#equal parts murder and puppy eyes

[wraithsoutlaws]

what the fucjjcn why is he so CUTE :ratscream:

[solar-wing]

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

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

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

⚣❤️‍🔥 Word Count → 14.5K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY ❤️‍🔥

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

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

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

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

Not that Jason’s methods were exactly…practical.

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I—uh—well, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red Hood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OOP—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N on the other hand…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Girl—seriously, don’t do it.

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

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

…

Hold up.

…

Nah…unless?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason: Did you eat yet?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What did that mean?

Well...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope. Not happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can the church get an amen?

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

And oh, did Y/N protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” Y/N asked softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is someone dead or currently dying?”

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

“No, but–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then came the follow-up.

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

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

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

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

Because was he actually lying?

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

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

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

Because, honestly… were they even wrong?

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

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

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

And then, like clockwork, came the switch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later that night, Jason made his move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just ask that bitch, Xavion…

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[luv-lock]

Who do you think would cry/throw up/MURDER first if Pervert!Spider Reader tried rizzing up Thalia or Rhas Al Ghul?

1. Damian: Murder Mode Activated

Damian would 100% be the first to lose it. Seeing you even remotely flirt with his mother or grandfather would flip his already short fuse.

If it’s Talia, he’d go full-on angry bird mode, glaring daggers at you while sputtering, “YOU INSOLENT WOMAN! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!” before likely drawing his katana.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d genuinely threaten you, saying something like, “You’ve gone too far. I’ll end this madness myself,” while trying to intimidate you with his deadliest glare (which you’d probably find adorable).

No amount of kisses or teasing would calm him down immediately. He’d probably need Jason to hold him back.

2. Jason: Punches a Wall (and Maybe You)

Jason would go straight into rage and denial mode, particularly if you started sweet-talking Ra’s. You jokingly tell Ra's, "You've got a whole 'silver fox with a kingdom' vibe going on. Very attractive," and Jason snaps.

"Oh, hell no. This wrinkly bastard doesn't get to breathe the same air as you!"

He'd unload an entire clip at Ra's while dragging you behind him protectively.

“You’re flirting with the Demon’s Head?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

If it’s Talia, he’d be equally furious but also extra petty. “Oh, so you’re into hot assassins now? Great. Guess I’m not enough for you,” he’d grumble while trying not to visibly sulk.

Despite his anger, there’s a 50% chance Jason might step in to challenge Ra’s directly, because he refuses to be shown up.

3. Dick: Throws Up in the Corner

Dick would probably cry and throw up first, especially if you flirted with Talia.

He’d be heartbroken, looking at you with those big, sad puppy-dog eyes. “Why would you do this? I thought we had something special,” he’d say dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s in a soap opera.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d look physically ill. “You’re flirting with a literal centuries-old warlord?! What’s wrong with you?” he’d exclaim, pacing in disbelief while the others try to calm him down.

4. Tim: Overthinks Himself into Oblivion

Tim wouldn’t react physically but would go into full mental meltdown mode. Poor boy is so emotionally fragile when it comes to you. Seeing you openly flirt with either Talia or Ra's would break him completely.

He’d probably mutter something like, “Wait, are you doing this as a joke? Or do you actually like them? Is this part of some elaborate plan I missed?” while spiraling into paranoia.

You casually compliment Ra's on his tailored robes, and Tim, who's watching from the Batcomputer, starts hyperventilating. "She... she doesn't mean it. Right? She's just messing around. RIGHT?!" Then he bolts to the nearest bathroom. If it was Talia? He'd straight-up faint from the stress.

Tim would definitely research ways to counteract the Lazarus Pit just in case you’re actually serious.

He’d also probably cry a little, but only in private.

5. Bruce: Quietly Contemplates Murder

Bruce wouldn’t react immediately. Instead, he’d sit there in silence, arms crossed, radiating pure disappointment.

“Ra’s Al Ghul? Really?” he’d say in that deep, gravelly voice, making you laugh even harder.

If it’s Talia, he’d rub his temples and mutter, “I’ve dealt with a lot from you, but this… this is a new low.”

He wouldn’t say anything outright, but the tension in the Batcave afterward would be suffocating.

The Aftermath:

Damian would sulk for days and try to “punish” you during training by going extra hard.

Jason would get over it by pretending it never happened, but he’d glare at Ra’s every chance he got.

Dick would be clingier than ever, needing constant reassurance that he’s still your favorite.

Tim would probably never trust you around the League of Assassins again.

Bruce? He’d just pray to whatever deity he believes in for patience.

[mayasaura]

One of my biggest hopes for Alecto is that Harrow has a minute of going full Carrie revenge insane upon finding out what they did to Gideon’s body. Like. Throughout Canaan House and especially in the AUs, we get the sense of Harrow having a deep desire to protect Gideon’s body even if it is in her own solitary goth nun way. She wants Gideon to put more consideration into the danger of avulsion before agreeing. She tells her afterward not to price her life so cheaply. She makes Cam and Pal check on her multiple times. She leaves her bread in a drawer. She’s fully on board to throw Camilla towards possible death in the interest of keeping Gideon safe. And then when she finally sees her in the coffee AU her description is just so soft and loving even when she’s about to pass out because she saw her arms, and continues that way until the end of the book. When Ianthe thinks it’s Harrow in Nona she’s surprised she isn’t violently storming the compound to recover Gideon’s body. Anyway she should find out how BOE and Jod treated her body and go on a tiny insane revenge spree. As a treat.

You are SO fucking right. Deep down inside Harrow is that one gif of the girl holding puppies and crying because she can't protect them, only the puppies are a butch lesbian determined to throw herself into a meat grinder.

I think Harrow might be a little grateful for the unbreakable bones and indestructable skin part of Jod's deal re: Gideon—she may have done that herself in Canaan House, if she'd known how—but the rest of it? The gaping wounds, the leaving her dead? Kill Bill sirens. She has been trying so hard to protect and preserve Gideon, to give Gideon a life, and when Gideon's own father has the chance to restore her he just slaps her together with crazy glue and calls it fine? That is not fine.

If she ever finds out how Gideon's corpse was being treated while her murderer lay in state on a bed of flowers... Man, I would not want to be in the room where that happened.

It would be so cathartic to see her tear into John over his part of it. Gideon already went apeshit on him for how he treated Harrow, so it's only fair Harrow gets to have her go. It's equality!! If We Suffer could somehow be there to be held accountable, too, so much the better.

And after that, what I really really want to see is Harrow turning the soft and loving vibe from the Baristar AU on the real Gideon, and channeling that protective fury toward protecting or restoring Gideon. I know it's probably not going to be exactly how it happens, what with everything else going on, but that sleeping beauty fakeout has me hungry to see Harrow try to ride in and rescue her prince.

In abscence of her body, Harrow's soul dreamed of Gideon's eyes; and in abscence of her soul, Harrow's body dreamed of Gideon's hands. If we don't get to see some pay off when she has those hands to hold again, I'm gonna have to chew my own fucking leg off.

[definesanity]

Thrill, Risk, Heartless.

The body was still warm. And Sonetto was on the trail of the killer.

The detective had been assigned to the "Clock Killings" when she had first joined the team, at the young age of 16. Back then, despite her knowledge in the field, she had no real-life experience.

Eight years. Eight. Goddamn. Years.

When she first assigned to the case, it was when the first two murders had taken place. And where she first saw the murderer, before vanishing.

She knew that girl. Had known who it was for a long time now.

And Vertin was finally in her grasp.

Over the fence, and straight into an alleyway.

Shots were fired by the ginger, but the white-haired woman was fast to dodge them. Not once was a bullet fired back. Is Vertin unarmed?

A turn... and a dead end.

Sonetto loaded her pistol, aiming it at the serial killer. "Turn around!"

Vertin gave a chuckle. "My," she said, turning around to finally show her face. "The lil' puppy has caught quite a large bone, hasn't she?"

A trail of blood came from the left side of her head, and her hands were coveted in blood. A knife was held in her right, and she wore a coat with a casual t-shirt and pants.

"Oh, don't worry about the wound, by the way," Vertin said, gesturing to the blood. "That guy just got a lucky shot on me. You didn't hit me."

"Want that to change?" Sonetto challenged, holding the gun directly at Vertin's heart. The killer gave a giggle.

"Puppy, you couldn't harm if you wanted. Come on, we're old friends, aren't we?" a smug smile was on Vertin's face as, her hands still up, walked forwards towards the detective.

Sonetto kept a steady aim. "One more step..."

Vertin gave a grin. "Oo, lil' puppy got--" a step forwards, "--claws?"

BANG.

Sonetto watched as Vertin fell over backwards, the knife falling from her hand.

A feeling lurched at her heart, one that she quickly pushed back down, much like how the body fell.

She sighed, turning away.

"Good aim, Sonetto," the hairs on the back of the ginger's neck went straight up. "You always did have the better eye-hand coordination out of us."

Sonetto turned back around, seeing how Vertin rose back up, taking the bullet out of her chest to examine it, letting out a tiny grunt during it which made Sonetto's heart skip a beat.

The moonlight shone directly on Vertin, showing how the light reflected off of the bloodied bullet, held in an equally bloody hand between her index finger and thumb.

A greyish-silver eye looked at the bullet almost fondly, as she then turned to Sonetto with that same expression.

"You know, this isn't the first time I've been 'killed'," she commented, "...But, it is the first time I came back the quickest..."

"Maybe you have something to do with it, hm? But..."

Her foot moved, and suddenly, the knife was in the air, and then back in her hand.

"For now, little puppy? Let's part ways, hm?"

And Sonetto watched as Vertin stabbed something under her coat, releasing smoke...

And then, she was gone.

And Sonetto felt like she was Niagara Falls with how wet she was.

[iamthecomet]

Mushy May Day 6

Picnic (Ft. Murder Ghoulettes) Pairing: Cirrus/Cumulus Rating: M for Murder Featuring: The girls deserve a picnic every once in a while. Murder ghoulettes. Blood. Kissing. Ghoulettes in love. Word Count: 700+ Read it under the cut, or on AO3.

The sister is pretty. A petite thing, with curves that would usually make Cirrus’ mouth go dry. She drags her fingers through her golden hair and smiles at Cumulus like she’s the moon. She’s Cumulus’ type. Naive. Trusting. Excitable.

Cirrus stands back, watches. She likes to watch. Likes to see the way Cumulus leans in, smiles wide and bright. How she bounces on her toes as they talk. The girl mirrors her enthusiasm, face breaking out into a wide grin as Cumulus reaches out to touch her.

“We’re going for a picnic,” Cumulus purrs at her. Big eyes trained on the sister, smile widening. “We’d love if you joined us.”

The picnic basket in Cirrus’ hand is empty. The girl doesn’t need to do know that.

It’s a short walk. Far enough into the orchard that they can’t see the Abbey anymore. Far enough that if the girl gets a chance to scream no one will hear her. She won’t get the chance though. Cumulus never lets them see it coming. Cirrus can’t decide if Cumulus does it out of mercy—or if she just likes the way their faces drop in surprise.

She’d bet on the latter.

It’s easy. It’s always easy. The girl tags along like a puppy, her hand pressed into Cumulus’. Giggling at the attention, grinning back at Cirrus like she’s in for the best night of her life—like she has never been happier.

Cirrus would maybe feel bad about it if she wasn’t so hungry.   She coos, reaching out to stroke her fingers along the delicate line of the girl’s jaw. Feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath her fingers. The girl blushes, deep pink flushing over freckled cheeks. She smells like honeysuckle.

Cirrus’ mouth is already watering. The kill is quick. It always is. The buildup is the long part. The soft way Cumulus and Cirrus touch her, the way they look at her as they lay the blanket down. The way Cumulus curls around her and points up to the apple blossoms on the tree. Presses fleeting kisses into her golden hair, nuzzles her nose against that fluttering pulse.

Then there’s blood. Arterial spray. And the girl is dropping limp into Cumulus’ arms. When Cumulus pulls away her lips are carmine.

Cirrus can’t help but kiss her. Can’t help but sweep her tongue over Cumulus’ plush lower lip and taste the last moments of that Sibling’s happiness against her flesh.

The rest is methodic, an easy rhythm they fall into without speaking. When they’ve had their fill they lay under the early spring sun, warm and satiated.

Cirrus could stay here forever. She would if she didn’t have a job, duties. If Papa wouldn’t come looking for them after a while. This, she’s sure, is the closest a hell beast can get to heaven. Cumulus’ body is pressed tight to hers, soft and pliant under her fingers. Their tails curled together, heads resting against each other as they lay on the blanket and look up at the cloudless sky. She raises Cumulus’ fingers to her lips and kisses the blood from them. Cumulus turns her head and laughs softly into Cirrus’ dark hair.

“I love these days with you,” Cumulus sighs.

“We could have more of them,” Cirrus offers even though she knows it isn’t true. Only so many disappearances can be swept under the rug. It will be a month or more before they can do this again. Before Cirrus can kiss the blood splattered over Cumulus’ neck. Before she can feel like this, sun warm and full, and at ease. Cumulus purrs against her, pulling her closer. Cirrus’ toes graze over blood slick grass as she shifts. “Next time, you can pick,” Cumulus promises. Cirrus shakes her head. She presses a kiss between Cumulus’ horns.

“You have better taste,” Cirrus lies. In reality, Cirrus thinks they have equally good taste. Different. Cumulus likes them innocent, happy, drugged on their own happy hormones before she kills them. Cirrus likes the opposite, a little fear, a little anger, the taste of their adrenaline bursting over her tongue. But really, she’d rather watch Cumulus do the killing. Loves to watch her work, the way she touches, the way she smiles. How her body moves when she’s getting ready. Loves to watch the blood drip down Cumulus’ chin, and smear across her cheeks.

Cirrus doesn’t need to pick, doesn’t need to chase, doesn’t need their fear as long as she can watch Cumulus work.

She’s never seen anything so beautiful.

Cumulus scoffs, knows the truth, but doesn’t try to push against it, doesn’t try to argue or insist. Cirrus can feel her grin against her neck, feels the slight prick of her fangs as she drags her teeth under Cirrus’ jaw. “You spoil me.”

Cirrus nods. “Always.”

[bhaalergate]

Cain hangs off of Gortash's every word when they first meet, without truly meaning to. At the start of his journey, he was painfully awkward. He was more like a feral creature pretending poorly at domesticity with no clear understanding of what it means to be docile. All he had was his name and his Oath. Over the course of his journey, Cain gradually forged bonds with his companions and they even accepted him despite the bloodlust they learned was living in his veins. He became more of an actual person.

Then he meets Gortash, and Cain doesn't remember him, but the way he engages him with such genuine warmth and familiarity makes him feel utterly seen and accepted. Wanted not in spite of the murder in his heart, but with it. (Something unknown stirs inside of him. Like the Urge, but not, though equally fervent. He wants to lace his fingers through Gortash's and squeeze until their hands fuse or bones break. He wants to crack open his ribs and crawl inside his guts and live there.)

Gortash sees his wolf returned and giving him puppy eyes and he can't help but wonder how sharp his teeth still are. (A wild part of him wants to pry open his jaws to find out.)

[galvanizedfriend]

What do u think about the fans mainly fans of the originals who say that klaroline was just a hookup and that caroline never liked klaus/ klaus never loved her. I see this sentiment alot on reddit and its so frustrating.

I think people are allowed to have their own opinions and interpretations of the show. Personally I have no hard feelings towards fans who aren't into Klaroline. I have my own opinions, which are obviously very biased, so I think it's fair that people will have their own biased opinions favoring different characters/ships that are more convenient to them. That's really the thing with media in general, different people can look at the exact same thing and have completely different views, and I'm totally ok with that.

Having said that, MY opinion is that Klaroline denialists (lol) have to pointedly ignore/turn a blind eye to a lot of things in order to completely disregard it. 😂 There's a hell of a lot of evidence, even in the final season of The Originals. I like to pretend that s5 never happened too, but it's mostly because it's an awful piece of television writing of which the KC parts and that one episode that is completely focused on Elijah are the only parts that can be salvaged. 🥲

I think that kind of thing tends to come from a new wave of fans who have started their TVDverse journey through The Originals rather than TVD, although ship wars have been around since the dawn of time. If you have only ever seen TO, then I guess Klaroline really doesn't make any sense. Even the crossover episodes that feature KC, the KC bits are kept mostly in the TVD portion. She seems to come out of nowhere in S5. Both are equally canon, one isn't truer than the other, and you need both to get a bigger picture, but some people would rather stick to just one of them. And when you've seen TO first and gotten attached to a certain ship and then go back to watch TVD, you're obviously going to have a biased view over that because what you find there is obviously not going to suit your heart's desire. It happens the other way around too.

The way I see it, it's really hard to simply deny KC when you watch TVD tho. 😂 It takes a LOT of determination lol Klaus was a total puppy for Caroline, in ways he never was for anyone else, and even in the crossover episodes, he still acts the exact same way. And come on 'he's your first love, I intend to be your last, however long it takes?' 😂 If that's not a love declaration 🤷‍

As for Caroline not liking him, it's very complex. When we get down to 5x11 in TVD, and then to S5 of TO, it becomes obvious that he's always messed with her head and she had complicated feelings for him she never wanted to tap into. Which is perfectly understandable. Klaus was a villain in TVD. He killed Elena, he ruined Tyler's life, he ruined Stefan's life, tortured him, murdered Tyler in cold blood right in front of everyone to force them to find the way to make him a hybrid, caused all sorts of havoc all over her home town. Klaus was THE BAD GUY. That's a problem I have with TO that I think gets worse for people who only see that show or who see that show first and then go back to watch TVD: they seem to think Klaus is not that bad. He's just a bad boy with a bad attitude. They fall for that cheap conversation they try to sell with Cami's character, the ~~explainer, that he's just misunderstood and all he really needed was someone to be on his side. No! Klaus is AWFUL. He's killed thousands of people! He's a villain! And that's what makes him such a great character! He never needed redemption. It's way easier for people to find him redeemable when he's done nothing to personally attack them/destroy their lives, which is obviously not Caroline's case. She's seen the very worst of Klaus. He's threatened everyone she knows, including her. And Caroline is someone who, aside from having a very strong however biased moral code, is also INCREDIBLY loyal, so of course it's going to be way harder for her to forgive Klaus and forget about the terrible things he's done to just see that she's an exception for him.

What becomes clear throughout S4 of TVD (for me, at least) is that she was struggling with how she felt and in a lot of denial. A lot of the things she says to him ('people who do terrible things are just terrible people') are really things she's saying to herself. She gets mad at the fact she's obviously ~~drawn to the darkness, and so she lashes out (because, you know, she has a personality 🤷‍). 5x11 makes that very clear as well. She doesn't want Klaus around because he clouds her judgement and it makes her mad that she's probably afraid she's not gonna be able to resist him for much longer and that's only going to complicate her life further. Everyone around her makes her feel guilty for not hating Klaus, so of course she's going to feel reluctant. But when they they do meet again in S5 of TO they're both at a point of their lives where she's ok admitting that she always wanted him to prove to her that he could do better, and that she always knew he wasn't her villain, even if he never hesitated to hurt anyone else around her, she knew she was safe with him (hence why she drove to Nola after him with her kids). She doesn't want him to die, tries to stop him by telling Elijah, and the fact she goes to New Orleans to have a last day with him, having saved that message for years and across different iPhones, probably, tells us that she had, deep down, had hopes that some day, down the line, they'd find each other again. But then they do, and it's too late (and that's really the only part of that season that is written with a certain degree of poetry tbh).

All that to say, Klaus and Caroline were complicated and clashed a lot and that's part of what made it so compelling to me. There were genuine reasons why they shouldn't be together, they were virtually on opposing sides almost the whole time, and I love that about the ship. It forced Klaus to grow a conscience. He wasn't sorry for the things he did, he wasn't trying to become a better person, there was no one petting him on the back and saying 'poor you, misundertood boy'. He was confronted with the consequences of his actions, which is, for me, the best (or worst) thing that could happen to someone like Klaus, unlike with Cami, for instance, who was just there to excuse his bad behavior.

But like I said, my opinions are completely colored by the fact that I 100% support that ship. And the same way I look down on other ships because I can't stand them, I get that other people are going to look down on my otp as well and have wildly different opinions. It's a fandom, we're never going to agree on everything, and I'm totally cool with that. There's room for everyone. Unless they come directly to my doorstep to talk shit about it, it honestly doesn't bother me. I'm all for ship and let ship.

ANYWAY 😂 Sorry for the long ted talk nonnie, I RAMBLE a lot 🥲

[heartlurch]

if u had to define it, what is it that u try most to bring out or represent in what u make, both aesthetically and narratively? I get a lot of the feeling if weird childhood feelings intersecting with like, adult feelings we don't quite understand yet- a kind of innocent puppy love that leads to a very sado-masochistic but equally innocent frame of mind. the idea that you want someone to be completely part of you, in every sense, in the most innocent- but not necessarily nice- way possible. like, when you're little, anything makes sense because nothing makes sense. (and also something something the inherent closeness of siblings...)

A real thinker. Hmm, how do I word this...

Aesthetically, I've always been drawn to 'cute' things. Little anime mascots, pretty creatures with bright eyes and long flowing hair. I'm inspired by things like Hamtaro, early Pokemon/Neopets design sense, a couple aspects of Digimon... My Little Pony! All things that have been dear to me since I was a lil kid. :3

I was also an edgy kid, though, so the kind of narratives I was inclined towards making were full of, er, murder, kidnapping, rape, slavery, cannibalism, torture... debauchery. Le weird age gap relationships, le interspecies, le forbidden love. (Funnily enough, I was late to the game with incest, it didn't really 'click' until I was about 17...) But yes, sado-maso, that was the core fixation. I wanted to see raw emotions! Misery! Scary situations! Dire romances!! And, I wanted all of these things to be inflicted to the pokemon, the my little ponies. I wanted to see those designs, that I was so attracted to, be put through this. Being honest, I don't think it was about contrasting something from my 'childhood' with something 'adult'... Well ah, real animals experience violence, death, rape, subjugation... *taps chin* I'm not sure if it feels like an 'adult' concept, because it's not as if it's exclusive to adults... Anything can experience intense circumstance, right? At that point, it's a matter of wanting to apply a sense of 'reality' to these creatures... Beyond that, it's also as simple as mashing up my favorite things together in a big pile. At that point, it's just incidental I wasn't like, idk, into detective dramas and putting the pokemon in that. (Not to nitpick too much... I'm just reflecting on my perspective. I'll circle back to this.)

Anyhoo... His little pea was thinking of such things at age like, 8, or something. Though I think I was closer to 11-13 when I was trying to actually write and draw these thoughts. None of this is so unique really; you can find tons of dA galleries from kids who want to see pikachu be fucked up and evil. As a result, I didn't feel like I was weird for what was doing, tbh. If anything, discovering fanfic dot net and dA made me feel validated — lots of people want to see this stuff! It was euphoric for a moment. Ah, so lots of people think like me... Cool!

I was mostly self-conscious at my own feeble skills. I'd have in my mind all these complex, winding narratives... Envisioning demon rituals where a kid needs to crush a live mouse between his teeth, swallow it whole, to complete it — but I couldn't remotely illustrate my thoughts. I'd barely be able to make some chicken scratch scribble of the design, and it'd be some feeble chibi lol. I felt a dissonance between my art and my desires. And it felt incompetent of me...

(You wouldn't know this girlie is a despondent sex slave, would you-??)

How do I improve drawing things that are pretty, cute, and appealing to me... but also, how do I create atmosphere? How do I convey all they are going through? This is where it's difficult, because there's not much to teach you how to... draw your cutesy little critter, writhing in agony. Expressive faces and posing are such a hill to conquer. And then beyond that, I have to realize there's other art that inspires me... I really love moeblob anime girls! Frilly shoujo styles! Expressive toons and furries... The simplicity of something like Adventure Time. What do I take away from these things? How do I integrate them-? I was honestly so clueless about it for years. Kind of at a loss of how to convey everything.

By now, I realize I want things to be mm... fluid, fantastical, a bit boneless... But not TOO boneless, it needs to be! Grounded! It needs volume, weight, I don't want things to get too loose, too flat, too 'shapes'. There's a lot of beauty to organic form... Grit to the living body. I want to imbue my favorite designs with that! A mascot is often designed with no intention to see it twist, flex, roll around, writhe... I want to look at a design like pichu and give it muscle and organs. It has a skeletal structure! It breathes! It exists. With all the dreamy, unreal smoothness of a real mouse. :3

Beyond that, I had much to hone about what I value in narratives. Getting it down to a science... What do I really want? At first, I think I over-emphasized wanting 'bad things' to happen. Harm happened, but too much for the sake of it. There was not enough meaning behind it. What imbues it with meaning...? I've found that the answer is: characters being obsessively, madly in love. A love that consumes everything, a love that drives you to act in a way you can't understand. This is where you get into the 'want to be completely intertwined, want all of you, no matter what '. That mentality. The kidnapping should happen because of love! The cannibalism should happen because of love! The rape should happen because of love! Love, love, love. It's always out of love! Love is the only thing that matters.

As for your bit about "adult feelings we don't quite understand yet", I do ponder this sort of thing quite a lot. I feel like... a lot of your experience as a child is that people underestimate what you are capable of. It's kind of frustrating! You see how children are depicted in things... and it makes you feel microaggressed, almost, haha. I'm not so gormless... I have an inner world, I have desires. One can develop an arrogance about this even... I think kids are pretty arrogant, often. Since they know they're being underestimated?

But... you... don't know everything yet! You can be in over your head. That's the tricky thing; there's a lot you haven't experienced before and cannot put to words yet. There are feelings that you have, that you chase, but you don't even know why. Sometimes it's fully unconscious... or sometimes, you're half-aware of it, but you struggle to confront it. Maybe you'll let yourself 'get away' with what you're doing, by not looking at it head on... Ah, and then, I think about all the memories I have of being pointlessly scared or confused about something that was so simple in reality. There are so many anecdotes people share from childhood that I really dwell on. An innocuous post like this really sums up how you can have a very inexplicable but real fear, that gets overturned by something very arbitrary. DON'T YOU HAVE A 100 MEMORIES LIKE THIS...?? It's the comical aspect of it all.

I really like the respective 'flavors' of specific ages as well. So it's fun to get into the head of a 15 yo, a 13 yo, a 12 yo, a 9yo, a 6yo... And the intersection of different personalities and ages! What about a distinctly 'slow' or immature kid, paired with someone younger yet more mature? Or perfectly on their level? Or... [goes on and on...] How do they encourage one another, who instigates what, what do they incidentally stumble into? I love accidents. I love not planning to do something... not intending to do anything more than an innocuous game. Or a mish-mash of, one of you is more clueless, the other knows they're doing something underhanded... Indeed, it's not always nice. It's often selfish. Love makes you selfish, love makes you impulsive and reckless. But it also makes you covet, find things precious. You end up feeling protective, as much as you feel destructive. How contradictory it all is!! Hehe. As you can probably tell, by now, I could spend all day thinking about this stuff...

Now that I have my ultimate best friend forever and ever, my wifey, it's all I want to think about. :3 I feel like being with her specifically, is what helped me fully understand the appeal of sibling characters. I've kind of dabbled in it before but, it's really being with Avvy that makes me crave the fantasy of wanting to be born together, grow up together... Never be apart. We're inseparable and spend every second with one another, so it's very natural to translate our dynamic into something like the Yugi twins. How warm and cozy! Let's play forever!

Bit of a tangent, but it's all relevant, I promise.

So hm... going over my art journey and all... As an adult, I've reached a point where I can reflect on everything I've been drawn to, and why, and I can understand what I want to make of it all. I felt more aimless before, and helpless about how to make everything harmonize. It all kind of felt like a big soup of disparate things I was trying to mash together, with mixed results. Now I feel more exact. And I can reflect on my own experiences and memories and use that to connect and explore characters. I like this... it's like my entire life becomes a reference point, something to pull from. A moment, a feeling, a tactile experience... It can be plucked and made into art. Which is lovely. At this point, it makes me a little excited when I experience stressful things, because it can be something I use later. Physical illness is fodder for a sickly character. When I'm bedridden and my wife is bringing me water, it's like some weird kinnie euphoria lol. My twin is here for meeee... kaff kaff

I keep trying to think of how to succinctly summarize this all... Maybe I can't. The last thing I want to say is I put a lot of reverence in my personal art, now. And I'm pretty severe about this, I don't want to draw something out of any other reason than adoration. It needs to matter to me. I have to love it. A lot of my old art is embarrassing, but as long as I was trying my best, it's not so bad. The stuff I truly hate was when I faffed off and drew some meaningless meme, just cuz my friends were doing it. And drawing things purposefully ugly. Making fun of my interests, out of shame, or something... I resent this. I won't ever do this again! If I draw Tsukasa... I need to make sure I'm conveying how I love him and how he is beautiful! At most, if I'm drawing something silly, it still needs to be cute. Appealing. A silly little comic. It's no fun of me, I know, but I hate meme-y art as a result. Useless to me. It's easy to be irreverent. Try praying to something next time you draw, if you want a challenge... *insane person voice*

Something something... oh, the reason I feel 'weird' and 'crazy' nowadays, is because I think a lot of people outgrow the edgelord, drawing pikachu crying blood phase. Or, it developed into something more... *squints* 'respectable'...? But I feel as though my raw desires haven't changed. If anything, I'm leaning into it allharder into it than I ever did when I was young.

I hope any of this was interesting. 🙇‍♀️

[fraink5-writes]

In the Names of Freedom - Chapter 1

Due to personal reasons, I took a hiatus two years ago, but NO LONGER! I am BACK, and with a new fic!

It’s another Genshin fic, this time inspired by the great manga Love of Kill (殺し愛), featuring Xiao and Venti!

Huge thank you to my editor @leio13​ for all the awesome feedback she provides!

Summary: After confirming the death of his latest target, Xiao's secret mission is interrupted by an eccentric stranger in green, who claims to be Xiao's protector! But the reality is much more convoluted... What destiny could possibly link Xiao with Venti—an assassin of hitmen?

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

The jade tip of the spear glided cleanly through the center of the man's chest. After just a few moments of staggering and sputtering blood, the body crumpled to the floor. It would take a few minutes for brain death, but that wasn't Xiao's concern. Wasting no time, he walked over to the body and began his inspection, running his gloved fingers through every crevice. …Nothing. This was to be expected, of course. When Xiao died no one would find anything on his body either. Then he yanked out his spear and let the blood pour from the wound.

“Woooooowww~ Good job!” A light voice sang out. Xiao was certain he cleared the area of any bystanders. He shot up and whipped his spear in the direction of the voice. “So that's how the masters do it!” 

At the end of his weapon was a short… whimsical-looking fellow. His flowered hat and twin braids painted the image of a fairy-tale character, certainly not a witness to a murder. But whatever misfortune or accident led him to this scene was not important. He couldn't leave alive.

Xiao thrusts the spear at his skull, but the man just ducked under, not a second too soon.

“Can you hear me out?“

Xiao stabbed. Again. Again. Again. But each time, his target managed to elude his spear in an energetic dance.

“Please?” He shot Xiao the biggest puppy eyes imaginable, and while appeals to emotion didn't mean anything to Xiao, the man seemed equally unaffected by the many attempts on his life.

Xiao sighed. “You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into.” 

“Of course I do,” he chuckled. “Who in these parts hasn't heard the tragedy of the Yaksha?” After posing dramatically, he smiled, holding out his hand. “I'm Venti.”

Venti…? A strange name that should've meant nothing to Xiao, yet it stayed his hand—if only for a second. Then he lunged at “Venti” again.

“What's your name?” Venti playfully glided around the dim alley.

Xiao's only answer was another stab. 

“You won't tell me?” Venti's pout was quickly replaced by a smile. “Nevertheless, I'm still glad we had this chance to meet, o woeful Yaksha.” And with that, he slipped out into the dark, droning Liyue streets and disappeared.

***

Early the next morning, Xiao trudged through the already busy commercial district with a persistent twinge of irritation. He let that guy escape yesterday without a single clue about his identity. All he had was a name: Venti. That had to be a fake name, otherwise he wouldn't have given it up so easily. In any case, the name hadn't produced any results in Xiao's research. Although the stranger’s continued existence concerned Xiao, he felt deeply in his gut that he shouldn't let anyone else know about their encounter—at least not until Xiao could gather more information. As a result, the report in Xiao's hand contained no mention of the thorn in his side named Venti.

At the end of Liyue Harbor's Feiyun Slope, across from the entertainment district (Chihu Rock), sat an unassuming apartment building with an equally plain storefront on the first floor. Above the door, an old-fashioned sign read “Adepti Agency.” Due to its location, the small garden out front was a prime spot for teenage loitering, none of whom even spared the agency a second glance. Even at nine in the morning, there were already two teens hovering around one of the stone benches. 

“Have you heard about Teyvat's most prolific killers? They supposedly live right here in Liyue Harbor.”

“Ehhh? No?? What?!”

“Eheh, don't worry; they only kill bad people. They're known as the Yaksha and the Mole.”

“Ohh… I've heard about the Yaksha before—they're the hitman, right?”

“Yeah, they're called the Yaksha because they only kill the scum of the scum in Liyue's shadows. And they have a 100% hit rate.”

“Ooh, scary…”

“But guess what? Rumor has it they have a background in crime! They're first job was wiping out their own organization…!”

“Wow…”

“Yeah, but, the Mole is even worse—they're a hitman of hitmen!”

“Damn.”

“They deal in information. They help other assassins kill their targets in exchange for info. Supposedly, if the target offers up the better intel, they get spared, and the Mole kills the assassin. But no matter what, they always kill both eventually.”

“But if you're going to get killed no matter what, why would anyone make a deal with them?”

“Well, you see, they apparently have a voice so hypnotic that no one can resist them!”

“What would happen if they met?”

“Well, obviously the Mole would kill the Yaksha.”

“Yeah, but the Yaksha never misses a target.”

“True… hmm… what if they killed each other… at the same time!”

“Or what if they teamed up together?”

“Now that would be scary…”

Tuning out the embellished drivel of the teenagers, Xiao approached the uninviting entrance. There was only a single piece of paper hanging on the door that read “SORRY! No walk-in appointments.” Xiao opened the door and slipped inside. 

Upon entering, he was greeted by the reception desk. The young woman at the desk was sleeping, her head of blue hair nestled in her arms. Xiao wordlessly placed an envelope on her desk.

“…Ah! Uh… g-good morning, Xiao!” The secretary's head shot up in a daze.

“You don't have to work all night, you know, Ganyu.”

“Oh, yes… I know, but… intel can come through at any time, and Morax is counting on me to process them. Um, is this your report from your last job? That was fast!” Ganyu filed the envelope away. “Are you heading out again?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” She flipped through the papers on her desk and handed a packet to Xiao. “Here's your next job. Knowing you, you shouldn't have any problem with it.”

“Thanks.” Xiao turned back to the door.

“Xiao!” Ganyu called out to him once more as he was halfway through the exit. “I'll tell Morax that you stopped by! Good luck!”

And with a nod, Xiao left.

***

Although Xiao wasn't worried about his target (a corrupt aristocrat), that didn't mean he had plenty of free time. He headed over to the Heyu Tea House, where his target liked to lounge about, squandering his unlawful gains. As it was still early, the aristocrat had not yet shown up; the place was empty, save for Xiao himself and the storyteller who took it upon himself to begin a story:

“There once was a massive monsters' den. The monsters were exceptionally cruel, kidnapping children from their homes! But they did not eat them—no! They forced them to labor like slaves as their masters sat round their fire pits, inhaling the fumes. Our story today is the tale of three of these children on a fateful night…” 

By this point, Xiao's laptop had started up, and he began his research, tuning out the fantastical story behind him. Since he was in a public place, his resources were limited, but nevertheless, he would scour the surface web for any information on “Venti.” But “Venti” was nothing more than dust in the wind, a fleeting encounter swept away into the unknown. 

“Though the children had slain the King of the Beasts, could they escape the den alive? Please come back tomorrow to find out what happened to our three brave heroes.” Just as the storyteller wrapped up his first story, Xiao's target, Gentry Maocai, arrived at the Tea House as if on cue. He sauntered over to the boss for idle chatter, leaving his servant to prepare his table. With his master's back turned, the servant flippantly arranged the dishes, placing Maocai's teacup front and center. After a bit of dawdling, he approached Maocai to coax him to his seat. 

That was Xiao's chance. He slipped past the gentleman's unattended seat, dumped the contents of a small packet into his tea and then excused himself to the bathroom. Inside the packet was a ground powder created from the leaves of a tiny flower (gelsemine). It was a rare tea leaf, well suited for the end of a corrupt businessman's life. 

Xiao returned to his proper table, lingering to make sure Gentry Maocai savored his final cup. At around 11:45, a lively voice suddenly popped up behind Xiao's head, snapping him out of his covert gaze. “Oh, is that my name? I’m flattered!” Xiao slammed his laptop closed. The annoying presence skipped around to the other side of the table. “You know, if you wanted to find me, you could've just asked for my number~!” He waved his cellphone. “Then you can reach me whenever!” 

“No thanks…” Xiao grumbled automatically. “What are you doing here?”

“May I join you?” Venti pulled out the nearest chair without hesitation. “I told the host you were expecting me~.”

“Unfortunately, I was just about to leave.” Xiao rose slowly, trying to cover his irritation. 

“Need to leave before the clock strikes twelve? Well, I guess the poor child couldn't be caught at the nobleman's… ball.” An artificial smile quickly covered Venti's smug eyes. “Well, that's okay! I've already heard all these stories anyway.” After leaving the storyteller an enormous tip, Venti cheerily exited the tea house after Xiao.

Although, personally, Xiao wanted to shake off his company, he could not stray far from his mission until he had confirmed completion. Moreover, this was a rare chance to gather intel on the elusive Venti. If Xiao lost him now, Venti would vanish into the untraceable shadows. For those reasons, Xiao reluctantly let Venti skip behind him up to a higher balcony. 

Equally convenient and confusing, the many buildings of Feiyun Commerce Slope were connected by a network of stairs, balconies, and bridges which extended to the skies. From a business perspective, the arrangement was perfect for spying. From his higher perch, Xiao could easily watch the chaos that was unfolding at Heyu Tea House. The cacophony of moving furniture, the indistinct shouts, and the distant approach of sirens were enough to inform Xiao that Gentry Maocai was quickly expiring. By now, he was probably convulsing and having difficulty breathing. 

Then the restaurant fell silent. 

Venti, who had been quietly humming next to Xiao, suddenly snaked his left arm around Xiao's waist. 

“Don't.” Xiao breathed. 

“Aww, Honey…” Venti cooed. “Don't be so cold…” Venti let go of Xiao, his hand slowly creeping up to Xiao's cheek. With his right hand, he brushed back some of Xiao's hair and cupped his ear. “We're being watched.”

Xiao briefly scanned his surroundings, and sure enough, behind Venti, there was a woman in all black trying not to turn her eyes in discomfort. 

Closing his eyes, Xiao inhaled sharply. “Sorry. I didn't mean to be cold.” Xiao wrapped his arms around Venti. “But once I start thinking about all the things I want to do to you…” He whispered loudly, his fingers crawling down Venti's back. “Well…” Lower. “I don't think I'd be able to control myself—”Lower—“Even in public.”

Venti jumped ever so slightly, his face as red as a chili. He wasn't the only one blushing—the nosy woman was struggling to hide her rosy cheeks—but he was the first to regain his composure. “Oh my~!” With a coy giggle, he grabbed Xiao's arm, locking their fingers, and led him hastily to street level. 

“Never do that again,” Xiao hissed. 

“Uh-huh.” Venti's eyes were locked with the sidewalk.

An ambulance had finally arrived at the scene, but it was too late.

As Xiao and Venti wormed through the busy crowd, Venti's jumbled footsteps calmed into his usual dancing step. Perhaps his hand was a little too snug in Xiao's…

“I know I didn't leave the greatest first impression, but I'm grateful that we could have this second date.”

“This isn't a date.”

“Hm.” Venti shrugged. “You go by Xiao, right?”

Xiao's feet froze. When did Venti learn his name? What else has he learned?

“Relax. I just think it's a nice name.” For a brief second, Venti readjusted his hand, and just like that, Xiao's phone had been snatched. “So, this is your number…” He rapidly typed in a message (“This is Xiao!”) and sent it off to an unfamiliar number. 

Xiao yanked his phone back. “I'm going to block you.” But underneath his chastisement, he had even greater concerns. Not only did Venti have unknown access to information, but he also was exceptionally quick. Even ignoring whatever strength he might possess, he was a dangerous threat. Xiao had to figure him out before he could get whatever he wanted from Xiao.

When they arrived at a quiet park, Venti finally freed Xiao from his grip. “We're not being tailed anymore,” he exclaimed, stretching his arms. 

“By that group, at least.”

Venti blinked. He turned his head left and right; there was confusion written all over it.

“What business do you have with me?”

“Huh? Business? Oh.” Laughing, Venti deflected Xiao's accusations, “It's nothing like that at all. Just think of me as your guardian angel~!”

“Such a thing like that doesn't exist.”

“Sure it does!” Sensing Xiao's growing bloodlust, Venti skipped back a few paces. “Well, I'm glad I could meet you a second time, but I do have other places to be~! See you soon!”

Xiao would have preferred to settle everything right then, but Venti had once again vanished into the bustling streets. Xiao could pursue him no longer. Clinging to the smallest hope, Xiao blocked the unknown number on his phone screen, but he knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

[thesilverlady]

genuinely i respect George as an author. Despite the long waiting and multiple cash grabs he has put his readers through, I still think his story is beautifully crafted with all the darkness, complexity and hope.

With that being said I cannot understand his fixation with the show's version of Viserys. The actor, Paddy, gives objectively a good performance but story wise and in regards of the characterization of Viserys I the show did him so dirty.

As a brother he's dismissive; daemon is like a kicked puppy begging for his attention and whew he doesn't get it he throws a tantrum. When his younger brother fights a war, keeps parts of his kingdom safe, comes back and willing gives up his "crow" - which was a symbol of power on its own, he's still not moved.

He's an equally terrible husband. His first wife is visibly tired of all the pregnancies and miscarriages but Viserys doesn't seem to give much regard to that issue. Even when she asks him for this pregnancy to be the last he's hesitant. And her request "pushes" him to become accomplish to his own wife murder who without knowing anything is forced down and ripped open like an animal. His apparent "regret" doesn't make his actions any less callous.

His cruelty doesn't end with Aemma btw. Oh no, we have Alicent. Who in the show is the same age as his daughter, has never shown interest in him but when she tries to offer him some sympathy and comfort he immediately grabs the chance to pursue her as the next candidate for a wife. And of course he chooses her over Laena Velaryon who is a literal child during those times because he couldn't wait for his child bride. His marriage to Alicent is completely void; he doesn't love her nor she him and there's a lot of marital rape between the two.

(Un)lucky for Rhaenyra, his shitty behavior doesn't stop at his wives and brother. his equally a shitty father.

there's this terrible belief that somehow Viserys is "favoring" Rhaenyra and I'd really like to fucking know how. He was always seen yelling at her, berating her when she was young, pushing for marriage she clearly didn't want, and while he didn't force into this he still left little room. In addition, the only moments of "tendercy" for older Rhaenyra is when he calls her "my only child" and is high on meds (reminder an ep ago he called his wife his prev wife's name) and when he moves his ass to defend her claim - which is after a long begging from her part mind you. That part couldn't even be avoided because it was essential to the plot, the plot couldn't happen without it. Viserys didn't suddenly remember his love for his eldest daughter. Thew writers simply recalled this is a scene that must be seen to move the story.

We have 0 scenes of him interacting with his other children (aside him yelling at Aegon during Aemond's eye loss). But I do believe he was probably shitty to them as he was to Rhaenyra.

The only children that get some sympathy is his grandchildren. And that's when he sees them training with his own sons. Why? I have no clue. It makes no sense for the character so far but again people use him being a proud grandpa as him being a good father despite how the evident proves otherwise.

I'll try to keep this short because I've already written an analysis about the complexity of book Viserys and I only need to find the guts to publish it but in the book his relationship with his brother is more complex. He has caused great harm to Hsu brother but at the same time he has also repeatedly chosen him above anyone else (including his daughter) and has forgiven him for things other men wouldn't have.

His relationship with Aemma and Alicent is unknown, but grrm doesn't shy away from writing or even hunting abuse so I don't have any reason to believe their marriage was unpleasant - in the early years at least. Most importantly he's not a rapist or take advantage of his daughters friends.

Speaking of which, his relationship with Rhaenyra is equally complicated as is with Daemon's. He adores her but that doesn't stop him from constantly emotionally hurting her and politically sabotaging her. He prioritizes his peace and tries to be neutral but ultimately fails.

As for the rest of the children, Viserys does take interest. I can't recall for Aegon but for Aemond he does show interest and care over his son not having his own dragon. And he was often with Helaena and her children, having good time together.

book Viserys is a man of many layers. He has the gold, the bad and the ugly. Both as a king, a father and a brother. It leaves me completely dumbfounded that he'd rather throw all this in the garbage just because he happened to like a single actor's performance

I just found out that the American hired Neil Gaiman to cut some of the scenes from princess Mononoke's movie and it pissed Miyazaki off that his team sent them a SAMURAI sword with "No Cuts" notes with it LMAO.

And our beloved author George R.R Martin wants to rip his book and re-write his Viserys because of "an emotional scene" of the half corpse walking that he thinks this character is better than Viserys in the book?

[eddieexcellence]

SOUR CANDY

part ii: the princess and the dunce

E. munson x fem!reader

Synopsis: back in Hawkins for spring break, the reader is back from college. She gets sucked into the madness again for the fourth time with her best friend and younger friends. Plus an unexpected and unwelcome face.

Type: fixit fic, angst/comfort, enemies to lovers trope

Warnings: cursing, pining, the kids being little shits, girl gang vs. steve, lots of sarcasm, probably not proofread v well

Authors note: hi, this chapter is a filler with harrington storytelling, little interaction between reader and Eddie, and some back story. If you’d like to be on the tag list please reply and I hope you like it! 🥲

The group gave you a more detailed rundown, what they brainstormed so far, and quite honestly you almost felt useless with everything they told you. Nancy and Robin had an appointment with the director of Pennhurst Asylum, and their fake portfolios were already made to play the part. The kids had already stole Ms. Kelley’s office keys and broke into the school for student files to get more information on the victims. You had to give Steve a not so gentle whop on the back of the head for that one and an angry, “you’ve turned my kids into little felons, Harrington!”

“You act like they were any better under your watch, Y/l/n!”

“Oh shut up!”

And they tried to breeze through the Eddie bits, but you had already bounced back from your prior shock and anxiety. Your usual sarcasm and witty remarks whenever Eddie was mentioned or in the picture equally as fierce as if you weren’t deep down a nervous wreck.

“Boy if he wasn’t wanted for murder and Hawkins wasn’t in danger this would be his absolute wet dream.” You nonchalantly threw in in the middle of the recap.

“God Y/n gross!” Dustin groaned. “Leave the man alone, he's not even in the room!”

You shrugged, “even better.” The young adults rolled their eyes besides Robin. She was amused by all your antics.

“Hm, you still need her help now?” Steve retorted to the younger curly head boy.

The lanky blond raised her hand, “I need her for her emotional support if this is what she has to bring to the table.” This caused Nancy to look down, biting her lip trying to remain stoic. Robin never got to really hang out with you before you went to college and she was highly disappointed Steve never made it happen sooner and when you did it seemed only when your lives were in peril.

“No, Robin, no!” Steve protested. “She’s supposed to be the big brain with her big girl pants on. I didn’t realize her common sense went out the window in college.” He then clicked his tongue directing his puppy dog glare to Nancy. “Oh wait I did!”

You and the other older girls looked amongst each other, feeling like scolded children. You all covered your mouths and bit your knuckles trying to remain serious, before you all busted out into giggles.

“My common sense isn’t out the window,” you clarified, calming down. “I’m still the big brain with the big girl pants on. Also I 100% believe Eddie didn’t commit the murders, but unlike this close minded town that believe what the little birdies tell them, I have a genuine dislike for him for genuine reasons.”

“You would like him if you gave it another chance!” Lucas piped up, Dustin agreed nodding.

Steve shook his head, “no no no no, Sinclair you sure did it!” He was pacing the floor like crazy with his hands on his hips.

You could only offer a bitter smile at their naivety. You never offered any insight about the ringleader when the boys called you at college telling you about the Hellfire Club they joined because you didn’t want to burst their bubble. Even if he treated you, the preppy kids, and the jocks like dirt, he still had a heart of gold towards the outcasts or ‘his sheep’. You had even considered yourself one of his sheeps long ago.

“I did give it a chance, so you can ask Munson next time you see him, get his hot take on the topic.”

You finally had enough of the grill session of your personal history with the dark curly haired man that still seemed to plague your life even after you graduated. You wanted to stop talking about him all in general for the rest of the night. “So he’s just laying low at the boathouse while you figure the nitty gritty out?” You hummed curiously.

“Pretty much,” Dustin said. You nodded, getting up, walking over to Mike’s dusty bookshelf. You grabbed a stack of the D&D guidelines and the boys old campaign books heading to the stairs. “Wait where are you going?” He asked.

“Quite honestly, at the moment it seems everything is sorted. There’s no play where my piece comes into the plan for now. I’m home two days earlier than expected, and if my mom sees my car in the Wheeler Driveway she’ll have an actual aneurysm if I didn’t stop home first. So how about I get settled, take some of these D&D books home and do my own research. I still have my walkie so call me when you need me, yeah?”

“You’re not going to help me watch the kids while those two play break in?” Steve said incredulously.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh I thought you were babysitter of the year?” You ruffled his hair endearingly.

He swatted your hands away, “stop I already know your grubby fingers are covered in sour candy powder. It's the equivalent to an old man chain smoking cigarettes all day for you.” You teasingly wiggled your fingers towards him giggling.

“Steve she is right though,” Nancy spoke up. “She can help us later, right now we have the plans in order.”

You gave him a knowing look, “See there are other young ladies here with a big brain and big girl pants on. I’ll check in when I get home and let me know when to come back!” You left the residence before any more protests came from anyone.

Your house was empty when you arrived, which was perfect because you didn’t want to be smothered by your parents at the moment. With Eddie on the loose, they probably would try to keep you locked in the house for the break. You couldn’t have that happen so you had to plan now. You ran up the stairs leaving your luggage by the front door going straight to your room. You pulled a box from the bottom of your closet underneath hidden by other boxes so if your mom tried to snoop she couldn’t find it.

Walkie talkie-check, old copies from all the research you’ve done over the years-check, a small array of weapons like a handgun you nicked from your dad’s office and hunting knives-check, a flask of some unknown alcohol to calm the nerves-double check.

You clicked the walkie talkie on, making sure it was signaled into the channel you all agreed on.

“Does anyone copy?” You asked.

“Yes Y/n, we copy.” Steve huffed and annoyed you left him on a goose chase with the kids. Max threatened to bring lawyers into this if he didn’t do as she said. So here he was driving them all around.

“Well, well, well,” another voice cut in through the speaker. Your throat ran dry, and your skin felt like pins and needles, and you could feel your chest get warm, and a blush crept up your neck. It’s been almost a year since you heard it. “Princess of Hawkins not the voice I’d thought I’d hear over the walkie but not the most unpleasant thing to happen to me the past few days.” Eddie’s voice was hoarse and husky as if he just woke up but still oozed a venomous bite.

You gulped, feeling the hair on your arms stick up so much for not talking about him for the rest of the night.

“The dunce of Hawkins? Oh golly, congrats! I didn’t have high standards for you, but here you are setting the bar lower than I ever anticipated: Hawkins most wanted.” Your tone faux sweet like honey.

You heard the walkie click and unclick a couple times as he went to respond, oh you got him good. You just had a feeling.

“If I knew you were coming home I would’ve robbed a bank too just to impress you, sweetheart.” You could hear the slight falter crack in his voice, but you knew a sarcastic toothy grin smile was on his face by the end. His dimples imprinted in your mind. You knew that smile too well.

“Mm, I’m not the one you need to impress, but a penny for your thoughts Munson?” You cooed fakely.

“Pray tell, Y/l/n?” He sneered.

“When we get this fucking mess over with and you’re cleared, you’ll have to impress the hoarde of sheep listening to the news mumbo jumbo.”

“Good to know,” was all he said. You smirked to yourself satisfied leaving the conversation at that as you went to retrieve your things.

In Steve’s BMW, they all heard the exchange between the two. He rolled his eyes, he could cut the tension between you two with the knife. It was almost comical that everything he was worried about was coming true.

“What’s with the fifth degree between them besides him breaking her heart?” Lucas asked.

“It’s not my place to tell-“ Steve started to say, but Max cut them off.

“Dodo brains, you really can’t tell or pick up on any of the hints? She is obviously still in love with him! Even after he broke her heart!” She acted like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That might be a little far fetched and exaggerated, Max.” Steve made a face. Love, that was too strong of a word to describe how he at least knew how his best friend felt back then. Maybe a crush, then he would say she finally wised up and realized how much of bozo Munson was.

“Then what is it Steve?” Max pried.

“Yeah I would like to know more about the Princess and the Dunce.” Lucas added, quoting the two.

“Sounds like it’s a canned script for a John Hughes movie.” Dustin egged Steve on.

“I-I don’t know,” he laughed nervously, gripping his steering wheel harder.

The kids could see he was hesitating, so close to telling everything.

“If you don’t spill the beans, I’ll get the lawyer involved.” Max glared at him through the rear view mirror.

“Max what the hell!” Dustin looked at her, she just innocently shrugged. She had no problem blackmailing Harrington if it’s one of her final days. He knew he would forgive her later.

He took a deep breath sighing, “fine but if any of this is known to Y/n, you did not hear it from me!” The kids cheered. “Y/n saw what you all see in him. Whatever that may be.” He mumbled the last part under his breath.

“If you could believe it, they used to be pretty close in middle school. Even convinced the brat to ditch me and get her to play Dungeon and Dragons with him.”

“Y/n played?! That’s sick!” Dustin exclaimed excitedly.

Steve smiled thoughtfully, “yeah I would say so.” Even though he didn’t mean sick the way Dustin meant it. “Anyway, as you guys know she was always a sweet and kind girl. Most people called her a goody two shoes, but Y/n had some tricks up her sleeves.”

Lucas cleared his throat, “what kinda tricks? Magic?” Dustin snorted at that.

“She loved comics as much as you guys do, and had a sweet spot for metal music. That’s what the princess and the dunce bonded about. She hated every class but Art. She was wicked good at it too.”

“Wow Y/n sounded so cool, how is she even friends yet alone best friends with you?” Max asked in awe.

“Ha ha ha, we’ve been best friends since diapers if that helps you comprehend.” Steve started to get annoyed with the mocking and comments. “If she and I met in high school pre eddie we wouldn’t have been friends. Now post eddie is a different story.” Lucas went to interject, but was stopped. “I’m getting to the point, Sinclair.”

“Y/n and I got to high school, Eddie was a junior. Girl didn’t care about reputations. Boy she got ragged on for talking to him and hanging around him. That’s when I think she really started to like him too. He didn’t have that uneven buzz cut anymore, embraced his quirks more, he had that whole Motley Crue look going on, really grew into himself. Let’s face it though my hair is still better, I wasn’t graced with Harrington as my last name for nothing.” He fixed his hair subconsciously.

“Yeah we know too much about you, more about Y/n.” Max interrupted.

“Rude,” he rolled his eyes. “So it was the end of the school year and we had the End of School dance coming up. Y/n was excited and talked about potentially asking Eddie to it. Mind you this is when we started to hang out with some older kids in our classes. They teased her a lot about it. That even if he was ‘freak’, and to have been so lucky to have been asked by a sweet goody two shoes like her; she was a pipsqueak freshman asking a junior out to a dumb dance that only freshmen really went to anyway. It was gym class and she finally had the courage to ask him. She was nervous, the upperclassmen were teasing her, but she didn’t care. She approached him and asked, he just looked wary. He stared at the group of us not too far away from her and him. He seemed to connect his own dots, accusing us of putting her up to it by asking him. He insisted it was a prank or initiation the upperclassmen made her do to get into the crew. The upperclassmen were laughing hysterically about the ordeal in general, but the fact she got rejected because he genuinely didn’t believe her that she wanted to go to a dance with him.”

“That’s awful,” Max shook her head. She felt bad for both you and Eddie. She admired you, she watched you stick up to Billy for her. She never had anyone do that outside her family, not even Billy’s girlfriends treated her so kindly like you did. She thought you deserved nothing but good things in this already messed up world. That went for Eddie as well watching him accept her three friends into Hellfire with open arms he even tried to get her, but she politely told him she doesn’t play.

“Yeah and the thing with Y/n is, she bottles most of her feelings besides happiness and anger in. She doesn’t get upset, she gets even. The summer before sophomore year was the worst because she just changed. Stopped being as free spirited and careless in the ways that made her great, and became careless and reckless in other ways. She started hanging around the douchebags I hung around more often, even tried to join the cheerleading squad.”

“I remember that! She was the worst cheerleader!” Lucas chuckled.

“When the other would go right and she would go left!” Dustin hollered. Max flicked both of them in the ears.

“What happened to her and Eddie though?” She asked impatiently.

“What you just heard a few moments ago, Eddie became the match or lighter to Y/n’s Molotov cocktail. Did you think there was something else Mayfield?”

Max shook her head, “that’s not fair.”

Steve just shot her a tight lipped smile, “that’s what happens though. Life doesn’t treat you fairly as we all know by now.”

“Do you think they would ever make up?” Dustin asked.

“$10 bucks if they do.” Lucas quipped, sticking his hand out.

“$15 if Eddie makes the first move!” Max shook his hand.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you do realize these are the two most stubborn human beings you’ll ever meet?”

“I’m going to put $10 on Y/n, she mildly scares me.” Dustin spit on his hand and held it out. The three others scoffed in disgust.

The younger teenagers looked at Steve expectedly. “No, you three aren’t roping me into a bet about my best friend and her love life!”

“If she’s your best friend, she’s so stubborn, and you know her so well this should be the easiest bet of your life Harrington.” Dustin grinned.

“Oh god I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he stuck his hand out. “Use your other han- oh gross c’mon Henderson! I have to put this hand back on my steering wheel!”

taglist: @sunfairyy @eddiemunson4ever @babygirlwilly

[polyghostfacehours]

Imagining scenario w a reader that's just obsessed w stu.. and are very easily manipulated by him. They happily do whatever billy says only because stu wants them to.

Love this scenario babe! This has hints of polyamory, but it's definitely still you and Stu mainly.

TW: NSFW. Manipulation. Abusive Relationship Dynamics. Murder. Dubious Consent.

---

Stu w/ an Easily Manipulated, Obsessed Reader:

So, Stu notices you fawning over him. He's an observant kinda guy. But it's Billy that starts seeing how whipped you are for Stu.

Stu doesn't believe Billy at first, thinks he's overestimating how much you like Stu. So Billy puts it to the test.

He gets Stu to ask you to do more and more morally questionable things. Shoplifting, spreading rumors, getting a fake gun license, etc etc. And you do all of these without question.

Stu is equal parts floored and estatic. Someone is loyal to him like that? He never thought he'd be on the receiving end of such obsessive devotion and it puts him on Cloud 9.

Billy is also pretty damn happy. Now he has another person he can rope into his murder plots.

Stu's "tests" get more and more extreme, until the day comes where they want to see how you handle blood. Up to this point, you'd been doing anything Stu asks of you.

In order to get you into their plots, the have to implicate you too. So you choose the target to kill. But they don't mention that you're going to be killing the guy. Just teaching him a lesson.

You're reluctant, but when Stu gives you those puppy eyes and Billy whispers about all the terrible things that guy has done to other people, you fold.

Billy lies, obviously, about how bad this guy is. Makes shit up so that you feel justified in going ham.

You get angry, really fucked up as you cut the guy a little too deep. And then deeper. All of the shit you "know" he's done has you pissed. And Billy and Stu encourage you as they hold him down.

When it's said and done, you're in. And Stu tells you he loves you.

And this isn't true (yet, or maybe ever), but Billy told him to say it to solidify your loyalty.

And you couldn't be happier. Your relationship with Stu begins and the fact you are now a murderer buzzes in the back of your mind, but is easily ignorable when his arms are wrapped around you.

Stu, of course, takes full advantage of this. The sex is wild, and he convinces you to try everything he's into. If you don't want to, he gets pouty, and you can't help but do as he asks.

And Billy Billy Billy. Of course, he also takes advantage of this. Tells Stu to ask you to have sex with him too. You're shocked at first, but eventually Stu wears you down and you start being passed between the two. Billy's happy, because now he has a plaything too.

Sometimes, threesomes happen and you get a first taste on how deep their relationship goes.

Depending on how well you vibe with them, real feelings could develop, especially on Stu's part.

If this happens, the manipulation eases up a little, but this mainly is bc you're already so readily submissive to Stu anyway due to your obsessive nature.

If Stu does fall for you, and you reeeally don't want to be Billy's play thing anymore, Stu would stand up for you. And Billy, who really doesn't see you as much more than a toy, will eventually just agree bc whatever lol. He'll find a new one.

If Billy develops feelings for you though, watch out lol. He won't give you up that easily.

The whole relationship is generally toxic. There's a clear chain of command going from Billy -> Stu -> You and it gives you the least amount of power.

Billy and Stu are best friends, and Stu will most likely be in Billy's court more often then yours unless he really, genuinely falls for you over the years. So for your sake, lets hope he does.

Don't break up with Stu. Not that you want to, considering you're so obsessed with him, but in any case: don't. You will die. Not only bc Stu has a track record of killing his exes but also bc Billy wouldn't let his partner in crime leave him due to the fear of you going to the police.

The relationship does have plenty of good times though. You and Stu are very happy with your arrangement, and if you're also into Billy you get him as side dick as well lol.

But just remember, that despite all the fun times, there's always going to be a certain layer of inequality that blankets your relationship.

[dreamties]

Take A Step Out Of Your Head - Polyam!Ghostface Hurt/Comfort

A/n- I listened to a lot of dandelion hands while I wrote this, so if it emotionally wrecks you than um...you know why?

Also, big thank you to @venisonghost for beta reading this and @rakunko who was vv supportive and encouraging while I worked on it !! <3

Word Count: 2,256

You’re in the kitchen, occasionally stirring the big pot of macaroni on the stove. Stu comes up behind you, wrapping his long arms and lean frame around you. He nips at your neck, leaving tiny kisses as you giggle and try to escape him. "Not now, babe."

You can hear Stu whining in return. "C'mon, dinner can wait a bit. Haven't seen you all day," he murmurs against your neck.

You hum in return, trying again to push him off. "Dinner will be done in a minute, you think you can wait that long?"

You look at him, and he's giving you the biggest puppy-eyed look you've ever seen. "Fine. We can cuddle up on the couch later, drag Billy into it too- maybe watch some Elm Street?"

Stu excitedly nods, going back to peppering you with kisses and sucking at your neck.

"Fuck off, Stu," you giggle as he finally let's go.

"Aw, you're no fun, Y/n,” he says, dramatically sticking his tongue at you. He slips away to open the fridge, grabbing a beer, and silently offering one for you. You shake your head, giving the macaroni two gentle stirs.

He takes a few sips then sets it down next to the stove. You look up towards him curiously and he gives you a mischievous smirk. He takes you by surprise, gently dragging a finger along your jawline, directing your face up towards his. It had been much longer than you’d care to admit that you’d had a good, proper kiss like this. Between work and classes and the boys’ murder gig. You melt into him, cherishing how nice it feels this close to each other. His lips are soft and warm against your own, and you can taste his beer as he deepens the kiss. 

Your sweet moment with Stu stops mid-way, interrupted by the front door slamming open then shut. Billy tosses his mask to the kitchen counter, landing with an angry slap- blood splattering against the tiled surface. You spot him trying to slip his Ghostface garments over his head, struggling as he makes his way to the bedroom.

"Should someone check on him?" Stu mumbles, feeling nervous.

You sigh, "I've got it, babe. Just keep an eye on the macaroni, it should only be a few minutes longer- and don't burn it like last time, okay?"

He chuckles, "I won't, I won't."

You roll your eyes, feeling unsure and worried about the decision to leave Stu in charge of dinner- but eventually settling on the feeling that it was for the best. Billy needed you.

Usually Billy did the caring- not to say that the rest of the relationship didn’t- but Stu and yourself were far more expressive of your own feelings than he would ever be- he would ever let himself be. He wasn’t much of a talker like Stu- but had an equally calming aura when he needed to be there for his loves. Aside from the physical comfort he’d provide, his attempts for comfort were subtle (unless it involved maiming a new victim…). 

When it came to the few times Billy found himself struck with harsh emotions that he never quite learned how to deal with- it was tricky for Y/n and Stu to help him. It was different every time. Finding the right balance between treating him as normal and stepping into new territory- and depending on what set him off, it could always be easier said than done. 

The bedroom door is left ajar, and you carefully move it further open- wincing as it makes a painful creak. Billy doesn’t seem to mind much- or hear it- as you find him sitting stock still on the bed, hunched into himself. His ghostface robes clutched in his grasp, dried blood packed into his nails and caking his hand- in parts they still shine as if freshly drained from his victim, 

You let out a sigh, eyeing him carefully. His knife is placed hazardously on a towel next to him- if he moved the wrong way it could knick his skin. You move across the room, and tentatively entering Billy’s space you grab the knife- the handle is sticky and wet. You set it on the ground, not caring about whether it stained the carpet or not. You could deal with it later- all that mattered was making sure he was okay, that he was safe. 

"Here," you motion towards the pile of clothes in Billy's hands. His eyes appear glossy as he clings onto them harder. You sit down next to him, putting a cautious hand on his back and the other smoothes down his hair. "Is this alright?"

He shrugs.

You sigh, "Can I take these? I'll put them in the laundry room, I'll wash them after dinner."

His grip on them loosens, and you get up, plucking them from his grasp. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, scurrying off to do as you had promised. You clean your hands off, before grabbing Billy some fresh clothes from the dryer that had yet to be put away yet.

When you come back, he's dutifully wiping the blood off his knife. You smile at him, leaning against the doorframe, "I'm gonna go check on Stu and dinner, you need anything?"

Billy stares up at you, smiling- it's something devilish but sincere. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow at him, but do as told. Billy sets his knife down on the floor, slowly slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you down into his lap. He gives a contented sigh, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.  

“You two just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

You can hear him murmuring something, but it’s muffled by him being pressed so close to you. 

Usually when Billy was sad or overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do, he’d push those close to him away. There was a comfort in being alone- feeling like you deserved it, that this was how things were meant to be. It was rare that Billy accepted your care without a fight- so graciously, so calm. You begin to gently rub your fingertips in soothing patterns against his hands.

Every once in a while subtly asking him if it was alright, and receiving nothing more than a few mumbled words and grunts.

Stu shows up a while later, poking his head in the doorway. “It’s done.”

You glance at him, “You drain the water out before you put the packet in?”

He looks away.

Your face falls in mock anger, voice stern as you call to him-“Stu?”

He lets out a big laugh, grinning at you, “Yes, I did.”

You roll your eyes, presenting him with an exasperated look but gentle smile. “Why don’t you bring it in here, not sure if he’ll let go of me yet.”

“Totally!”

He comes back a moment later, setting the bowls of warm macaroni on the nightstand. You give a smile of appreciation towards him, and he takes that as his invitation to join the two of you. He lays down long ways on the bed, close enough to pull his arms around the cuddled mess of his lovers. He rests his head nudged against Billy’s backside. A bit of an awkward position? Maybe, but then again- that was Stu for you.

After a moment of allowing the quiet to overtake the room, you can’t help but laugh at the way the three of you had situated yourselves. You twist in Billy’s grasp, and he hesitantly moves his head upright. “Hey, Billy,” you whisper, “Mind letting go of me for a minute?”

The only response you get is him nudging you back to your position, and hiding his face in your neck again. He holds on tighter. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna cuddle up with Stu. You’re gonna be more comfortable, babe.”

His grip tightens uncomfortably. 

“Billy.” Your voice seems to startle him, and he lets go. His arms fall limply against his side.  You sigh, gently removing yourself from him- his head seems to almost hang in shame as you part. 

Stu moves himself up, so he’s sitting behind Billy.  

Your voice comes out soft, as you try to assure him that “It’s okay.” You offer your hand out to guide Billy to a more comfortable spot on the bed. The three of you find yourselves laying down with Billy situated safely in the middle. Stu’s behind him, arms wrapped around his torso, hands tucked gently around his waist. You’re in front of him, giving him a gentle smile and very softly petting you hand against his head. He yearns to lean into your touch, but he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve this.

Billy feels small and angry, trying to shy away from Stu’s hold by slowly curling into himself. He’s got his back hunched and his legs awkwardly pulled up towards himself. He’s tired and he hates the two of you seeing him like this- but he knows it will be worse if you and Stu leave. He lets out an awful whine, clutching your shirt in his grasp. He ducks his head, so he’s staring down at your shirt twisting in his bloodied hands. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be doing this. 

You spare a glance towards him, his sudden noise worrying you. You catch the sight of his eyes glossing over again, and him trying to blink away any possible tears. You want so badly to pull him into a hug and tell him it’s okay to cry, to let it out. But you can imagine his reaction to it vividly, him pulling away, an angry look on his face. And letting out some terrible, defensive noise. Him pushing you away for the rest of the night- and perhaps it would spill into the following days. It was safe to say that Billy wasn’t good with most comfort, and definitely not his emotions. You’re still surprised he’s let the two of you coddle him like this for so long.

So you don’t hug him. And you don’t tell him it’s okay. You lean in closer, pressing your forehead close to his. You start your fingers through his hair, you try to be gentle with it, but your fingers keep getting caught in little snarls and dried blood. You move your head to press a small kiss to his forehead, then move back and continue trying to sooth him. 

“I love you, Billy,” you whisper. 

Stu makes a muffled agreement and then, in an attempted whisper, he says almost too loud, “Me too!” He chuckles out an apology, and nuzzles his head into the back of Billy’s neck. Billy doesn’t say anything, but he likes the warmth radiating off of his boyfriend. It feels...safe.

It’s a while before Billy does anything again. His voice is much smaller than usual when he speaks- and it sounds like he’s holding something back. Trying not to let out teary, loud sobs. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he mutters, pulling your shirt tighter in his fists.

“We’re not going anywhere, love.”

Billy holds his eyes tight, finally letting go of your clothes and hiding his face in his hands. So...so ashamed of you seeing him like this. Hearing him try to hold back his crying- it was pathetic. Billy was not supposed to be like this. Not around you, not ever. 

He lets out a pained whine, and a few tears slip out. “I almost lost you and Stu.”

You try not to frown at him, sighing, “Why are you saying that?” And then you’re reminded of his bad mood as soon as he had returned home. “Did something happen when you were out?”

“I handled it,” he grumbles out.

“Handled what?”

“Just- it!” He nearly growls, barking it out harsher than intended to. “Fuck, fuck…” he grumbles to himself. He presses his hands closer and closer, till he has his palms pushed to his eyes and it hurts. He tries so hard not to think about a life on his own. One where their little secret came to light, and he and Stu- and worst of all, you, who hadn’t done anything- would have to suffer the consequences of their wrongdoings. 

“Billy,” your voice cuts through his thoughts. You have one of your hands placed on his own, gently beckoning for him to remove them from his face. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he brings his hands down. He blinks a few times, and then rests his eyes shut again. He lets out a shaky breath. “Whatever happened- you're safe now.”

“Yeah, you’ve got us,” Stu says, giving Billy a gentle squeeze. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “And we’re not going to let anything happen to you, or any of us. We’ve got each other now. Forever and always. Okay, Billy?”

Billy’s not sure what to say. A simple yes would suffice, but he can feel the tears finally begin to trickle down his face- and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He buries his head in your chest, and pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you. Finally allowing himself to relax, and let Stu snuggle closer into him.

The three of you fall asleep that night, safely tucked away in each other's arms. Bowls of macaroni long forgotten, and more serious conversations left to be had. But for now- you had each other, and Billy was okay with that. 

[luminnara]

Goddamn, Shit-Sucking Vampires | Lost Boys x OC Ch 10

Summary:  Vera is an unusually vicious bloodsucker who's never stuck in one place for very long...until a mysterious feeling pulls her right to the murder capital of the world: Santa Carla, California. Now, she needs to figure out why exactly she's there, where she fits in amongst the boardwalk's nighttime denizens, and how to cope with her own personal vampire-related problems. Poly Lost Boys/OC, starts just before the movie *MULTI PART SERIES*

Also on AO3!

tags:  @americancowgirl19 @ilikechocolatemilkh @siennanoelle01

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Max sat back in his chair. 

Well, that was certainly more than he had bargained for. 

The others were equally as shocked, and for a tense moment, no one moved. Vera wanted to find a way to simply puff out of existence, or at the very least, teleport herself elsewhere for the time being. Normally, she would like having all of their eyes on her…but this was a far cry from comfortable. Even David, who was usually so competent and in charge, looked like he had been struck by a train, and Dwayne seemed alarmed. 

Great.

Just fucking great.

So much for being allowed to stick around. 

Paul was the first to recover from the stunned silence everyone had been left in. “Who the hell is Asmodeus?”

If she weren’t so unsettled by having said her sire’s name for the first time in decades, Vera would have laughed at his unintentional pun. Instead, she felt vaguely nauseous, as if Asmodeus himself had somehow managed to permeate the air around her. 

“The Prince of Lechery,” she said nervously, wringing her fingers together. “He’s a, uh...lust demon lord of darkness and king of hell.”

She couldn’t read the look on Max’s face, and she didn’t exactly like not knowing what he was thinking. It wasn’t neutral, but there were no real emotions there. He was thinking, and he was good at keeping his thoughts to himself, probably due to years of dealing with four unruly boys. 

She didn’t like that. She didn’t like not knowing what he was going to say. It made her feel like she was at a disadvantage, like he had the upper hand. She was sure that he could hear her dead little heart pounding away, pumping stolen blood through her veins should she need to get up and run or fight. She was sure that the others could all hear it, too, and she didn’t like the idea of her mates seeing her as some scared, weak little girl. 

She wanted to be anywhere else, or she at least wanted the ability to reverse time and go back to before she had dared to say anything. She should have lied. She should have made up some vaguely ancient-sounding name and claimed that he was asleep in some crypt in Transylvania. 

But it was too late now, and she was trapped there, staring nervously at Max as he continued to mull things over. 

David glanced between Vera and his sire. For once, Max wasn’t annoying him by trying to get in his head; the older vampire was completely silent, regarding Vera with a guarded expression that suggested he didn’t trust her. His eyes were narrowed slightly in thought, and while he wasn’t revealing anything about his own thoughts, his behavior suggested that he knew a lot more about Asmodeus than he was letting on. 

David realized with a sinking feeling that Vera had been right--Max didn’t like hearing the name of her maker, and he was sure that, to some extent, she was bracing herself for when he told her to get out. She was ready to flee, to run for her life before he could kill her. 

The chaos never came, though. Max simply sighed, leaning forward in his chair again and picking his cutlery back up. “Well, I suppose that explains Thorn’s fondness for you.”

The tension in the air ebbed slightly as Vera let out a nervous laugh. She felt like she was tiptoeing on the thinnest possible ice, and one wrong move would send her plunging into icy cold waters. “I probably remind him of when he was a puppy.”

“I was assured that he was raised in one of the deepest pits of hell,” Max said matter of factly as he took a bite. “Now, how was it that you came to be? I’m sure it’s an intriguing story. It isn’t every day that someone as ancient and terrible as Asmodeus decides to sire a new vampire. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve ever heard of.”

“Lucky me,” Vera mumbled, shoving her food around with her fork.

“Don’t play with your dinner,” David sneered.

She glared at him. “Sorry, honey.”

He snorted a laugh. At least she was beginning to lighten up. 

“Ba-abe,” Paul whined. “Tell us the story!”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Marko huffed impatiently. 

She let her fork clatter onto her plate as she dropped it and leaned back. “Why do you even wanna know? It’s not that cool. In fact, it’s a really stupid story that I prefer not to tell—“

“Vera,” Dwayne spoke up, cutting her off. “You promised.”

Her eyes met his and she groaned. He was right, of course, because Dwayne was always right, and she had told him just the night before that she’d spill every last bean once they were all together. It was mostly to stall, though, and avoid talking about it for as long as possible. Some part of her was still holding on to a tiny, irrational hope that they might all just let it slide and be too focused on other things to bring it up, but luck didn’t seem to be on her side. 

Besides...they deserved to know. If they were actually going to spend the rest of their unnatural lives together, they probably shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. Especially not secrets as dramatic as this one.

With Max sitting right there, and all four of the boys looking at her expectantly, she didn’t really have much of a choice, and she let out a sigh. 

“I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“That would be wise, yes,” Max nodded, taking a sip from his cup and sitting back to listen as if this were some sort of dinner theatre instead of a story about her actual life.

Vera squirmed in her seat. Where even was the beginning? All the way back? Her human birth, or her vampire birth? 

“I was born in the fifteenth century, in Florence.” She said. “It was the Renaissance. Everywhere you looked, there was new art, new inventions…music, sculptures, those big huge frescos inside the cathedrals. Industry was booming. The city was growing. Life was good, for a lot of people, my family included. My father was a merchant…not a very rich one, but not a very poor one, either. I was the first child, and I was probably supposed to grow up and marry some man and do the same thing that my mother and everyone else did.” She laughed and shook her head. “Seems ridiculous to think about it now.”

When no one else chuckled, she cleared her throat and continued. “When I was young, my father lost most of his money, and we went from living modestly to living poorly in a matter of weeks. I remember my mother saying it was shameful, what happened, but I don’t know…he was scammed, or he lost it all gambling or something. Maybe he was just a bad businessman.” Vera shrugged. “Whatever the case…we were in the slums, with too many mouths to feed. That comfortable life I was going to have was gone. I had to help the family now, and I couldn’t wait to be married to someone first. When I was old enough to be useful, I went to work as a maid for a wealthy house, but the master was...not a nice man.” 

She held out her arm, pointing to the ugly brand mark that she had shown the boys on her first night with them. It was a simple shape, a small, crude f that Dwayne now supposed stood for the family’s name. A low growl rumbled in his throat at the sight of it marring her otherwise smooth skin, the raised, thick scar tissue standing out more among her tattoos now that she was alluding to its meaning. 

“I was given this the first time I misbehaved.” She said. “ He wanted me to always remember who I belonged to, and that even though I was only a servant on paper, I wasn’t free. He owned me. And I was supposed to behave perfectly, all the time. I was supposed to be docile, like I wasn’t there. Not seen, and not heard. I wasn’t very good at that, though, and I kept fucking up...Which made the master of the house want me, for some reason. Because I was different, maybe, or something for him to tame.” 

It was Paul’s turn to growl. Vera was wild, she was fun and she was free. She was the kind of person who did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and he couldn’t imagine her hanging her head and standing in the corner quietly while some asshole in fancy clothes tried to break her. 

“He got the hots for me, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it...if I refused him, he would beat me, and if I told someone, they would just laugh and wonder why I was unhappy about my wealthy master taking me to bed whenever he could. I belonged to him and the house, after all; I was at a disadvantage, and I had to just stay quiet and behave.So I did. For a long time, I did.” She wrinkled her nose.  “Eventually his wife found out, and she was furious. She threw things, she tore my hair out when she dragged me around the room…I thought that maybe he would come to my rescue, since I was his favorite little servant girl, but he tried to defend himself by claiming that I was the one who started everything, that I came onto him and bewitched him. The lady of the house wanted me to be beaten into submission, and all I can remember is night after night of laying there in my bed, bloody and broken, praying to a god who didn’t listen. Who wouldn’t listen.”

“So what’d you do?” Marko asked quietly.

“I started praying to someone else.” She smiled weakly, staring at the blood in front of her. “Anybody who would listen, really, but I was angry. I was angry at my father for giving me a life where I had to entrust myself to someone like that, angry at the master, angry at his wife...and angry at a god who didn’t want anything to do with me. I was raised in the church, like everybody. I was a good girl…as good as you can be in a situation like that, I guess. I wondered if that was why God wouldn’t hear me, if the priests were right and I really had been ruined by going to bed with a man before marriage. But it was too late to fix, and I couldn’t absolve myself of those sins…now I know that they aren’t sins, and no one fucking cares about something like that, but back then, I was only beginning to grow angry. So I started praying to the next obvious option, and that was the devil.”

“And he listened?” David asked.

“A devil listened, I guess.” She shrugged. “One night, I’m laying there, my brand getting infected thanks to all the extra torture,  my forehead covered in sweat as I’m getting sick, my nose broken, my eye swollen...you get it. I’m barely hanging on, and in comes this man out of nowhere. He just walks into my shitty little room as if someone invited him, all dressed in black, and he tells me he can give me something better.” Vera laughed quietly. “I think I knew what I was doing. I knew whatever it was would come with a catch, but I didn’t care. I wanted out. I was going to die there, one way or another, whether it happened in an hour or in a week. He could smell the desperation on me, and maybe he was bored, or maybe he was lonely, but he was interested in me for some reason. He told me he would give me eternal life, and the strength to slaughter anybody who stood in my way. He was handsome and charming and the exact opposite of anyone in that godforsaken house, and I accepted immediately.”

“A demon turned you into a vampire?” David asked skeptically. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Why?”

“All monsters come from somewhere, right?” Vera sighed. “He turned me into a vampire the normal way. There wasn’t any special demon magic or signing my name in blood. He just grew fangs and bit me and then had me drink his own blood. He’s such a powerful demon, he can do whatever he wants...and I guess he’s the father of bloodsuckers, or at least one of them. He gave me the gift of vampirism, but…”

When she trailed off, Max spoke up. “Drinking the blood of such a powerful demon is bound to have other effects.”

“...yeah. That’s why I’m hungry all the time, I never feel full. I want more and more blood, every night. I’m strong, and assuming he still cares, I’ve got one of the biggest, most badass demons in hell looming over my shoulder...but I always want to go on a killing rampage. I always want to feed. You guys have seen how it is…I just don’t want to stop.”

“Yeah, you got one hell of an appetite!” Paul cackled. 

Marko laughed along with him, the two shrieking like hyenas while David rolled his eyes. 

“You’re worse than a newborn.” He said. “Insatiable.”

“Not like I can help it.” Vera scoffed. “I got used to the feeling of hunger because it’ll never go away. And he never goes away, either...he’s always bugging me, especially when I hunt, and he’s so powerful and so terrifying that most people won’t let me stick around.”

Everyone’s eyes slowly found Max. He was calmly looking down at his plate as he cut into a piece of meat, his movements slow and calculated. 

“I suppose it can be both a blessing and a curse, receiving this gift that we all possess.” He finally said. “We must make some sacrifices in order to enjoy our new lives.”

“Max, cut the bullshit,” David growled. “I don’t fuckin’ care about your fancy talk. Get to your point.”

His sire sighed, taking off his glasses and carefully folding them before setting them down on the table. 

“I want us to be a happy family.” He said. “We have a good life here. The nights are lively. The food is fresh. The villagers have all abandoned their pitchforks and torches. I have no desire to abandon this or compromise it in any way.”

Vera was looking down at the table in defeat. She was just awaiting the inevitable at this point. Max wanted to hang onto his territory, his little slice of heaven. There was no room for demons in heaven. 

“Asmodeus is incredibly dangerous.” Max continued. “But Thorn is proof that he and I tolerate each other, and are amicable at best. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect to hear his name tonight, but assuming he honors the very nature of the vampire itself and respects the ancient, primal forces that have declared Vera to be your mate and a member of this pack, then I see no reason to turn you away.” 

Vera looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

“I know that you must be very used to running, Vera, but you needn’t any longer.” Max smiled softly. “You’re home now.”

The boys erupted in cheers, and Vera was vaguely aware of someone kissing her cheek. She was too stunned to pay attention, though, staring at Max in disbelief. Really? She had a...home? After all these centuries of running, centuries of killing and shredding and loneliness after leaving her sire, she finally had a pack of her own? 

“Drink, Vera,” Max said, raising his goblet to her. 

She looked down at her own cup. It was full of Max’s blood, thick and red and reeking of vampire. Drinking it would cement her in as a member of her new pack. It would connect her to them forever. Was she ready for something like that? Joining a pack of immortal monsters was a big commitment. She would be stuck with them for all eternity, and if she drank Max’s blood, there would be no turning back. 

Speaking of Max…

He was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to do it. They all were, their eyes glued to her as they waited to see if she was about to make all of their dreams come true, or if she was going to get cold feet and run the other way. She could do it, with such a scary sire; Max wouldn’t stand a chance against an angry demon, and if Asmodeus was feeling generous with his favorite little daughter, he could eviscerate anyone who ever made her sad. Her sire put her in a unique position, because she could try to walk away if she really wanted to…

But she didn’t want to.

It would take some getting used to, she knew. Settling in had gone well so far, but it had almost felt like some sort of vacation, and with the boys’ sire actually being involved, it was far more daunting. Max being in charge of her would be the hardest part to stomach, probably, and she would have to accept that she would be expected to actually listen and obey him, even when she didn’t want to. 

But…she would be with her boys. 

Her rambunctious, dangerous boys, whom fate had already tangled her up with. Having to listen to Max seemed like a small price to pay for getting to spend eternity with them, and as Vera looked into her cup of blood, she smiled. An eternity…forever was a long time, but if there was one thing that vampires had, it was time. Time to kill. Time to love. Time didn’t pass the same way as it did for mortals, and as the fear ebbed away, Vera raised the cup to her lips, and drank.

-0-

As dawn approached and the boys all flew to their roost, Vera found herself snuggled up in the middle of all four of them. She was facing David, leaning her cheek against his chest as he held her with an arm around her waist, Dwayne behind her and Paul and Marko at her sides. They were over the moon, running their fingers through her hair, crooning and humming as their fangs scraped her throat. 

After she had taken a sip of Max’s blood, the boys had been ecstatic. They whooped and hollered and picked her up to spin her around, kissing her eagerly as their sire sat back and smiled to himself. Max’s perfect family was nearing completion, it seemed, and he was pleased. If only he could find himself a lovely mate, then everything would be as it should. 

One thing at a time, though.

“Welcome home,” David murmured in her ear as the others all huddled close. 

Vera hummed in response, nuzzling into his chest. “Right where I wanna be.”

She could feel him puff up slightly, trying to make himself bigger. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

“I wanna celebrate now,” Paul whined, pressing himself up against Vera’s side. 

“Yeah, I’m way too awake to sleep.” Marko huffed, trying to nuzzle into the crook of her neck.

David gave them a savage snarl. “Back off, dickweeds.” 

Neither seemed very inclined to listen to him, instead more focused on trying to get closer to Vera despite already being shoved up against her. As he was jostled and shoved, David growled, baring his fangs in a show that would normally work on the two rambunctious younger vampires…but they were unfazed, licking up the sides of her throat and peppering her face and shoulders with kisses.

She just laughed, clinging to David’s chest with one hand while she reached for them with the other. It wasn’t until a low rumble sounded behind her that her attention was finally dragged away from the blondes, and she craned her neck to see Dwayne looming over her. 

“Sleep.” He said as he brushed his nose over her head, his voice low and velvety soft. 

Paul groaned. “But we—“

“Sleep.” Dwayne interrupted, more sternly this time. “We can talk in the evening. Vera’s tired.”

And she was. 

She was fucking exhausted. 

Joining a pack was fun and all, a rush of adrenaline, but now that she was back home, she was tired. Her very bones felt tired. She just wanted to sleep, and not think about anything for a while. She wanted to keep ignoring that curious little prodding that she felt at the edge of her mind, from the shadowy figure that was trying to shove his way in. Asmodeus was a king of hell, sure, but he was going to wait, dammit. 

“Fine.” Marko heaved a dramatic sigh and practically collapsed into Vera’s side, burrowing his way in for some cuddles. 

David was ready to snap at him, but Vera was already too relaxed, purring contentedly against his chest. The other three all inched closer, and after several quiet moments, they were all asleep, safe and sound, one big, happy pack. 

[emmanelson]

It Started Out With a Kiss

i’d say I’m sorry for this filth but who are we kidding? more trash under the cut including speechless ben, possessive paxton and some very steamy, very public smut. also found on ao3 here.

request.

“I’m sure there’s a bed in the other room.”

Paxton’s allowed to be petty and a bit possessive as he latches onto his girlfriend’s waist and drags her behind the wall that separates them from the rest of the party and leads into the hallway. He catches Ben Gross’ eye over the duration of the evening one too many times now. The last fuck he gave flew out the window and now he dares the underclassman to pretend to stumble in their direction.

So when he hears Devi’s comment, in rather uneven breaths mind you, a laugh is bubbling against his throat. She would retract her statement the second he tells her they are at Trent’s house, and his friend probably masturbated in every single room of the house. It’s going to make his plan seem genius. His fingers skim the outline of her dress and he edges his tongue into her mouth, knowing exactly what buttons to press in order to get her in the mood. Which was more often than not because she thought about sex probably more than any girl he knew.

“No, I want you. Right here. Right now.” The firmness in his answer only weakens her resolve and soon heat is radiating off her body. Screw the party.

“Why here? We could just wait till we get back to your house?” His lips nibble on her ear and she’s struggling to find a reason to turn him down, his erection rubbing against her core.

“Guess you’re just that irresistible. It’s really your fault if you think about. If you didn’t show up looking so hot, I could concentrate on beer pong or whatever Trent and Marcus are currently trying to blow up in the backyard.”

It’s been months and she still can’t get used to the compliments coming from him. His breath is hot on her neck and just as his tongue brushes against her parted lips, she pulls back, gently lifting his head up to meet hers as she attempts to catch her breath.

“What brought this on?” She’s never seen Paxton this agitated by something, or someone before. Or this handsy.

At previous parties, he flirted sure, but in the past few gatherings they attended, they were practically attached at the hip. If Paxton didn’t have an arm slung over her shoulder or kept their fingers intertwined as Trent praised Eleanor’s latest performance, he was whispering in her ear or placing a hand on her hip. Even Zoe Maytag gave her props in the bathroom and admitted they only ever got to hand stuff and he wasn’t into PDA when he was ‘hanging out’ with her. Devi decided to save this information as future ammo if she needed it.

“I’m sorry but if I have to see Ben fucking Gross look at you with sad puppy dog eyes while blatantly ignoring his own girlfriend one more time, I might just snap. I might just fucking loose it and deck him.” The words are bitter, sharp coming off his tongue and it sends shivers down Devi’s spine. His gaze hardened, eyes getting darker, and her stomach flips, because for a moment he looks like he’s considering murder. And she would help him hide a body without hesitation. He drags his lips to bite down on her neck and she involuntarily throws her head back as her tries to suppress her moans.

“So what’s this going to prove?”

“Well what we obviously already know...That you can’t help jumping me even in public.” He chuckles into her hair as she rolls her eyes. And she thought she was competitive. Paxton and Ben took it to a whole other level. “But seriously, don’t tell me you didn’t notice the guy flaunting his relationship in front of you. It’s like he got some sick joy out of rubbing your nose in his happiness. This is a taste of his own medicine.”

“Who even says he’s going to notice or care?”

“I do. If he attempts to seek out where you went, which he obviously will, what he chooses to do after will either prove me right or you right. That he does care or doesn’t.”

Devi raised an eyebrow, throwing him an are-you-kidding-me glance before Paxton’s lips descended down on hers again. If he wasn’t kissing her lips, he was trailing his tongue down her neck, her shoulders, even her chest bone.

"Excuse me for caring. This whole longing, woe-is-me act was fine or whatever when you were both single. But he’s fucking with my girlfriend, my relationship and I’m not going to pretend to be okay with it.” Once again, his mouth was rough against her ear as leaned against her body and ground his hips against hers. While she wanted to be mad, she also found his protective nature incredibly hot and wasn’t about to say anything to end it anytime soon.

“He’s with Aneesa. I doubt he even thinks about me in that way anymore.” Devi’s voice attempts to reassure him as her fingers comb through his hair.

“I can’t say that I blame him.” His lips start trailing kisses from neck ear all the way to her cleavage, knuckles lightly kneading her breasts through the fabric of the dress. “I mean not only are you insanely hot but you’re also like the smartest person in the whole school. I just wish he wasn’t so obvious about it.”

“Is this you being jealous?” She has a smirk playing on her lips, eyes lit up in a teasing nature.

“I-”

“I just never thought I’d see the day where Paxton Hall-Yoshida got jealous. You’re usually so calm and level-headed.” Her voice falters as he starts stroking her breast, the nipple hardening under his touch.

“What can I say? When I opened my mind to studying, I learned stuff inside and outside of the classroom. For starters, noticing things more often. Noticing Ben for one, the rude comments one minute and longing stares the next.”

“Can we stop talking about him now?” Paxton had dropped to his knees in record time, lifting up her dress and practically diving underneath it, his laugh vibrating against her core.

“You aren’t wearing any underwear.”

“It’s laundry day, didn’t I mention that earlier?”

“Must have slipped my mind. Remind me to thank your mom later.” His joke only registered for a minute before he was seeking out her clit, swirling his tongue around it, repeatedly pushing against her until her legs are convulsing and she’s coming undone around his lips.

Ben’s silhouette hovers, quietly staring at the scene before him in agape. He only sees Devi granted, but it’s not just seeing his ex at a party outside of school, it’s seeing her flat against the wall, eyes closed, shallow breaths becoming audible every few seconds and seeing the way her body physically shook from whatever Paxton was doing to her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. And Ben wanted to call out to them, sneer that this was a public place, someone’s house and if they couldn’t keep their genitals to themselves then they should just leave, but he was momentarily frozen.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Devi’s body begin to come down from its high, Paxton rises and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. To Ben’s horror, it doesn’t end there.

Is she giggling? Paxton just shakes his head and captures his lips with hers again.

He turns his head and meets Ben’s eyes. Devi’s lips begin to attack his neck and he moans, all the while locked in a staring contest with the captain of who knows how many fucking clubs.

This time it’s Paxton wearing a rather smug smile, something that he’s seen on Ben one too many times in History class. Well, this was his History class. One area where he would always outsmart Ben and that in itself was enough to fill him with pride. Finally Devi detaches herself from her boyfriend and gently wipes her makeup remnants off his neck.

“I should probably go reapply my lipstick.” She’s still trying to steady her legs and with a wave of nausea coming over him, Ben is reminded of a conversation that took place months ago. ‘Well tomorrow I won’t be able to walk again because I’m about to go get railed.’ And that she did.

“You don’t have to you know. You look sexy like this.”

“You may think so, but my mom? Not so much Romeo.” Devi’s playfully shoving against his chest as she untangles herself from his arms, the fingers still interlocked until the distance makes it impossible and she’s heading further down the hall towards the bathroom.

“Dude are you just gonna stand there?” Paxton fixes Ben with a hard stare, equal parts creeped out and a little high off his assumption because his point was proven. It was a win-win situation. Satisfy his girlfriend and wipe the stupid smirk off Ben Gross’ face.

Finally Ben forces himself to look away and turns the corner in a hurry.