it’s the best quality footage Cal can get !!

Cal enjoys dry humping Andre sometimes— which essentially serves as their foreplay, especially if Andre’s in his track uniform. Cal will bend Andre over his desk and start grinding his clothed erection in between Andre’s ass cheeks. Panting and hissing in his ear about how much he wants to show everyone at school how pathetic he is. It always causes Andre to whimper a little and let out noises he didn’t even know were possible for himself to make. All the while, Cal’s digging his fingers into his hips through his pants, and then sliding his palms upward and lightly scratching his nails up under his shirt and over his sides, ribs, tummy, and happy trail— oh, yeah, Andre has a happy trail too. Cal ogles it when Andre’s shirtless; he thinks it’s really cute on Andre, so he tells him not to shave it.

Andre fucking loves when Cal licks or pinches or bites his nipples— he doesn’t even know why, but it’s quite stimulating to him. He mentally questioned it at first, wondering why the hell he was getting hard by Cal nipping at his flat buds with his teeth and rolling them underneath his tongue. He isn’t even a girl, so why should his nipples have anything to do with his arousal? It frustrated him for some time, but eventually he kind of started to forget that he even questioned why it felt good, and he accepted it. Still, he lets Cal do whatever the hell he wants to him.

Cal knows a little too much about Andre. With his highly observant nature and even sometimes-creepy behavior, Andre didn’t even need to tell Cal that he likes it up the ass. Calvin just knew, yet he played the oblivious card and pretended that he didn’t know this in the first place until Andre finally spread his legs for him.

Andre has a love-hate relationship with overstimulation. Sex tends to tire him out, especially ‘cause Andre’s sore after for obvious reasons, so all he’ll want to do is lie down. But if Cal’s chasing his own exhaustion, then he’ll continuously fuck into Andre until his asshole is raw and his thighs are sore. Yes, it does feel good for Andre, but it gets a bit uncomfortable when his body needs a rest. Also, Calvin likes to spit on him and harshly squeeze his ass— to kinda give him a reminder of who loves him the most.

Cal prefers Andre to sit on his lap when they’re alone together and watching a movie or playing video games or something. Since they’re both about the same height, with Andre being slightly taller, Cal has easy access to his personal bits. He acts kinda shy and nonchalant when Andre’s on his lap, but within a minute he cannot resist keeping his hands off of Andre when he’s sitting right on his lap. His fingers dance all over Andre’s inner thighs and tummy, and he slides his hands down his shorts and traces his fingertips over the little moles and barely-visible freckles dusting along his inner thighs and near his perineum. He’s absolutely fascinated with Andre’s body and likes to touch him whenever he can.

The night before Zero Day, on April 30th, 2001, Cal and Andre spent as much time as they could with each other— despite it supposedly being a “school night” to both of their parents. Nonetheless, Andre’s parents still let Cal come over to spend the night, because they knew they got along and they also knew they were “good kids”— which, they were behavior wise, but they weren’t right in the head. But that’s besides the point,, Cal had come over to sleepover so that him and Andre didn’t wake his siblings in the middle of the night. And once they’d said goodnight to the two boys, Andre and Cal waited it out for a little while. Once they were both sure Andre’s parents were asleep, Calvin started manhandling Andre ‘till his face was smushed against the pillows, to which Andre didn’t even fight back— he never did, because his pliant nature went unspoken, yet Cal knew how Andre’s gears spun— as mentioned earlier. Despite Cal being all rough and pushy with Andre at first, when their clothes were finally off and Cal’s cock was sheathed by the familiar warmth of Andre’s ass, he’d thrusted into him noticeably deep and slow, and he also treated him sweeter than how he sometimes did during sex. For example, instead of outright sinking his teeth into him, he’d kissed his neck up and down and left little love bites all over him, which caused Andre to rock his ass back against Cal. With the intimate treatment Cal was giving him, it left Andre a groaning, mewling mess, and he craved more, but didn’t want to ask for more— but Cal still gave him more. Rubbing over his inner thighs, hips, naval, ribs, ass… as well as pinching his nipples and all. They went a few rounds— but Calvin himself grew tired by the third round, and Andre was half asleep at that point. He came inside Andre every round, because he knew what was going to happen, despite Andre remaining ignorant to their inevitable suicides— and later, during Andre’s autopsy, Cal’s DNA was both found inside and on his body.

#top cal gabriel #top calvin gabriel #bottom andre kriegman #zero day #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #calvin gabriel #zero day 2003 #zero day movie #caldre #calvin and andre #andre and cal #cal and andre #army of two

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shy-canadian-snowflake · 9 days ago

Text

Not Sober Pt 2

“Hm. Morning baby.” Wade said softly, reaching out for Logan. Logan rolled over and faced the other, a frown on his face. It took a second for Wade to clue in. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh is all you have to say? Wade, you got stoned last night.” Logan shook his head. “Your doctor told you- you know better. It can worsen your delusions.”

“I’m not sorry.” The man stated, sitting up. Logan joined him and reached for his hand. Wade wanted to pull away but didn’t. Logan intertwined their fingers.

“Talk Mouth. Explain to me so I can understand why the hell you’d put your mental health at risk. You’ve been doing so good.” Wade’s lips twitched up into a sad smile as he took Logan’s hand and pressed it into his cheek. He nuzzled into the warm palm and let out a long sigh.

“I felt like I could control the chaos in my head. Sober me has been getting his fucking ass kicked. My brain is telling me I'm an awful human who only harms people, who only brings fucking suffering and sadness and despair. That there’s a ‘But’ when you say you are happy that I’m still alive.”

“Darlin. I am happy you are here.” Wade shook his head slowly and pulled Logan’s hand into his lap. He pressed on different parts of his palm, massaging it out.

“It still feels like there’s a ‘But’. But not really. But only when you are having a good day. But only when you are useful. It’s stupid.”

“It is fucking stupid because it’s not fucking true. I’ll love you bad day or good Bub.” Wake looked at him with a weak smile before going back to playing with his hand.

“Weed helps. I can see my own mental health in the maze that is my head. I can handle the world with all its fucking bullshit, I can understand the situation going on without feeling crippling panic. Everything is in neat tidy boxes that I can grab and organize and file everything away.” He gave a weak laugh, shaking his head. “ It might take me a few more minutes to do things or get the words out but I feel like a functional person who can work, who can do things. I feel like a normal person. I feel okay. I feel real.”

“You are real Wade.”

“Yeah Well.” He turned Logan's hand over to trace the veins on the back of it. “I don’t fucking feel like it.”

There was a moment of silence as each man took a moment to collect their thoughts. Wade was the first to break the silence, like he always was.

“When I’m sober, I’m locked in a room of dark spaghetti and I can’t get out. I’m drowning in fear of what is going on in the world, the fact that we have a billionaire that’s getting a little too close to being a well known dictator with a horrible taste in mustaches. All of these noodles of despair and fear. Time does repeat and we don’t learn and the sun is going to blow up one day so is it even worth anything and I’m just so scared and I feel like I’ll never not be scared and- and Weed quiets all that. Weed brings me to the chaos I can control. I can consent too. My brain is making me think and feel things without my consent.”

“Okay.” Logan said slowly, throwing an arm around the other and pulling him close. Wade head butted him which he did so back, “What can I do to help?”

“Let me smoke weed without judgment.”

“And what is your head saying to ya?” Wade hated that Logan always knew when he wasn’t all right. Sometimes it was great when he was questioning his own reality. Questioning if something is really there. It’s not so great when the voices in his ear are telling him things that make sense to him, but he knows won’t make sense to another living soul. It was like messages only for him to understand. Spoken in an old language only he understood.

“If I can break my ankle I’ll be in control of my chaos. My mind won’t control me today.” He sighed out, not bothering to fight.

“That’s why you shouldn’t do weed, darlin. It’s telling you things that aren’t true.”

“They feel fucking true. Can I just die for a few hours and wake up with a better head?”

“Al will be pissed if we got more blood and guts on this couch.” Wade flopped back onto the pull-out, sighing loudly.

“I don’t want to fight Logan. I want my mind to be silent for one goddamn day.” There was a warble to his voice as he spoke. Logan laid down beside him, pulling him close- chest to back. He tucked his legs behind Wades, causing the man to curl up a bit more. His arm thrown over Wade’s chest made sure to keep his hand pressed into Wade’s heart, feeling the beating of it through the shirt he wore.

“Do the meds. Do the meetings. Do what you got to. You will have a quiet day again Wade.”

“I doubt it.”

“You will.” And Logan spoke with such certainty that Wade wanted to believe.

---

I'm having a real fucking hard time. My brain is saying to break my ankle. It makes sense too. If I do, the pain will override my brain and I won't have to be so fucking scared of everything. Future me- Don't smoke weed, it's not worth this fucking dark puddle.

#Mentally Unwell Wade #tw drugs #poolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #tw psychosis #tw hallucinations #tw self destruction #ficlet

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fandomfluffandfuck · 5 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/760383227115536384?source=share

YOU HAVE TO WRITE MORE. PLEEEEEEEAAAAASSSSSSEEEEE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

the original link goes to my tags on this post here, but... I think you'd be more interested in this other iteration, lol, so I'm linking that one, too.

I have no idea what to add, though... like, no thoughts, just depraved mental images of Steve and Bucky fucking hard 🥴🥴

I do think about Steve getting fucked in his uniform often, though. I can't help myself. Especially the stealth suit, y'know? Like, okay, it's just a hot suit, but pulling that thread, he stole the red white and blue combat uniform from the museum, specifically to help jog Bucky's memories.

However.

The stealth suit was still a big fucking part of CA:TWS to me.

And I just feel like as Bucky was piecing his memories back together--finding out who he was again and being pursued so fucking heavily by this big man in his kevlar-swathed suit, all dark navy and secretive, containing his large but lithe form so well, nearly a damn catsuit--that suit definitely ended up being a part of some harsh, fast, forbidden feeling fucks.

With Steve on the run, sometimes hitting up safe houses or sometimes random ass hotel rooms, but always with Bucky lurking just around the corner, slipping in the window or lingering in the woods around back... yeah. There were definitely times that Sam was out collecting supplies, or Nat was running ahead to meet with her elusive contact, leaving Steve alone and raw feeling. Then, stumbling into Bucky and clinging to him while Bucky took to him like a desperate, wild animal. Defiling him in that suit. Both suits. Stealth and flashy red, white, and blue. But especially the stealth suit. Because the vaguely familiar suit had Bucky feeling a little gentler. He knows this man. He does. He had this man before. He was precious to whoever James Barnes was. But the stealth suit... that's a stranger. That doesn't belong to James Barnes or anyone, and whoever the soldier is, whoever he is now nameless and drifting, he desperately wants to own that stranger.

He's beautiful. And it's a fucking problem. He is drawn to him helplessly. Recklessly. Blue eyes. Mused blonde hair. Plush, pink lips (especially that bottom one, lord have mercy). He's big and set and stubborn. His jaw square, shoulders huge, and waist tiny. Yet, when he touches him, grabbing harsh and rough, reckless, and cut-loose, he crumbles as if he isn't anywhere near as strong as he looks.

Whimpering and crying out beneath him, begging wordlessly for more. Anything he could dare to give him, he wants. Hands biting into his waist, digging into his hips, collaring his throat; lips on his lips, lips around his pert, pink nipples, too sweet for such a large, heavy-set chest, lips on his weeping cock; dick shoved deep into his tight, drooling mouth, dick squeezed between his thick, quivering, somehow hairless thighs, pale and untouched, dick carving itself into his body, fighting to find room in such a tight, hungry hole.

It's feral. That's what it is. Feral, unchecked lust and strength that can only be found in the sheer desperation of two lovers who thought they lost each other forever and know each other so viscerally yet have been so ripped apart. It's the ferality of mine. Mine. Mine. Clawing at each other, moaning and shaking and crying.

It gets to the point, Bucky taking out those feelings he can't remember and can't name on an all too willing, sexually frustrated Steve, that Steve can't, even years later, put on the stealth suit without having a Pavlovian response to it. He slips into it, and, oops, his blood immediately turns thick and slow and hot, boiling in his veins, craving the language of teeth and nails and harsh grinding, hips against his ass, so deep in him he can taste it.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky

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cyren-myadd · 8 months ago

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Can you write a snippet of Quaritch following through with his version of “an old school ass whipping”

Nothing too serious because I don’t think he’d abuse Spider but I do think he’d be the type of parent to resort to physical discipline if pushed enough.

In the exchange between him and Spider, Spider does not seemed alarmed with fear and is actually a little cheeky. I think he’s used to adults just letting him get away with things.

I think it’s be interesting to read Spider’s reaction to an adult/authority figure disciplining him (whether physical or some other punishment) for not following instructions rather than just checking to see if he has not been harmed.

It doesn’t have to relate to him running off which is where Quaritch uses the threat. It could be anything.

Okay, so I know you requested me to write about Quaritch disciplining Spider, but I’ve seen that explored a bunch of times before, and honestly, after what I wrote in Blood Is Thicker Than Water, I’ve kind of gotten a bad taste in my mouth for writing disciplinary scenes involving Quaritch. Idk why, but your ask gave me inspiration for a scene of Jake disciplining Spider instead, and it ended up taking a pretty different direction than your request. Sorry that this isn’t exactly what you requested, but I wanted to write something that I haven’t seen explored by other writers before, so I hope you still enjoy it!

Lucky Number Five (6k words)

One.

Two.

Three.

Jake counted the children in the marui, and then he counted them again. Tuk napped in the back corner of their home, nestled among her blankets. That was one. Lo’ak stood at the entrance of the marui, waving goodbye to Tsireya. That brought the count up to two. In the center, by the cookfire, Kiri helped Neytiri chop fish and vegetables for a stew. That made three.

It had been a week since the battle at Three Brothers Rock, but Jake still had to bite back the instinct to look for number four. His heart told him to count again; told him that if he checked just one more time he would see Neteyam tucking the blankets tighter around Tuk, or playfully teasing Lo’ak, or asking Neytiri if she needed any more help with dinner, but his mind knew better than his heart. No matter how many times he counted, there would never be a number four.

However, he was still missing a number. Jake didn’t know when exactly he started doing this, but at some point in his parenting career, he’d assigned a number to each of his children, and that number was the order in which he would always check on them based on the likelihood that they would need adult supervision. Maybe it was just his way of keeping track of so many kids, or maybe it was some leftover instinct to “sound off” from his Marine days. Whatever the case, the system worked for him. As the youngest and most delicate, Tuk was always the first child he checked on. Coming in second place was Lo’ak, the resident trouble-maker. Number three was Kiri, more responsible than Lo’ak, but still prone to making trouble of her own on occasion. Neteyam, as the oldest and most mature of the bunch, was number four, the last child he checked on because he was the least likely to be in trouble.

One, two, three, four. Jake had sounded off the mental count thousands of times over the years whenever he needed to make sure all of his children were accounted for. But the count didn’t always stop there. Sometimes, not most of the time, but sometimes there was a fifth child on the list, tacked onto the end more out of courtesy than anything.

Jake counted again just to be sure.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Number five was missing.

“Where’s Spider?” He asked the question so suddenly, that it startled everyone. Tuk peered out sleepily from her blankets, and Kiri and Neytiri gave him confused looks from across the cookfire.

“Huh?” Asked Lo’ak as he came to sit down next to Tuk.

“I asked where Spider is. I told all of you to be back home before sundown. It’s almost dark, so where is he?” He directed his question at Kiri, figuring she would be the most likely to know, but all she did was shrug.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’ve been helping Mom and Ronal in the healing marui. I think he said he was going to help Lo’ak with his chores.” She said before turning her attention back to chopping vegetables.

The casual way she answered the question irritated Jake. If Spider wasn’t back by now, it either meant he was willingly disobeying Jake or he was in some kind of trouble. Why was Kiri acting like it was no big deal? His tail started to twitch in frustration as he rounded on Lo’ak. “Have you seen Spider?”

His question came out harsher than he intended it to, making Lo’ak jump slightly. “Uh… yeah, I hung out with him earlier, but he went off with Rotxo in the afternoon. I think he was gonna teach him to spearfish or something?”

“You think?” Jake repeated exasperatedly.

“I dunno, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Lo’ak said, sheepishly playing with the beads on the ends of his braids.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy looking at Tsireyaaa—“ Tuk giggled in a singsong voice.

Lo’ak threw a blanket at her. “I was not!”

An irritated huff left Jake’s lips as he got to his feet. “I’m going to go find him.”

“Ma Jake,” Neytiri’s voice stopped him in his tracks, “dinner is almost ready. Stay and eat with your family. I’m sure the boy is fine.”

“No, I told everyone to be back here before sundown. It’s sundown and he’s not here, so it’s not fine.” Before Neytiri could get another word in, he left the marui, tail lashing behind him with anxiety.

He rushed through the peaceful village, passing Reef Na’vi settling into their homes for the night. The setting sun painted the sky a deep orange, and a chorus of insects created a soothing symphony for the evening. Everything was so calm, surely nothing was really wrong, right? Despite what he tried to tell himself, images of Spider hurt or dead kept flashing through his mind. He was so consumed with his worries that he nearly ran right into Rotxo.

“Oh! Hi, Jake!” Rotxo greeted him cheerfully once he recovered from nearly losing his balance.

“Rotxo, sorry, didn’t see you there. Have you seen Spider?”

“Yeah, I was teaching him how to spearfish by the diving hole. I think he’s still there—“ Rotxo had barely finished pointing in the direction of the diving hole before Jake was off, making a beeline for it.

The longer it took to reach the hole, the faster he went, so he was practically sprinting by the time he reached it. Jake skidded to a stop on the rocky edge of the hole, startling a few small marine ikran into flight. He frantically looked around for any sign of Spider, but the whole place was deserted. The hole was dead still except for the steady undulations of bioluminescent seaweed dancing in the current, and the swaying of the mangrove branches up above. All he could hear was the gentle sound of waves lapping against rock and the occasional cry of a marine ikran. No sign of number five.

“Dammit!” Jake hissed under his breath. His ears flattened against his skull and his tail thrashed like an angry snake. Now he didn’t know what to do. None of the other children seemed to have any idea where Spider was and Rotxo was his last lead. Awa’atlu’s atoll was a massive area full of hiding places, and Spider was one little human. He could be anywhere.

Just before he made up his mind to start searching somewhere else, a soft sound drew his attention. Down the side of the hole directly to his left, a familiar dreadlocked head surfaced amongst the bioluminescent seaweed.

“Spider!” He called, sprinting across the rocks towards him.

At the sound of his name, Spider turned. Underneath the sheen of his mask, his face split into a wide grin and he started swimming to meet him, a child-sized Metkayina speargun in his hand. “Hey, Jake! What’s up?”

Jake knelt on the edge of sea rock and hauled Spider out of the water by the strap of his exopack as soon as he was in reach. He quickly checked Spider over for any sign of injury or damage to his equipment. As far as he could tell, there was none.

“You alright? Where the hell have you been?”

Spider’s grin faded as he took in the panic in Jake’s body language. “Yeah, I’m fine, I was just practicing the spearfishing stuff Rotxo taught me.”

Jake’s shoulders sagged and he let out a deep sigh as a surge of relief overwhelmed him. It lasted for a grand total of five seconds before it was replaced by a rush of anger. He hadn’t been this scared and angry since Lo’ak had gotten lost beyond the reef.

Jake seized Spider by the shoulders and shook him. His voice came out in a low snarl. “What the hell is the matter with you, boy? Have you just been fucking around out here this whole time?”

Spider’s eyes went wide and he tried to recoil, but Jake’s grip was too tight. “Jake, I— wait— did something happen?”

“You almost gave me a heart attack, that’s what happened!” Jake snapped as he got to his feet.

“Jeez, relax, I’m fine, see? Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Spider said as he gathered up his speargun and stood. Before Jake could get another word in, Spider turned on his heel and started walking away.

Jake’s ears went flat against his skull in a mix of shock and anger at the blatant disrespect. Not even Lo’ak in his most rebellious mood would dare to walk away from him when he was being scolded. It took a lot of effort to keep his voice level. “And where do you think you’re going, young man?”

Spider stopped and glanced back at Jake with a bewildered look on his face. “I’m getting back in so I can keep spearfishing?”

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, are you now?”

“Yeah?”

“And what about dinner?”

“I’ll eat later.”

“And when were you planning to go to bed, huh?”

Spider shrugged. “I dunno. Whenever I guess.”

Without another word, he turned his back on Jake again and got ready to dive into the water. The sheer disrespect almost made Jake laugh. He ended up hissing through his teeth instead. “Get your ass back over here. Now.”

Before Spider had a chance to disobey him again, Jake crossed the distance he had put between them in a single step and seized him by the arm.

“Jake, what—“

“I don’t want to hear it.” Jake cut him off by roughly steering him in the direction of home with a firm hand on his shoulder. The action was familiar to him. He’d done it to Lo’ak a hundred times after his troublemaking escapades. In fact, he was already mentally planning the lecture and accompanying punishment for disobedience he’d give to Spider once they got home. It was going to be nearly identical to the one he’d given Lo’ak after he’d scared everyone by getting lost outside the reef. Maybe Spider’s attitude would improve after a day of being stuck inside the marui doing chores. “You’re gonna march your butt back to the marui and—“

His eyes widened in surprise when Spider jerked his shoulder out of his grip and twisted away from him.

“Get the hell off me!” Spider yelled. He backed away from Jake, one hand covering the shoulder he had grabbed.

For a moment, all Jake could do was stare at him in shock, mouth slightly ajar. Then he closed it, tightening it into a sharp, angry line. Never in all his years as a parent had one of his children dared to use such language at him, especially not when they were already in trouble. “What did you just say to me, boy?”

“I told you to get the hell off me.” Spider repeated boldly, heedless of the hole he was digging himself into.

“Alright, that’s it!” Jake stormed towards Spider with a snarl. “I was gonna go easy on you, but since you want to have an attitude, we can do this the hard way.”

Spider scurried back to stay out of reach, but his retreat wasn’t a sign of submissiveness. If anything, Spider puffed up just as angrily as Jake. He hopped up onto a nearby mangrove root so he could better look him in the eye. “Attitude? I’m just minding my own business and you’re all pissy at me for some reason!”

“Minding your own business?” Jake repeated with a scoff. Even when Lo’ak got in trouble he had the sense to own up to it instead of lying about it. He jabbed an accusatory finger towards Spider’s chest. “You know damn well what you’re doing. I don’t know why you think you get to stay out past curfew all of a sudden, but the rules haven’t changed just ‘cause we left the forest.”

Spider threw his hands up in frustration. “Bro, what are you talking about?”

“Playing dumb isn’t going to help you! You’re out past your curfew and there’s going to be consequences.”

“What fucking curfew?” Spider yelled so loudly that it made Jake recoil. His voice cracked hard mid-sentence, and Jake suddenly realized that the tone he’d mistaken for disrespectful was actually scared and confused.

Jake's first instinct was to yell right back, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He put his hands up in a calming gesture, and when he finally spoke, he managed to keep his voice civil. “Spider, this morning I told you and Lo’ak and Kiri to come back before sundown, remember?”

Spider’s brows knit together in confusion. He was still on edge, but he relaxed slightly at seeing Jake calm down. “You told Lo’ak and Kiri to come back. You didn’t say it to me.”

“Spider,” Jake had to take another calming breath to keep from losing his cool again. He couldn’t tell if this was genuine confusion or some bizarre attempt to get out of trouble, but either way he figured more yelling wouldn’t solve the situation. “You were standing right between Lo’ak and Kiri when I said it. Why would you think I wasn’t saying it to you too?”

“Why would I think you were? I’m not one of your kids.”

“I— well— no, you’re not, but you still have to follow the rules. Back when you lived in Hell’s Gate with the McCoskers, could you just wander off whenever you felt like it?”

Spider squinted at him in confusion. “Uh… yeah, I could? I did that all the time.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to squint. “You didn’t have a curfew with the McCoskers?”

“I mean, maybe when I was like, really little, but not that I can remember, no. And besides, I haven’t lived with the McCoskers since the RDA came back, remember? It’s been almost two years since then.”

For a moment, Jake was almost stunned into silence, but he recovered from his surprise and changed tactics. “Okay, forget the McCoskers. Think about when we lived in High Camp. You had a curfew then.”

“No, your kids had a curfew, but I didn’t. Don’t you remember how Lo’ak was always jealous?”

“I—” Jake frowned. Now that Spider mentioned it, he vaguely remembered Lo’ak begging Jake to extend his curfew because of something to do with Spider. “But Norm and Max and everyone, they made sure you got home and ate dinner before dark, right?”

“Norm and Max were always super busy. It’s really hard to keep human life support running out there. They didn’t have time to babysit me; they had to keep the lights on.” Spider shrugged like it was no big deal. He must’ve noticed the shocked look on Jake’s face because he quickly added. “Jake, relax. I’m a tough kid, remember? I know how to get my own dinner and I know when to go to sleep. I was fine.”

“Oh, Eywa…” The realization finally hit Jake. Spider’s confusion was one hundred percent genuine; he really didn’t understand why Jake was angry at him for staying out at night. Jake pressed his hands to his lips and took another deep breath. He sat down on the mangrove root and patted the spot next to him. Spider still looked a little nervous, but he sat down next to Jake anyway. His legs were far too short to reach the sandy ground below, so they swung in the air halfway down Jake’s calves, making him look much younger than he was.

“Spider,” Jake began. He put a hand on Spider’s shoulder and turned him so they were face to face, “you’re not one of my kids, but while we stay in Awa’atlu, you’re living in our marui. That means I’m responsible for you just like I’m responsible for Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. So you have to follow the rules— that includes the curfew.”

Spider made a face. “I really have to have a curfew now? But why?”

“The same reason Kiri and Lo’ak and Aonung and Rotxo and every other kid has a curfew. It’s to keep you safe. If you don’t come back at sundown, I won’t know where you are or if something bad happened to you.” Jake ruffled Spider’s hair the same way he did to Lo’ak all the time.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen to me,” Spider shoved his hand off with a scoff. “I can take care of myself. I never had a curfew before. Why do I gotta have one now?”

Jake's patience started to wear thin again. His irritation started to leak into his voice. “Because I said so, that’s why.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“You do not speak that way to me, young man.” Jake scolded.

Spider shrunk under the reprimand, but still held his ground. “Well, it is…”

Jake threw his hands up in exasperation. “What is so important that you need to stay out at night anyway, huh?”

“Uh, food? You know, that thing I need to survive?” Spider drawled with so much venomous sarcasm that for a split second Jake felt like he was talking to his father instead. “Do you think I’m out here freezing my butt off for fun? I’m trying to catch some dinner. I know it’s been awhile since you were human, but remember that humans need to eat too.”

“Alright, first of all, lose the attitude, kid.” Jake snapped. “Second of all, what are you talking about? Food? We have food at home. Neytiri made dinner for everyone.”

An ugly sound that was half-scoff, half-laugh escaped Spider’s throat. “No. Ms. Sully made food for your family. Not for me.”

“Spider, is that what this is about?” Jake’s voice softened slightly with pity. “Neytiri? Listen, I know things are… complicated right now, but Neytiri doesn’t mind if you eat what she cooked.”

“Oh, I bet she’d love it if I ate some of her cooking,” Spider said bitterly. Seeing the confused look on Jake’s face, he added, “she never cooks things humans can eat. This morning Kiri warned me she was making pincer fish stew. Do you know how toxic pincer fish are to humans? If I ate it I’d probably puke my own brains out.”

Jake cringed. “Oh… I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t realize she was making something that would hurt you. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why would I? It’s not the first time she’s cooked poisonous food when she knows I’m staying for dinner.”

“Don’t talk like that. Neytiri wouldn’t do that on purpose. She’s just been so distracted since… since everything. I promise it was just a mistake.”

“Yeah, a mistake.” Spider scoffed. “Maybe it was this time, but didn’t you ever notice that every time she heard me, Kiri, and Lo’ak were planning a sleepover that she’d make something I couldn’t eat? It’s not like she’s in the habit of making human-friendly food.”

“What— no, but that’s not—“ Jake spluttered as he tried to think of a rebuttal, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t. Since they’d gotten Spider back, all their meals were sympathy gifts from the Metkayina or were prepared by Jake. Neytiri had been too bereaved to cook, so Jake had picked up the slack. Tonight was the first night she’d cooked since the battle. Even thinking back further, back to when they lived in the forest, Jake couldn’t recall a time Spider had stayed over for dinner when Neytiri cooked. It was always when Jake cooked or when they ate a feast prepared by the clan.

Now that he was really thinking about it, he vaguely remembered an ugly argument between Kiri and Neytiri that had happened a long time ago: Kiri accused Neytiri of cooking food that was poisonous for humans on purpose so Spider couldn’t spend the night with them, and Neytiri argued back that it was too hard for her to modify every recipe she knew to make it human-friendly.

“Okay, maybe she did do that, but that was before. She always knew you could get food from somewhere else. Things are different now. Today really was just a mistake.” Jake tried to get Spider to look at him, but Spider stubbornly kept his head down and let his thick locs hide his face.

“Yeah, whatever. Can I go now? If I don’t catch a fish soon I’m gonna go hungry tonight.” Spider started to slide off the root they sat on.

Before he could slink out of reach, Jake grabbed him by the shoulders. He knelt on the hard sandy ground in front of him so they were face to face. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? You’re coming home with me. Now. I’ll let breaking curfew slide just this once since you didn’t understand the rules, but this is the last time you’re going out by yourself at night. If I ever catch you breaking curfew again, you’re gonna be grounded, you read me?”

“What? But how am I supposed to feed myself?” Spider cried. There was so much genuine panic in his voice that it made Jake cringe with guilt. Did Spider seriously think he would let him starve? “During the day I have to help everyone out with the chores. I won’t have enough time to find food if—“

“Spider!” Jake cut him off with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders. Once he was sure he had Spider’s full attention, he continued in a slow, clear voice. “Look, here’s the deal, kid: as long as you live under my roof and follow my rules, I will make sure you have plenty of food. You don’t have to hunt for yourself after dark. From now on, you will come back home and eat dinner with us every night before sundown. How’s that sound?”

Spider stayed quiet for a long moment, a furrow in his brow. Jake gave him a reassuring, fatherly smile, the same smile that always seemed to help his children when they were scared. He hoped that Spider was finally getting it. After a long moment of hard thought, Spider shook his head and said, “no thank you.”

Jake stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean, no thank you?”

“I mean, I’m good.” Spider grabbed Jake’s oversized hands and carefully peeled them off his shoulders. “That whole deal thing you’re offering me? No thanks. I’d rather keep my freedom.”

He tried to slink away again, but Jake stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Spider, the deal isn’t optional.”

“So you’re forcing me to follow this stupid curfew?” Spider tried to twist out of his grip, but Jake wasn’t budging. “What? Like a prisoner or something?”

“A prisoner? Jesus, Spider, I’m not imprisoning you, I’m taking care of you! Why can’t you just—” Jake cut himself off. He was going to ask Spider why he couldn’t just trust him, but considering everything they’d just talked about, it felt stupid to ask him to do that. With a deep sigh, he gently took both of Spider’s hands and lightly squeezed them.

“Okay, look at it this way. Lo’ak and Kiri have a curfew too. Why do you think they have a curfew?”

Spider stopped trying to squirm away from him, but he wouldn’t look him in the eyes either. He kept his gaze on the ground, where he nudged a small rock with his toe. His begrudging answer came after a moment, “so you know that they’re safe.”

“Yep, that’s right. We give our kids curfews because we love them.” Jake nodded. “A curfew isn’t a punishment. It’s just a rule to keep you kids safe.”

Spider kicked the rock, sending it flying into the diving hole with a small splash. He still wouldn’t look at Jake. “I’m not a kid. I’m older than Kiri and Lo’ak. I don’t need this stupid rule to stay safe.”

“Yes, you do. You’re sixteen. Sixteen-year-olds have curfews.”

Suddenly, Spider looked up at him, his dark eyes shining with an emotion Jake couldn’t identify. “So why didn’t I have a curfew when I was fifteen? Or fourteen? Or— hell, I don’t think I’ve had one since I was like ten. You say that kids need curfews, but I never had one. And it was fine. If it wasn’t fine, you and Norm and everybody wouldn’t have let it happen. So it was fine, right?”

Jake’s ears twitched downwards and it became a struggle to hold Spider’s gaze. The strange look in his eyes was almost pleading, silently begging Jake to confirm what he’d said; that it was perfectly fine that all the adults had let a teenager run around with no guardian looking after him. Jake licked his lips. It would be easy to agree with him; just tell him that the way he’d been treated was fine and come up with some bullshit excuse for why things had to change now. Spider had always gotten enough food and rest; it wasn’t like he was wasting away while the adults ignored him. Sure, he didn’t have anyone looking out for him the way Jake and Neytiri looked out for their children, but there was a war going on. They had bigger things to worry about. Spider wasn’t their problem.

It was fine, right?

“No.” When Jake finally answered, he couldn’t look Spider in the eyes. He kept his gaze trained on the stony ground beneath his knees. “No, Spider, it wasn’t fine. A kid’s not supposed to live like that. A kid’s supposed to have somebody making sure they come home and eat dinner and go to bed every night. You shouldn’t have had to look out for yourself like that.”

In the edges of his vision, he saw Spider’s dreadlocks sway as he shook his head. “No, it was fine. I was fine. I mean, I always knew I wasn’t treated the same as the other kids, but it wasn’t like it was bad or anything. Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk are your responsibility, ‘cause you’re their parents. I don’t have parents, so I’m nobody’s responsibility. It wouldn’t be fair to make somebody else look after me when it wasn’t their fault I was stuck there.”

Hearing Spider frantically try to rationalize his treatment only made Jake feel worse. He shrunk into himself as Spider continued.

“That’s just how the world works. You know, like, if something ever happened to you and Neytiri, Lo’ak and Kiri would have to look out for themselves too, ‘cause it wouldn’t be fair to make somebody else have to look after them.”

“No! Eywa, no, Spider! That’s not how this works!” Jake cried. Just the thought of his children living like Spider —having no one waiting on them to come home at night, staying out late to get food for themselves because they couldn’t count on anyone else to feed them— was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. “It doesn’t matter if a kid doesn’t have parents. They still need somebody taking care of them. That’s why you had your foster parents.”

“Yeah, I guess I needed them when I was little, but I pretty much just slept in the same house as them by the time I was, like, ten or so. And they’re long gone by now. I was fine without anybody looking out for me for the past year and a half. You don’t need to start now.”

“Spider, I was…” Jake hesitated, struggling to find the right words. He forced himself to look Spider in the eyes. “I was wrong, okay. I was Olo’eyktan. When your foster family abandoned you, I should’ve done something— should’ve appointed somebody or— or I don’t know. I just shouldn’t have done nothing.”

“Jake, I was fine.” Spider protested weakly.

“No, you weren’t. Not if you think it’s normal to get food all by yourself at night.”

“It’s not?”

“No! Jesus, if something ever happened to me and Neytiri,” Jake’s voice cracked with emotion at the thought, “I would never want my kids to live like this— so it’s not right to let you live like this either.”

“Jake,” Spider seemed taken aback by the emotion in his voice. “It’s okay.”

“No, kiddo, it’s not. But I’m gonna make it okay now.” He got to his feet and held a hand out to Spider. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Instead of taking his hand, Spider backed away. His eyes darted between Jake’s hand and the spearfish he’d left lying near the edge of the diving hole. The wind picked up ever so slightly, and Jake caught a whiff of the human stench of fear coming off of Spider. He frowned. Did the thought of letting himself be dependent on Jake scare him that badly?

“Look, Jake, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think it’s better if things stay the same as they’ve always been.”

Jake’s frown deepened. “What? Do you want to be out here in the dark catching food by yourself?”

Spider grimaced. “Not really, but I just think it’s for the best. It’s really nice of you to offer to take care of me, but I know how the world works. You can make promises now, when things are peaceful, but they won’t stay peaceful forever. Once things get tough again, you’re going to put your family first. I’d rather keep taking care of myself so that when things do get tough again, I’ll already be used to it.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that. The diving hole went silent save for the waves lapping at the rock below and the occasional hiss of his exopack. Alpha Centauri had long since sunk below the horizon, leaving them illuminated by the soft blue light of Polyphemus and his moons. Spider took his silence as an answer. He knelt and scooped up his child-size speargun before turning back towards the water.

“I’m sorry I scared you today, but just forget about the curfew thing, okay? I can take care of myself.”

The breeze picked up, sending another wave of human-fear towards Jake’s nose. Spider was doing a good job of hiding it, but he really was scared. It reminded him uncomfortably of people he’d known back on Earth— people who had been let down so many times that the thought of trusting someone else to care for them was terrifying. If you give someone the power to feed you, you give them the power to starve you, someone had told him when he decided to join the Marines. The Marine Corp kept him fed as long as he was an able-bodied soldier, but the minute that changed, they’d let him starve. Clearly, Spider thought he would end up starving too if he let Jake have the power to feed him. Jake had to prove to him that he meant what he said. Empty promises wouldn’t be enough.

“Spider, wait,” he called just before Spider could jump into the water. Spider looked back at him warily.

Slowly, telegraphing his movements so Spider could clearly see what he was doing, he unsheathed his knife and held it up to his dreads. Spider’s eyes widened as he carefully severed a lock of his hair.

“Jake, what are you doing? You don’t have to—”

“No. I wasn’t just making an empty promise. I’m going to take care of you from now on.” He approached Spider and knelt so they were on the same level again, and offered the lock of hair towards him. “I want to take you on as my mll’an’eveng.”

“Mll’an’eveng,” Spider echoed, staring at the hair in disbelief. It was rare a Na’vi custom done whenever a child ended up orphaned and was too old for parental tsaheylu with adoptive parents. To the Na’vi, if a child and adult never made the parental bond in infancy, then they could never truly be child and parent, but they had an exception for children who were orphaned later in life, after they’d already established a parental bond with their birth parents. Taking in a child as mll’an’eveng wasn’t the same as adoption, but it was more like a wardship or foster home, acknowledging that the child had already bonded with other parents and their new ones could never replace that bond. An adult would be bound to take care of a mll’an’eveng with steep consequences if they failed, just like there would be consequences for neglecting their own child.

“But I’m human—” Spider protested.

“I don’t care. We don’t need tsaheylu to make you my mll’an’eveng.”

“Neytiri won’t—”

“Let me worry about her.”

“Jake, I don’t know…” Spider put a hand to his own hair and wove his fingers through it anxiously.

“It’s your choice whether you want to do this or not,” Jake said, “but no matter what your answer is, I’m still going to watch out for you. I just want to prove to you that I mean it.”

Spider’s fingers knotted so tightly in his locks that it looked painful. The stench of fear was so strong that Jake didn’t need the breeze to smell it coming off of him. Jake was just about to take his lock of hair back when Spider suddenly moved. He slipped his own small knife from its sheath and sliced off a dreadlock. With slightly trembling fingers, he handed it to Jake.

The two locks of hair rested in his giant blue palm, one smooth, neat, and uniform black, the other uneven, unkempt and mottled in shades of bronze. With all the solemnity of any other Na’vi ritual, Jake took the two locks of hair and wound them around each other, joining them into one strand. Jake then used some stray string stowed away in his loincloth pouch to tie the strand around his wrist. As per the custom of the mll’an’eveng ritual, Jake would wear the hair on his wrist for the next four days as a visible declaration of wardship over Spider for all to see.

Spider let out a heavy breath as Jake finished tying the hair to his wrist, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His bottom lip trembled and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut to fight back tears.

“Hey, it’s okay, bud. C’mere.” Jake pulled Spider into a hug, letting him bury the smooth surface of his mask into the crook of Jake’s neck.

“I’m not crying.” Spider mumbled into his shoulder.

Jake tried not to laugh as he patted him on the back. “Of course not.” He gave Spider a minute to pull himself together before giving him one last squeeze and standing up.

“Alright. Are you ready to go home now?” He offered his hand.

Small, pale fingers slipped between large, blue ones. “Yeah, I am.”

Na'vi Vocab:

Mll’an: to accept

‘Eveng: a child

I combined these two words together to create “Mll’an’eveng” or “accepted child,” a Na’vi term for a child an adult is accepting as their responsibility, but not formally adopting, similar to a ward or a foster kid. This is not canon lore, just something I made up for this one-shot.

💙Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments and reblogs, and if you want to see more from me, feel free to send me a prompt in my ask box 💙

#cyren myadd writes #avatar the way of water #avatar the way of traumatizing spider #avatar spider #avatar #atwow #spider socorro #avatar jake sully #jake sully #spider soccoro sully

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idlenight · 9 months ago

Note

I'm curios- what are the reasons from the demo that you like hg? It can be under the cut if you want to avoid people getting spoilers!

I will use any excuse to blab about HG, you are an enabler anon.

WARNING: Public Revelations Demo spoilers (for route 4.2) under the cut

Secondary warning of a LOT of text lmao.

hgsib variable.... i am obsessed w/ u.

You are Hollow Ground. You wake up in the middle of the night because you're a little parched. You untangle yourself from your polycule to go to the kitchen and get a drink.

There, sitting on your kitchen counter, is the villain that had previously refused to show up to the meeting you invited them to and send their assistant instead. They are in full armor, you are in your robes (a little underdressed for this meeting).

They offer you a cup of your own coffee that they just made.

Personally? I would be alerting my bodyguards polycule to the intrusion. But no HG just, rolls with the punches. I respect that.

But to get into the actual nitty gritty and the Connections(tm) to sidestep, focusing on the friendly + mind conversation because that's what I saw in my run.

In the friendly conversation where sidestep takes their helm off you get so much insight into HG's relationship with their sibling.

"Believe it or not," you start, *if ((suit_terrifying) or (hgterrified)) realizing how absurd this must sound, "I do believe it will be more advantageous to work together than be enemies." "You have certainly proven that you would be a bad enemy to have," Hollow Ground admits. *if hgreveal "And I'm glad you're being sensible about this." The smile is real, as is the relief. *if hgmind "I wouldn't want us to be at odds. Not now."

a boss or hunter also gets this piece of dialogue that im unwell about:

"Oh I know exactly who would," Hollow Ground says, voice sharper than it has been so far tonight. "Lord Ember. That San Francisco fuck has been making moves on my territory. I wasn't sure if you were one of his plants until tonight." *if hgreveal ${hghis} ${eyes} meet yours. Certainty. You're on ${hghis} side in this.

'Certainty. You're on [their] side in this.' <- homie immediately willing to believe step is on their side because they're probably his sibling, why wouldn't they be?

With a thief step, this dialogue comes up

"Sometimes I can't be bothered though." You stare ${hghim} down, seeing how much leeway you have with your little stunt. "With the whole research thing. Is that going to be an issue?" "You..." Hollow Ground groans. *if hgmind "You really haven't changed one bit, have you?" *elseif hgreveal "This feels far too familiar."

and the mindtalk + being defensive:

"So what?" Your tone matches ${hghis}, because you have never once backed down from an argument. "Are you seriously surprised?" "I shouldn't be, you always were a little shit." The words are out, flat on the table between you, coins not heads or tails but on the edge, spinning freely.

HG's youngest sibling confirmed to have been a little shit. (this dynamic was made for River 'born to be a shithead little brother' Becker fr fr)

Although my favorite part of the mind talk is this:

*selectable_if (protected) #"You saved me," I gasp, focusing on that. "Why?" "You saved me," you gasp, trying to swallow the taste of blood and drowning. "Why would you do that?" $!{hghe} must have known what you were trying to do. You're not sure if Hollow Ground is a telepath, but there is some form of mental powers at play here, that you could feel. Something... "Hell if I know," ${hghe} @{hgsv lies|lie} and you know that now. Can taste the lie, not because your minds are entangled but because you can see it in ${hghis} eyes. *if hg_relationship = "dangerous telepath" "I should have let you drown like last time." "But you didn't," you retort, wiping your mouth. "You know something." *else "Liar," you retort, wiping your mouth.

"You don't know?" You can sense the disbelief, ${hghis} eyes narrowing. "Fuck. Of course. That makes sense. Too much sense." "No it doesn't," you protest. "Do you remember anything?" Hollow Ground leans forward, too insistent now, almost reaching out to touch. You lean back, putting space between you despite the protection of your armor. "About what?" Why are you the one being interrogated? What did you see in there? What did you feel? "Your childhood." The words land heavily, and you almost laugh. As if you were ever a child.

The way that i am obsessed with ["dialogue" he lied] in texts. ALso ugh, HG leaning forward, wanting to touch sidestep. To make sure they're real? to comfort them? to comfort themself? They want sidestep to be their sibling so bad, need it to be true.

In fact is sidestep dismisses it (our memories got entangled. it's nothing more than that), then HG begs them to answer the question anyway, and are very clearly unwilling to let it go even though they won't force the answer because they're at a disadvantage.

#"No," I say, which is technically not a lie. "Why?" "No," you say, which is technically not a lie. No childhood unless you count being newly decanted, fumbling your way through the world before your memory implant. "Why?" "Because you remind me of someone." Hollow Ground looks directly at you, eyes narrowing. "Someone who I thought I had lost long ago. Someone who should be dead." "Some people don't stay dead forever," you joke with your grimmest smile, but ${hghe} @{hgsv takes|take} it the wrong way, eagerly leaning forward. "Could it be...?" A pause, ${hghis} fingers tapping nervously against the table. "You would have been in your early teens. There was an... attack. They called it an accident, but nobody was fooled. You had been arrested, they said you suffered an overdose. They never let us claim the body, so I always figured it was police brutality. Didn't want us to see the evidence. I never thought there was a chance that you were alive?"

You can feel the hope radiating from ${hghim}. An old wound, reopened. Someone who loved ${hghis} *if afab little sister *elseif amab little brother *else younger sibling and is now hoping that ${hghe} had been wrong all along. That there is a chance there had been no death. No body. Just someone disappeared into the system for whatever nefarious purposes. Someone who might be sitting at the table across from ${hghim}. Maybe. Hope. The most powerful and addictive of drugs. *if (((amab) and (gender = "woman")) or ((afab) and (gender = "man"))) You know in your heart that it is wrong. Not just because you are a Re-Gene and never were a child. But because the child you saw in ${hghis} mind had been a @{amab little girl.|little boy.} And you never would have been. Not back then.

Hollow Ground loved their younger sibling, Hollow Ground hopes that they are wrong. They want to be wrong, they need to be. For a chance that their sibling can still be alive, sitting in front of them now, breathing.

I could go on but this is already long enough lmao. Thanks for coming to another one of my TEDtalks ✌️.

#fhr #fallen hero #hollow ground #fhr hollow ground #idle chatter #asks #fallen hero revelations

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klbwriting · 1 year ago

Text

Not Romeo and Not Juliet

Chapter 1: Mingle Yarn

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: fighting, mentions of broken bones and blood

Summary: Jason Todd was alive again. Not only that, but he was back in high school, living with Dick Grayson, and just trying to get by without anyone noticing him. That doesn't go as planned.

Notes: Here it is! Dueling prep schools! Enemies to Lovers! Theater Nerds! Shakespeare! A true rom-com! Jason as a senior and a theater kid! I'm messing with the canon immensely so let's just call this an AU or Elseworlds story where Jason was killed in a similar way to Under the Red Hood movie, but instead of the LoA going and getting him Dick has the falling out with Bruce over Jason's death and he goes to resurrect him without Bruce knowing. He takes Jason to live with him in Bludhaven and enrolls him in Bludhaven Prep so that he can readjust to living and to leaving Robin behind. I hope you enjoy!

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together

— ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, ACT 4 SCENE 3

“Jason, you have to get going or you’re going to be late,” Dick Grayson called through the apartment. He knew Jason wasn’t exactly excited to start his senior year of high school and he couldn’t blame him if he was being honest. Just a month ago Jason had been murdered by a clown and just a week ago he had been revived in a pit of green goo protected by assassins. They had only agreed to let Dick revive him because they were the reason Jason was even killed in the first place, so it was honestly the least they could do. Dick was still coming to terms with who came out of the pit, not Jason but not not Jason either. While pre-Lazarus Pit Jason had been happy, funny, and kind of scrawny, this Jason was moody, stoic, and big. He wasn’t sure how the 17-year-old had gone from around skinny 5’8 to a jacked 6’1 during a bath but it was what it was. Now he was staying in Dick’s Penthouse in Bludhaven, Bruce had no idea he was alive, and he was starting his senior year at Bludhaven Prep and Dick was hoping getting him back out there with kids his own age would help him readjust to living again. The therapist that Dick hired, the one Clark Kent recommended, had given approval for him to return, saying he was mentally able to be around others, but considering no one knew how the pit might affect him they would still be watching him closely. Dick stood very still in the dining room, waiting until he heard feet stomping down the stairs from the loft area that Jason had taken as his room.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he grumbled, sitting down in front of the plate of eggs and bacon that Dick had made for him. Jason took two bites and made a face. “I am making breakfast from now on, this tastes like shit.” Dick rolled his eyes as he watched Jason clean his plate of the ‘shit’. “Why am I going to school again anyway? Bruce pulled me out to be homeschooled when I was freshman.”

“Ya Bruce also had you running around in tights and you’re not doing that anymore either. At least not until we know that no side effects from the pit are going to cause problems,” Dick said, putting a bookbag on the chair next to Jason. Jason glanced at the bag and then at Dick. Dick was once again struck by how different Jason was, yet he could still see the kid Jason was in those eyes. They weren’t same, they could never settle on what color they wanted to be, blue like before, green like the pit, even brown sometimes, a muddied version of the two. But the vulnerability was there, even though Jason was desperately trying to hide it.

“Fine, I see your point,” Jason muttered, grabbing the backpack before heading to the bookshelf. He grunted. “You need better books, honestly, some actual literature would be nice.” He gave up on finding something, grabbed his phone and took off towards Bludhaven Prep.

The car ride over was nice, then the rest of the day started. Jason knew he was weird, new kid as a senior, eyes that didn’t know what they were, and that black hair with the one tuft of white streaking across the front. He would be as rich as his big brother if he had a dollar for every time someone asked him about that during the first class alone. By the time the day was over he was so tightly wound he wanted to bust. It didn’t help that some football player had decided that Jason was going to be his target for the year. It started with an ‘accidental’ tray drop at lunch that left yogurt and milk across his new sneakers. Then in study hall a football to the back of the head. Finally, what really broke Jason, was the walk from the front of the school to the back where the cars were lined up. Jason was straggling, hoping that the jock would have gone first, and he might have peace, but no. He started walking around the side of the school, no one around at first, when from the back came the jock and two friends. The guy was cracking his knuckles like he was some gangster in a movie. Jason rolled his eyes and dropped his bag, knowing where this was going.

“You seem to think you can just come in and take over my school,” the jock said. Jason let out an annoyed breath. He hadn’t spoken to a single person that, hadn’t raised his hand once, he had barely listened, why did the fact that he was an inch taller than this guy make the jock so insecure? He didn’t want to deal with it.

“Can you just try and hit me, and we can get this over with?” Jason asked. The jock’s friends let out snorts of laughter and that seemed to enrage their leader, who threw a wild punch that Jason dodged easily and then Jason threw a jab right at the guy’s face. He did forget that he was bigger now, stronger than before. He was surprised by the blood, but the ear shattering crack of bone and the shriek that the guy let out did surprise him. Jason took off, running around the back of the school and jumping into the car to get home. Great, first day and he had probably just broken that guy’s eye socket. He was getting expelled. At least he wouldn’t have to wear the student uniform anymore.

By the time he got back Dick was already on the phone with the headmaster. Dick pointed at the couch and Jason sat, not wanting to but he knew it was pointless to argue. Dick had literally brought him back to life, he could sit there and take his punishment without argument. He had just shattered a guy’s face; he probably deserved the tongue lashing.

“-I understand but you have to remember that there were no cameras, no actual witnesses other than this Mr. Harrison’s friends, it seems like a he said, he said situation which will not make anyone on the school board happy. Especially when I pull my funding for the new football stadium,” he said. Jason rolled his eyes. Dick had definitely graduated from the Bruce Wayne school for getting out of shit. “Of course, I am glad that we could work this out. And of course, any injuries will be taken care of, but no mention of who the fight was with? Thank you so much for your discretion.” Dick hung up and rounded on Jason. “Care to explain?”

“Some football asshole decided I was too tall for him,” Jason said. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember why he had decided to take in a teenager. “Did you have to break his orbital bone?”

“I forgot about my biceps being the size of my head,” he mumbled. Dick actually chuckled at that. “He threw the first punch…”

“You look uninjured…”

“You think I would let an idiot like that hit me?” Jason looked shocked. Dick sighed and looked at his watch. Then at his phone clock, like it would be much different.

“I am going to be late for my date with Barbara, stay here tonight, get your homework done, there’s food in the fridge and tomorrow we can talk about this more,” Dick said, buttoning his suit jacket and grabbing his wallet. Jason just nodded, pulling out a book that he had gotten at the school library. That at least had more options than Dick’s place. Dick took one more glance at Jason before leaving.

Around 9PM Jason was starting to climb the walls. He had this nervous energy and he didn’t know how to relieve it. He tried to think of something. Parkour? No, he was angry. Video arcade? No, not enough movement. Then he remembered the underground fights that he and Batman had once raised over in his old neighborhood, Crime Alley. He figured the fights were probably back by now, they wouldn’t be down for long. He knew he couldn’t show his face, Dick didn’t need the stress of him being caught in Gotham, or God forbid Bruce finding him, so headed down to the garage that Dick kept on site. He started searching the sports equipment that he had, grabbing an old school goalie’s mask. Very Friday the 13th, and hey, his name was Jason. But the white, no, that wasn’t his color. He looked around, finding some spray paint in another section and he painted the mask red. Nice. He grabbed an old black hoodie, shoved the mask inside the pocket and taking one of Dick’s bikes.

It took him about ten minutes to remember how to drive a motorcycle, apparently death didn’t keep memories of driving in his brain. He almost wiped out five or six times before finally crossing over into Robbinsville and then up into Crime Alley. He stowed the bike behind a dumpster near a Big Belly Burger before heading into a laundromat. He walked to the counter that was helmed by a short woman with dyed blonde hair.

“I’ve come for some good smelling socks,” he said. He hoped these types didn’t get change their code phrases, it was the only one he remembered. The woman nodded and pressed a button, motioning to the side door that said ‘Employees Only’. Jason went through the door and down the stairs, donning his mask. The guy waiting at the bottom looked him over.

“50$ to watch, 100$ to fight,” he said. Jason nodded and turned over his 100$ and the guy pointed him to another woman with a clipboard. Jason headed over to her.

“Name?” she asked. Jason scrambled. “Name?” she repeated, louder and more annoyed. The other fights nearby were starting to watch him. They weren’t too much bigger than him, he might have a good chance. Either way he could blow off some steam.

“Mask of the Red Death,” he said. She cocked an eyebrow and shook her head.

“Too long, you’re Red Mask,” she said. He nodded, very creative. Poe would be proud. “You’re finding Butch first.” She pointed to a large man with muscles in places Jason didn’t know you could have them. They were for show, not strength, not fighting. This guy wanted to look good, not actually be good. Jason watched him as they entered the makeshift cage. He circled the guy, letting him come to him. Butch threw a punch, Jason dodged behind him, and Spartan kicked him in the ass, sending him tripping into the glorified fence surrounding them. The fight went on for only a few more seconds before the guy came back, trying to kick Jason, who slide to the side, grabbed the guy’s leg and slammed his elbow into his knee. There was a crunch and Butch fell, howling in pain, unable to get up. Jason was announced the winner and stepped out, heading towards a back door to get some air. As he opened the door to the basement walkout, he heard a commotion and turned, seeing cops starting to come down the stairs. He knew they would be going to the back door next, so he took off, mask going back in his pocket and climbing a nearby fire escape until he was high enough to hide in the shadows above the streetlight. Once the cops that found the back were inside, he climbed down, running to the alley where he’d left the bike. He was just moving the dumpster again when the back door to the Big Belly Burger opened, making him jump in surprise and slice his hand on an exposed piece of metal inside the trash. He let out a grunt and the teenage girl in uniform turned to face him.

“Are you ok?” she asked, walking over. Jason was gripping his hand, trying to stop the bleeding so he could get the bike and leave. “Hold on, I have a bandage.” She pulled out a roll box of bandaids from the apron pocket.

“Clumsy are you?” Jason asked, trying to distract from the annoying ache in his palm. She chuckled and walked over, pulling a cotton ball out of the packet.

“No, we have a griller who thinks he’s a ninja, any time he gets his hand on a knife I have to be ready to stitch him up,” she said. She started dabbing his hand and Jason once again hissed. “What music do you like?”

“I uh…I don’t know, I used to like metal, some alternative stuff, but went through a change this summer…not sure anymore,” he said, confused. “Why?”

“Well, one this is distracting you from me disinfecting this thing, so you don’t get tetanus, and two, you live in Crime Alley, don’t be a stereotype. If you think you might like something different than ‘I grew up in the slums, so I just listen to angry shit’ try Noah Kahan, you look like a guy who’d like him, or Hozier.” He could tell she was just throwing out names to keep him listening and he appreciated it. “What’s your name?”

“Jason,” he said. She nodded and smiled, finishing with the bandage.

“Nice to meet you, I’m YN,” she said. “Want some help with the dumpster or are all those muscles working?” She winked at him, and he actually blushed, glad it was dark and she might not notice.

“Sure,” he said. Together they moved the dumpster, and he got the bike. He waved quick before driving back to the penthouse. He got as far as the elevator door, when it opened there was Dick.

“So, I see you had an interesting evening,” he said, holding up his phone where video of Jason breaking Butch’s leg was being shown. Of course, Dick would realize it was him, he would know that move anywhere, Dick had taught it to him.

“I needed to get out, blow off some steam, forget who I was for a bit,” he said. Dick nodded.

“Good, then what I just signed you up for will be perfect,” he said. Jason looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not a member of the theater program, auditions for Hamlet are Friday.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jason said, heading out of the elevator.

“I am very serious, you go to school, go to practice, be someone else for awhile when you’re there, and then you come home and you stay here or I am calling Bruce and sending you back to him, see how Batman deals with your shit,” he said. Jason sighed, heading up to his room. Fine, theater, he’d wanted to do that before Bruce pulled him from high school. How bad could it be?

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #notromeo

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