#i can’t remember what i’ve been tagging this idk

[titsthedamnseason]

no one understands how perfect the new romeo and juliet is for me. kit connor my son, the director of fun home, and music from none other than king jack antonoff. and rachel zegler i’ll admit i don’t follow that closely but she was in the hunger games and i love the hunger games. plus she’s funny online. and she has the voice of an angel in west side story. so you already know i’m seated.

[shorthaltsjester]

being a huge fan of tlou but also like. thinking that certain stories are built for certain mediums. like the entire theme of tlou2 is grounded and fresh because it’s a railroad/story video game that still affords you mechanical choices in how you navigate the world. i just don’t have a lot of confidence that presenting that story in a tv show with the minimal adjustments that they did in s1 will be fulfilling or compelling in any comparable way. because with tlou1 some of the like. beauty of that story was simply that it was such an emotive story contained in the medium of video games. and some of that was retained just by hitting similar or expanded emotional beats in the show, like the episodes that expanded on the life of the characters and the realities of that world. but truly so much of tlou2 emotional depth and ‘why does this story matter’ rests in the fact that’s it’s your hands on the controller, continually choosing to go forward in the story and have hope that it will work out in your-as-ellie-or-abby-or-somehow-booth’s favour. and you simply cannot get that in a non-interactive medium like television. like i do think tlou2 is a good story but it’s a good story because of the investment required by the player to keep pressing buttons and keep returning and to feel the adrenaline like responses of high intensity moments and be jarringly shifted into backstories that only increase the frustration. in general i’ve been thinking a lot about cross-medium adaptation and on the one hand i am glad that season 1 makes the story of the last of us more accessible to people who wouldn’t pick up a video game but it’s also like. maybe instead we can destigmatize video games as this inaccessible and dangerous medium a bit more instead of just . implicitly agreeing . like no maybe your mom won’t pick up a video game controller and play the last of us . but maybe you can play the game in the living room. sometimes the mediums that stories are told in aren’t just important but are actually foundational parts of how the information of a story is conveyed and that’s not only okay but is fucking fantastic. we should be happy actually that there are so many ways to collect a bunch of themes and ideas and put them together and hold them out to someone else and say “won’t you consider this with me. won’t you feel these emotions and care about these characters with me.”

[yogurtlid10000]

collection of old unfinished link arts-except the tp link one, that’s new-THAT ARE SO FIRE TBH ‼️‼️🎉 how did I conjure this up last year what was I ON😕 yippe

I love how it’s a different facial structure every time. 😞

Tomatoes

LA la la La I’d like to draw Cyclonus next but also I Magnus cuz I missed his birthday ( secretly Magnus is my favorite transformers charcater )

[okcoolthanks]

Fan art of myself lmao

Also I wanted to draw what my outfit was earlier and it kinda spiraled lmao

[foxgloveinspace]

hello hello!

so i got my mark back on my sleep token visual analysis last night (still cracks me up that i went ahead and wrote about them lol)

and sleep blessed me with another dream about the band!

this was a super meta dream cuz like. okay first i dreamt that i went out to a concert with my family, but i can’t for the life of me remember who it was. after we left that show i went home and then dreamed within my dream. at least, i think that’s how it went. idk it just felt different lmao

anyways, the inner dream was that after i’d left the earlier show, i found out that there was a last minute sleep token show in my city (there’s the dream lol, they’ll never come here)

i got into the show and somehow at the end ended up between the barrier and the stage. vessel jumped down and was thanking the fans and so basically i was like. trying to get through the pathway between stage and barrier while he was following 😂

when we got to the end i stepped aside to let him by and instead got a hug and then when he stepped back he just like, held my face. dream-me may have teared up a little lmao

Sorry I kept this ask for a couple weeks, I liked coming back and reading the end and going ‘wow. That’s so amazing for Exie. I hope they have another dream like this soon.’🤣 I blame the cold for how weirdly sentimental I got over your dream🤣🤣

[dlandofdreams]

I may have lost all my followers during my time off from tumblr but I am thriving in terms of porn bot attention 😤

[nanpecan]

₊✩‧₊˚once more to see you˚₊✩‧₊ pt 3

{nanami x f!reader}

pt 1.  pt 2. pt 4. pt 5.

˚₊✩‧₊summary: You’re a manager at Jujutsu Kaisen and you've now had two extremely intimate encounters with grade 1 sorcerer Nanami Kento. You're doing your best to go back to work like nothing happened. You're attending meetings, running a few errands, and having a very very close call with a curse and an ancient relic.

˚₊✩‧₊tags: nanami x fem!reader, slight angst, gore kinda (you're fighting a curse and it gets intense fast)

˚₊✩‧₊word count: 6.8k (do i even have to apologize at this point)

˚₊✩‧₊author’s note: this chapter is a little more centered around Y/N as a character. Nanami IS in it but i feel like he isn't the focus so i apologize. but ! i've attached pt. 4 as well because that does have nanami and a fun little hook up hehe. I won't be offended if a lot of y'all skip this to get to the next part. I know i would

˚₊✩‧₊this is the mitski song i had in mind for this chapter idk

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You shut the car door and put your seat belt on wordlessly. “You okay? I’ve never seen you so quiet after drinking.” Akari said, breaking you out of your daze. 

You looked at her and considered telling her everything. “Akari…” she looked at you with a questioning look. She smiled. 

“You know, Nanami was asking questions about you while you were up singing with Ijichi.” 

“What?” 

“It was little things. Like he kept asking for clarity on things whenever we brought you up. I don’t know if you even noticed.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“Well he was asking how long you’ve been here. He seemed to know that you’d joined the school when you were 16, during Ijichi’s third year. But he wanted to know how you did.” 

“What did you tell him?” you asked. 

“Eh, I said something about how your classmates were assholes. But that doesn’t matter. He also asked about your relationship status.” She glanced at you with a cheeky smile. You gave her a blank stare. “Well, not directly, but Shoko asked about my dating life and I told them how we were both hopeless, and I may have mentioned that date you went on where the American called you exotic and tried to grab your ass.” She laughed as she remembered. “He smiled when I mentioned you kicked his ass.” 

You smiled and she seemed happy that you were more relaxed. “I could just tell he was interested in you, and you know I’m good at reading people.” 

“You’re too flattering.” You said. “I don’t think he’s interested in me like that.” 

“You’d be surprised, maybe he feels connected with you after he saw your IBS crisis.” She laughed. “Too soon? I’m sorry.” 

You smiled and shook your head. You felt a burning in your chest. “You don’t think he was talking so much because he was into you? He didn’t talk to me at all.” 

Akari scoffed. “If he was into me I’d turn him down immediately.” She frowned. “If I didn’t know his age I would have thought he was in his late thirties, and I’m not into dudes that much older. You know I like them hot and stupid.” 

“That hasn’t worked out so well for you in the past, maybe it’s time to change it up.” 

Akari furrowed her brows. “Why are you pushing him on me, fight for your man, girl.” 

You slumped back into your seat. “I’m telling you he doesn’t like me like that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “And why are you so sure?” 

“Because he told me so.” You muttered. 

“What?” She suddenly got serious. 

“...Can you keep a secret?” 

“What happened? Y/N??” She looked over at you. “Hang on, we're almost at my place. I need to be all ears.” 

“You can’t tell anyone, and you can’t judge me.” 

“Wait! Don’t tell me anymore!” 

Akari quickly parked the car and ran out. She practically pushed you all the way into her apartment and onto her couch. She quickly poured you another drink before pouring one for herself. 

“Okay,” she handed you the cup. “I had a feeling something happened, you’ve been acting so weird.” 

“You wanna take a guess?” You said before taking a drink. 

She hesitated. “My gut was telling me that something happened with the curse he exorcised yesterday. And I thought that maybe it had gotten to you and you were overly flirty and confessed or something.” 

“We had sex.” 

She choked on her drink. “What!” 

You buried your head in your hands and groaned. “The curse injured him and infected him with lust. I was just standing outside the barrier. I was checking my phone when he came stumbling out into the car, and well…things escalated and…yeah.” 

Akari looked at you in shock. She put her drink down. “He didn’t report an injury. Was he in his right mind?” 

You understood what she was implying. “He wasn’t violent. The opposite actually. I was surprised too, he wouldn’t let me tend to his wound.” You took another drink. “It was great.” 

She still looked concerned. “But he told you he wasn’t into you.” 

You frowned. “We didn’t really talk much afterwards. I think he was more embarrassed or maybe he regretted it… Anyway I ran into him at the bakery that I like and we talked for a bit there.” You sighed as you remembered. “I confessed that I liked him and he said he wasn’t interested in a relationship with me, so I said we should forget everything that happened.” 

“I’m sorry.” Akari said. “What an asshole, I bet he said it just like that too. He’s so blunt. You didn’t deserve that.” She looked at you. “I’m sorry he showed up tonight. I can’t imagine how awkward that must have been for you. But I’m serious. He was asking little things about you. So maybe there’s hope?” She turned her head and scowled, “If it was me I wouldn’t want to see the bastard.” 

You took a deep breath, you didn’t want to tell her about the bathroom. Not that it was wrong, you just wanted time to process everything. You frowned. You had just ruined his chances with her, you were painting him out to be a villain. “He was very sweet though. I understand where he’s coming from. I mean, I don’t think he really had any control over his mood and I should have turned him down. I have regrets too. I think it’ll be easier to just forget. If he does want something he should be the one to approach me.” You laid back on the couch. “The shittier thing to do would have been not to acknowledge it at all. He’s a good guy, it’s just like you said. He’s blunt.” You smiled at Akari. “This is our secret, okay?” 

Akari nodded looking at you sympathetically. “Of course.” She came closer to you and hugged you. “Other than the mess, I’m glad he was nice to you. You pulled your long-time crush, that’s powerful girl.” 

You smiled and hugged her back silently. 

You both went to bed shortly after and you were left alone with your thoughts. 

The bathroom. He had said he didn’t want to talk, fucked you, and even wanted to take you home. This sort of contradicted your theory of him liking Akari, right? No, he just thinks you’re easy. You frowned. You should have let him speak before you cut him off…twice. You’d just been afraid that what he’d say would hurt your feelings. 

You tossed and turned thinking about him, remembering his touch, his lips. Despite it all he had been so gentle, so desperate to have you again. It hurt your feelings thinking about it. He had done all that but he didn’t really want you. You sighed, if he asked to have you again, would you do it?, you wondered. Yes, you decided, feeling hopeless. You felt very strongly about him and despite him not reciprocating your feelings, yours hadn’t diminished. You might have liked him more, or at least the idea of him more. You slowly dozed off. 

You were pretty quiet the next morning and Akari let you just exist. She drove you to work, talking about things here and there but not bringing him up. You were grateful for her. “You know I do love you.” 

Akari smiled as she turned off the ignition to the car. “I’ve always got your back.” 

You both rushed into the meeting room afraid of being late but when you got there, there were only two other managers including Ijichi, and Principle Yaga sitting silently with a frown on his face. 

You checked your watch. There were two minutes until the meeting was supposed to start. No other sorcerers were here. You sat down next to Akari and Ijichi. You looked at the empty chair beside you and for a moment thought about switching sides with Akari but you decided it was too much. You were thinking too much about it. He was not going to sit next to you, that would have been bold and stupid. 

Suddenly the door opened and Shoko walked in giving you and Akari a smile. Two more sorcerers came in with a minute to spare. You watched the clock strike 7 and the door opened again. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was, his aura gave him away. You heard him head in your direction and you whipped your head in surprise as you heard the chair next to you slide out and Nanami sit down. 

You clenched your jaw and felt Akari poke you from the other side. You looked at her.

 You okay? She asked with her eyes. You nodded and rolled your eyes with a smile. She smiled back. You didn’t turn to look at him. 

This wasn’t the first time he had sat next to you in a meeting. The first time you had been way more nervous. It was about a year and a half ago; after he had just rejoined Jujutsu society. You had already started crushing on him and he had asked you for a pen to jot down some small detail about a schedule change. The rest was history.

Your thoughts were interrupted when the doors burst open and you heard a familiar chuckle. “Okay, okay, we can start now. I’m here!” Gojo. He walked in cockily and sat down in the front row of seats. Yaga gave him a scrutinizing look before standing up, ready to start. 

“You’re just the man I wanted to see, I have a mission for you.” Yaga grumbled. Gojo yawned in response. “Good morning everyone, I’ll make this short.” He shuffled some papers. “An update on the Okkotsu case, the boy’s violence has escalated resulting in the death of three high school students on Thursday evening. Yesterday Kisagari and Harutomi were sent to investigate and were instructed to bring the boy back.” He clenched his jaw. “They did not check in last night and upon further investigation Harutomi was found dead this morning a little outside the school grounds.” 

The room went silent. You frowned, this was more serious than anticipated. Both of the sorcerers were grade two, it came as a shock that one of them was dead.

“Satoru, can I rely on you to pick up where they left off?” 

Gojo stretched his arms and leaned back on his chair. “Of course,” he responded. 

Yaga went over some other brief reminders before dismissing the meeting. You’d volunteered to deliver some items the school was exchanging with the Kanagawa Prefecture Cultural Museum. You stayed in your chair a little longer reading over the file Akari handed you. Nanami slowly got up from his chair and you could sense him staring at you. He probably wanted to talk. You owed him that much. You turned to look at him but before you could say anything Ijichi appeared next to him. 

“I’m ready to head out whenever you are.” He said to Nanami. 

Nanami turned to him and nodded. “Let’s go.” 

You looked at Nanami but he turned away and started heading towards the door. You frowned and turned back to the papers in front of you. 

“You okay?” Akari said. 

You looked at her and smiled. “Yeah, I think I’m over it. It was a one night stand situation, I’m overthinking it.” She didn’t look convinced but you shook your head. “Believe me I’m not angry or hurt. Life’s too short for that.” 

    -

You headed out to your school assigned car and sat down. You glanced at the back seat in the rear view mirror. You felt your cheeks get hot as you remembered what had happened, and smacked your hands to the sides of your face. You could try to talk to him later…maybe.

As you drove towards Naka you thought about what you might eat for lunch. Along with bringing the items to the museum and picking up the ones they were trading, you were to go around and check the shrines in the area. You’d had a mission around here a while ago and remembered a soba restaurant close to the museum. Since you had spent the night at Akari’s you didn’t have the sandwich you had planned to eat today. Oh well, you thought, at least I wasn't the one that paid for it. 

You noticed you were getting close and called ahead to the museum. “Good morning, this is Y/N with Jujutsu Tech. I'm about 30 minutes away.” 

“Oh perfect,” A woman answered. “Head towards the employee parking, we’ve told the guard to let you in. By the way, we came across a new artifact donated by the estate of one of our late patrons. It looks very old and was kept in a special box, would you be able to take it to get it assessed?” 

“Yes of course!” You were a little hesitant to pick up unregistered cursed objects but usually it was no big deal. Especially if it was kept in a special box. It would be fine. 

As you walked into the back of the museum, a shiver went up your spine and you got a terrible feeling in your gut. You took a deep breath and went in, a little on edge. You went to the room you’d been instructed to and waited. Some of the items you were expecting to pick up were already laid out. An old cursed katana in need of restoration and a few Edo period items. You put down the box you were carrying. You were exchanging these items for an ancient tea set from the Nara period that was in prime condition and a painting scroll from around the same time. 

“Sorry for running a little late.” You jumped as a voice came from behind you. You tensed as you turned, you hadn’t even felt the person’s presence. 

“Oh, no problem, I’m Y/N.” 

“Yes, yes, this is the item I spoke to you on the phone about.” 

The lady put down an intricately decorated green box about 6 inches long and 4 wide. “We just got it in this morning. Our staff decided to open it to see what was inside, but only found one small object wrapped in a sort of paper wrap with writing on it. We couldn’t decipher the language, but right after we opened it the lights in the museum went out so we closed it.” She laughed nervously. “None of us are very superstitious, but we did get spooked.” 

She picked up the box to hand it to you. You grabbed it but felt that she had a tight grip on it. You pulled a little harder to take it from her but she just stared at the box. “Ma’am?” You pulled again but her grip hadn’t faltered. 

“I just…would like to see it one more time.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good-“ she yanked the box back and quickly lifted the locking notch to open the box. She stared inside. 

You went around her to look inside as well and gasped. You knew what this was. You had only seen one brought to the school when you were a student. It was one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. You quickly shut the box and yanked it out of her hands. 

“I’ll take it from here.” She seemed to snap out of her daze and nodded. 

“Yes- uh. Let me find a box to put these loose items in so you can carry them easier. Excuse me.” The lady left the room and you stared at the box in shock. You needed to get this out of here.  

You quickly pulled your phone out and called the school. 

“Hello, this is Y/N. I’m picking up items from the Kanagawa Cultural Museum and they have given me one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers.” 

The person on the other end let out a small noise. “Is it bound?” 

“It’s wrapped in a talisman and contained in an emerald box.” 

“Okay... We can send the closest available sorcerers to assist you in ensuring it gets returned to the school without interruptions. Do not worry about your other tasks, the finger is the new priority.” You looked back at the box nervously. “Do you know if they unraveled the talisman?” 

“They opened the box and examined the finger but quickly closed it back up. The finger appears to still be partially wrapped in the box.” 

“We should assume they unwrapped the finger, even if it was only for a little bit, so there might be curses coming that way, and the talisman is probably weakened if not all together useless.” The guy sighed on the phone. “You said this was Y/N correct.” 

“Yes.” 

He was silent. “Take the finger and run, you won’t be able to handle whatever curses are coming your way.” 

You were hurt by his comments but knew it was true. You thanked him and hung up. You looked at the door. The lady was taking a while. You quickly began to unload your box and started loading the other contents into it. The sword was going to stick out too much so you quickly stuck it to your hip using your belt. You placed the finger in last and picked up the box. You went back into the hallway and once again felt the energy sour. 

You headed towards the exit when you noticed a shoe in the hallway. You clenched your teeth. It was a woman’s high heel, the same kind the lady had been wearing earlier. Your instincts told you to run to the car but then a smell hit your nose. Blood. Blood and the sickeningly bitter scent of a curse. 

Run. Your body was telling you to run. You were close to the exit, the car was parked right outside the door. You started to move your legs and turned towards the exit. You had been told the nearest sorcerers were heading your way. Someone else would be here to help. You would just get in the way and end up dying. You couldn’t fight, not well anyway. You didn’t have any weapons, you needed to leave, you needed to - you stopped in your tracks as you heard a small noise. You listened intently. 

“Help!” It was a whisper. “Please.” An agonizing voice coming from behind you. You turned trying to find the voice. “Help.” It was coming from the hallway to your left. You hesitated. You blinked and took a deep breath. You clutched the boxed items closer to yourself and your hand went to the katana on your hip. It was old and rusted but it was something, you weren’t completely unarmed. You quickly went toward the noise and peeked around the corner. 

You stood there shocked. The lady was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, her face twisted in pain. She had a deep purple bruise on her right ankle and her left foot was gone. It looked like it had been hastily bit off. Where she was bleeding there was a small yellow curse lapping up the blood. 

“Help! Help me! Help.” She started yelling as she saw you approach. You ran over to her and shushed her. The little yellow curse didn’t even notice you, it was too busy drinking the blood, but it was growing in size. You put the box down next to her and looked at her wound. It was big, an injury like this required immediate attention. Your mind raced as you thought about what to do. You could try to heal it, try to use your RCT. However you had no medical knowledge whatsoever so the chances of you messing it up were greater than you fixing it. But you had to do something. Even if you didn’t understand, stopping the bleeding or scabbing it over would help tremendously. 

I don’t have enough CE for this, you thought bitterly. It would take a lot. You looked at the little creature in front of you and something clicked in your brain. You couldn’t explain it but you just knew what to do. You grabbed the creature by the base of its neck. It didn’t even flinch, it was too preoccupied consuming the trickling blood. That was until it started shrinking, its fingers curling, the tips of its ears wilting and then it started thrashing in your hands. 

You were absorbing its cursed energy. Your hand burned as you felt the rotten energy enter you. Your veins ached and you winced, feeling like you were going to be sick. The input was foul, you felt like you needed to expel it, quickly. You placed your other hand on the bloody stump and tried to focus on your reverse cursed technique. You laughed when you noticed something was happening only to flinch as the creature started to kick and scratch at you. You slammed it onto the floor trying to subdue it. It became more and more withered as you became accustomed to the feeling of absorbing its energy. The wound was looking much better. Almost. 

The yellow creature let out one final shriek before it completely deflated. The lady’s ankle was now a hardened scab. You knew it hadn’t healed completely but it wasn’t going to get any worse. You looked up and saw that she was staring horrified at your hand wrapped around the stump. In your other hand, the curse was now a grey lump of flesh. You clenched your fist and it disintegrated into ash. 

You looked up at the lady and let go of her leg. “We need to get outside.” Once outside you could make a veil and prevent whatever was inside from getting out. You had quickly deduced that the small yellow curse was not the one that had done the damage. There was something bigger and stronger and it was looking for the finger. 

You grabbed the green box with the finger, tucking it under your arm as you helped the lady up, letting her lean on you as you started for the door. You quickly hobbled there together. You were going to make it. You were two feet from the door. One foot. Your hand reached out to push when you suddenly felt the wind get knocked out of you. Your mouth flew open and released a stream of blood. The world went black for a second and you felt yourself falling. You came to, right before you hit the ground and regained your balance. You turned around quickly but your body was overcome with pain. Your hand went to your abdomen, you had broken some ribs. But what had hit you? You looked over at the lady and saw she was unconscious. “Shit.” You slid her off your shoulder and looked around for a curse. Nothing. You quickly checked her pulse. She was breathing. You sighed and stood up looking around. 

The box! You looked around the floor for it. You had dropped it when you had been hit. It was nowhere to be found. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You realized now the curse had probably slammed into you while trying to get the box. You had to get it back and fast. You stopped. No this isn’t right. I need to get this lady to safety and set a veil. I need to wait for the closest sorcerer to arrive, I can’t fight. You heard screaming from the hallway again. You clenched your jaw. You were terrified. 

You looked down at the lady and quickly picked her up. You were right by the door. You pushed open the door wheezing a little and trying your best to ignore the pain as she leaned into your broken ribs. You set her down on the steps outside and turned to the building. The curtain! you needed to put one up. You lifted a hand and muttered your phrase. 

You opened your phone and dialed the school. The same person picked up. “The situation has escalated. I was attacked and the curse got a hold of the finger. So far there's only been one confirmed injury, but I think many others are in danger. I’ve placed a veil for now,” you said.

“Stay put, help is almost there.” You looked back at the building and frowned. You hung up. You heard another yell and your stomach dropped. You felt yourself tearing up. There had to be something you could do. You needed to do something, anything, you couldn’t just stand there while everyone inside was in danger. It wasn’t fair. 

You felt your body move and before you realized, you found yourself stepping into the veil. You quickly went to the door and stepped back into the building. You saw more of the little yellow creatures climbing up and down the walls. You counted seven. They were all moving towards the same place. Looking along the wall, you spotted what you were looking for and quickly hobbled over to push the fire alarm. 

The alarm rang in your ears. You coughed and winced as more blood came out of your mouth. Your chest ached with every step, every breath, but you kept going. Someone was yelling for help. Without thinking you snatched one of the little yellow curses and started absorbing it. You were careful not to heal your own wounds. You’d been able to help the lady, but with little understanding of internal anatomy, something told you you’d do more damage than good. 

You turned the corner and found a man in shock staring at where his hand once was. You rushed over and grabbed it with your free hand exerting the cursed energy into it. The little fiend shriveled in your hand again as the wound scabbed over.

As the alarm cycled you hoped people in the museum were evacuating. Since you were in the employee backrooms you couldn’t tell. The man stared at his hand traumatized and you left him there to try to find the creature. The closer you felt you got, the more of the little yellow demons swarmed the walls, like vultures waiting for prey. You pushed past twenty trying to get through a door frame and you were surprised to see that there were at least a hundred in the next room. The curse you were looking for was there too. 

It was a large pudgy creature, around 6 feet tall with frog-like features. It had grubby hands and ornate green stripes along its back. It was muttering something, you couldn’t make out the phrase. It had a disembodied human hand in its mouth and it was sucking on the exposed wrist draining it of blood. Every time it slurped, the fingers of the hand would contract open and closed. It made your stomach uneasy. 

The curse didn’t notice you coming in, it was too preoccupied trying to open the emerald box. You noted the curse had it backwards and was trying to pry it open on the side with the hinges. You didn’t know how much longer you had. You debated what to do. In this room the curse was isolated, it couldn’t access any more victims and hopefully a majority, if not all, of the people in the museum had evacuated. There was a sorcerer on the way, you could leave it here or wait outside of the door to direct them towards the curse. 

But the finger….You could get it while it was distracted, or at least try to. You had the katana and even though it was old, it was still a weapon. As you pondered what to do you noticed the room had gone silent. The creature was still mumbling and trying to get the box open but the other small yellow creatures had gone quiet. You put your hand on the hilt of the katana once again uneasy. You made your decision. Even if you were useless you could buy some time. You slowly crept closer and closer to the curse. You took a quiet breath before pulling out the sword and swinging it at the monster's neck. 

The sword hit the curse’s flesh with a loud thunk. It was blunt. Practically useless. The creature stopped struggling with the box and its head quickly turned to look at you. It had two sets of eyes, although they all seemed to be looking in different directions. Suddenly the curse made a dive at you, mouth open ready to bite. 

You attempted to dodge to the right but you were too slow to completely move out of the way. You felt a cool sensation on your arm and you turned to see your left arm in a sorry state. The skin on your forearm and elbow was gone. Blood poured out and you could only stare in horror. The pain hit you all at once and you barely managed to turn away from your arm, trying to locate where the curse was now. It was staring at you seemingly confused as to how it had missed you, the sliver of your flesh hanging down out of its mouth like a tongue. 

It looked like it was going to charge at you again and as you started backing away you realized your back was to the wall. It realized this too and moved forward at a ridiculous speed. All you managed to do was bring up the old katana. You shut your eyes embracing yourself for the fatal blow but you only felt the curses’ plump body falling into you, wriggling around. The sword was in your hand but your wrists were twisted awkwardly around the handle and you realized it had become stuck in the creature's mouth. You let go and pushed against the creature with your leg. 

In its shocked state, it stumbled backwards and you were able to see what had happened. It had opened its mouth wide and lodged the katana between the top of his mouth and his jaw. He couldn’t shut it. It reached desperately to try to pry it out but its stubby arms couldn’t reach inside its own mouth. 

You quickly took advantage of its distraction to try to locate the green box. You spotted it on the ground in the middle of the room.You looked back at the creature making sure it was still distracted and started sneaking away. 

It suddenly let out a loud screech and its body started contorting. Its head grew bigger and smaller, arms longer and shorter. It seemed to be trying to molt out of its body to get rid of the sword. But no matter how much it twisted and yelled the sword wouldn’t come out. You wondered for a second, what kind of curse was imbued on the sword. 

You took another step away and suddenly the creature’s attention snapped back to you. You tried to make a run for it but it hurtled its way in front of you and slammed you back into the wall. 

You yelled out weakly, more blood spilling from your mouth and your left arm sending a shooting pain throughout your body as your exposed muscle stained the wall with your blood. The curse moved its hands to your neck and lifted you up, choking you against the wall. You desperately tried to inhale and tried not to panic, but the combination of the pain and lack of oxygen wasn’t letting you think clearly. You kicked desperately at the curse but it wasn’t budging. You put your hands up to its wrists and tried to budge them to no avail.   

As you started to see dots, your kicks got weaker. You felt its grip tighten and your hands fell weakly onto its arms. You began trying to take the energy out. Your body felt almost as if it was on autopilot. No air and feeling defeated, you started to allow the cursed energy you were absorbing into you entirely. You felt a burning sensation on your arm and coming from inside your chest. Your entire body felt hot as you felt things fixing themselves. You also noticed the grip around your neck had faltered some as you took a desperate and choppy gulp of air. That little flow of oxygen allowed you to think a little more clearly as you kept absorbing the CE. 

You didn’t want to finish healing yourself but you needed to put the energy somewhere. You looked at the curse in front of you. Its face was right in front of your chest. You reached down with your right hand and grabbed the blade of the katana. You began transferring the energy into it. You felt the sword get hot and push back, almost as if it was refusing the new input of CE, but after gripping the steel tighter you felt the sword lose its dullness. 

The rust started to fall away and the metallic sheen of the blade began to glow. The edge of the sword was becoming very sharp. You wanted to let go but found that your hand was bound to it, the transfer requiring more and more CE and blood and pain. You felt the blade cut into your palm and you ground your teeth. You needed to stop. You ripped your hand away from the blade and removed your hand from the curse’s arm. You quickly put your hands into the curse’s mouth and grabbed its teeth and lip. You pulled its upper jaw down hard for it to close its mouth and watched as the newly sharpened sword point pierce through the creature’s palate and skewered out through the top of its head. As the tip of the blade suddenly appeared through its skull, the grip around your neck loosened and the curse dropped flat on the ground, twitching. 

You could only stare in shock at what had just happened. 

Suddenly a rush of the small yellow curses began moving forward to consume the liquids oozing out of the curse. You felt your stomach churn as you watched them lap everything up. You turned away from the sight and looked for the box. You took a staggering step towards the item, still laying in the middle of the room, and let out a yelp. Your entire body felt heavy and tired. You felt sick. You still had an excess of CE and your body couldn’t handle it. You collapsed to your knees as you neared the box. You placed your palms on the floor and tried to expel the energy from your body. The floor beneath you turned black and cracked. You poured it all out and felt slight relief, but still felt sore and achy. You looked back up at the box and reached for it. You took it in your hands and sat back. You took a shaky breath and laughed. That could have been bad. 

You jumped as you heard the door open and quickly turned towards it. You felt a slight pang of relief as you realized it was a pair of sorcerers. That relief turned to anger as you realized it was two students. 

Inumaki and Maki. They stared at you curiously and looked around trying to make sense of what had happened. You looked around too. The place was crawling with little yellow curses, a horde of them concentrated on the still twitching body of the large curse with a katana stuck through his skull. There was a human hand just laying limp to your right and you were sitting in the middle of the room. You bet you were a sight to see. Your suit was torn in various places, soaked in blood from wounds that had healed. 

“Are you okay?” Maki asked. 

“The curse-“ you stopped and put a hand up to your throat. It was burning and speaking felt difficult. Your voice had a heavy rasp to it due to your windpipe almost being crushed. You tried to clear your throat but it sent a sharp pain down it. “The curse has been defeated, I secured the finger.” You finally said fighting against the fire in your throat. You held up the box. “Are you two the only ones here?” 

“Daisuke is outside, he drove us here.” Another manager. 

“Tuna.” 

“We’ll take care of these creatures, Daisuke is waiting with another secure container to put the finger in.” 

You sighed and nodded. “Any casualties?” 

“None, almost everyone was evacuated. Police and firemen have arrived on scene. The veil you placed is very good.” Maki said. 

You slowly got to your feet and tucked the box under your right arm. You had healed your previously flayed left arm but it still felt sore. You put your hand on your left elbow to try to comfort it. “Be careful. He’s down but he’s got razor sharp teeth. Also we need that sword. If you could get it for me that would be great,” you said with a smile. You could tell from their faces that it wasn’t very convincing.

You limped out of the room and collapsed against the wall once you were out. They sent students? If the curse had gotten a hold of the finger the students would have been in serious danger. You would have surely been killed, and they wouldn’t have known what they were walking into. You were going to say something when you got back. You got back to your feet and started heading towards the exit. 

You spotted Daisuke talking with some policemen as you emerged from the veil. He looked at you shocked to see the state you were in and quickly pulled out a wooden box to put the cursed item in. You dropped the box into it and he quickly shut it, muttering some kind of extra enchantment on it. 

You leaned against the car exhausted and still feeling off. “Are you okay?” 

You looked at him and nodded. “Yes,” you hesitated. “But I think I’m going to need you to give me a ride back to the school.” 

The students finished up quickly and you sat in the passenger seat sleeping the whole way back. You felt uneasy still. Your bones creaking and your entire body sore. 

Once inside the school you insisted on taking the box and delivering it to the main office. You wanted to talk to the staff member you had talked with over the phone. 

You swung open the door to his office and stormed up to his desk. You dropped the box onto the infront of him and stared the worker down. “Here it is. One of the legendary Ryomei Sukuna fingers, one of the most powerful relics in the world, previously unwrapped and unbound less than an hour ago.” 

The guy looked at the box and then up at you giving you a criticizing glare. “You seem upset.”

“Why the fuck would you send two students instead of a high ranked sorcerer?”

The guy looked away from you and smirked. “They were the closest available and besides, if you were able to handle it why would I waste someone’s time?” He gave you a snarky smile. 

Your blood boiled. He had a point but you had gotten so lucky. “They could have gotten hurt if the curse had been able to get the finger, you didn’t know the whole situation of what was going on.” 

He shrugged. “It looks like I made the right decision. If you, out of anyone, was able to defeat the curse, there was no real danger. The curse even cauterized the wounds. None of the victims were in grave danger.” 

“What?” 

“Two of the victims were found with missing limbs but not even bleeding out or anything.” He started to act annoyed. “Look I have things to do, I expect your report by tomorrow, let us know your thoughts in the appropriate feedback section. Have a nice day. Get out.” 

You stared at him frustrated before storming out of the room and almost running into someone. “Sorry,” you muttered before looking up. It was Nanami. 

He looked down at you concerned by the state you were in, bloodied and sweaty. “Y/N are you okay?” 

For some reason that was your last straw. His question made your eyes start watering. You rolled your eyes blinking hard to try to stop the tears. “I’m fine.” You said not meeting his gaze. He didn’t move. 

“You should go see Shoko.” He said, his voice now softer. He moved his hand to your face, carefully placing it under your chin to make you look at him. His thumb grazed your cheek. You looked up at him and frowned, tears leaking from your eyes. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Nothing had been going your way and you were exhausted. You took a step forward towards Nanami and wrapped your arms around him. 

It was stupid, but you desperately needed some kind of comfort. He didn’t move at first but he eventually put his arms around you. You buried your face into his shirt and felt yourself relax for the first time in hours. You felt your eyes close right as your legs gave out beneath you.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

˚₊✩‧₊nana here: okay okay i got a little (a lot) carried away with the fight scene. I just love making Y/N a badass and I promise it makes sense later. Again theres a lot added in thats part of a longer story but idk...if anything i'll cross post here and ao3. Thank yall for reading and as always if you saw a typo, no you didn't.

please click on through to pt. 4 and if you did read this all, I love you.

super duper shout out to @zoldsick for reading and editing my crazy ideas, thank you cath<3

pt. 1 pt. 2. pt. 4 pt 5.

˚₊✩‧₊ taglist: @wrldtups @rjreins @phattyboo90 @tnyblacklesbo @silkija @justwantedachange @inthedarkshadows000 @nniiyyaa @starkmila09 @sikuthealien @wifenanami @bloombb @kentos-glasses @inciteterr0r

[hwallazia]

LOVE LANGUAGE – 정우영 & 최산

synopsis . in which after a long, tiring day at work, all you want to do is come home to your boyfriends and cuddle with them. of course they fulfill your wish, but with something more. a little surprise for you.

pairing . jung wooyoung & choi san & fem! reader

genre . smut but the fluffiest (still, mdni!), slice of life, comfort, polyamorous relationship, non idol!au.

word count . 2,8k

DISCLAIMER! softest doms! woosan (like fr they’re devoted to yn), sub! reader, fingering, begging, sooo much praise, dirty talk, suggestive language, nicknames (baby, princess, darling, good girl, & more), sweetest touches, just the three of them being stupidly in love and woosan being the best boyfriends ever <3

NIC’S NOTES i know all the smut one shots or drabbles i’ve written have the same tags. it’s just that i can’t bring myself to write idk something more hardcore? ㅠㅅㅠ i just write whatever comes to my head but with my preferences, which is vanilla sex essentially with a looot of nicknames and praise. next time i’ll try to do something a bit rougher and more passionate. ♡

You’re having a hard day.

You’ve already lost count of how long your boss has been talking to you, reminding you how much he hates mistakes in a company like his. His eyebrows furrowed together as a sign of frustration. You’ve honestly forgotten what you had originally started talking about. The more the man continued speaking, the more entangled you became with his words. After being scolded by your superior, you sit down in your desk chair and take a sip of your already lukewarm coffee. A gesture of disgust curves your lips

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. It’s too much to bear for it being eight-thirty in the morning, you repeatedly think about how much you want to yell at your boss to fuck off. He’s had you like this for weeks, busy with projects that don’t even concern you, but rather the other team his stepdaughter is on.

Of course, he wouldn’t make her work like he makes you work. Baggy eyes? In her lover’s daughter's eyes? Over his dead body. Your blood boiled every time you scanned her carefully every time she entered a room, almost always surrounded by three girls who followed her like fans, more like stalkers you think, smiling as if she was a celebrity, while you were trapped at your desk, doing her job.

You remember that time when you deigned to complain to your boss about this situation. “You get paid to work, not to complain. Go back to your desk” were the only words he said to you. Choking with all your strength the desire to suffocate him with your own hands, you replied with a “Yes, sir” with your hurt pride held high.

At some point in the morning, Miss Everybody-loves-me walks by your desk, her finger pressing to the surface of it as it runs over it, collecting dust particles from her fingertips. In her other hand resting her Starbucks drink.

“New project?” She says, showing a row of white, perfectly arranged teeth.

You shake your head, “It's the same one from the other day,” You reply, “Yesterday.” A tone of annoyance highlighted in your voice.

She nods repeatedly as if she understands you, as if she is being empathetic with you. Hypocrite. “My bad. I really thought you’d have it ready by today. You know, because the executive meeting is tomorrow and—.”

“Yes,” You say loudly. Of course you already know that you have to have it ready for tomorrow, it’s for that same reason that you haven’t been sleeping properly the last few days. Because you’re busy doing the work of the bitch who was in front of you, talking to you, “Yes, yes. I already know that piece of information. Thank you.”

“Just stopping by to remind you.” A giggle slips past her lips, the desire to want to smack her growing bigger and bigger, “Keep up the good work! Bye.”

She presses her longest fingers against her lips and then peels them away, sending you a flying kiss. You’re grateful she left, you can’t hold back the urge to finally shut her up with a good smack on that stupid smile of hers. A low “shit” escapes your lips as you watch her turn around and face your desk again, still not leaving you alone. “Oh, by the way. I hope you liked the coffee. Before I left my place, I saw that there was still that cup of coffee that I hadn't finished a few days ago. Four days have passed? I don’t know, nor do I remember. Anyway, bye.”

You finally watch as her anatomy disappears as she walks further. You turn and bitterly scan the coffee mug resting on a small oak table not too far from you. Your fingers hold the mug’s handle and throw it right into the trash. You want to scream at this exact moment, and the only way you find to relieve your miserable morning anger a little is to scream into the sleeve of your blazer.

The morning passes with difficulty and you smile for the first time today when you take a quick look at your watch and realize there are only two minutes left until you finish your workday. You had successfully completed the project and its presentation for the meeting you have the next day. At least your day was productive—after all.

Those are the longest two minutes of your life, but when they are finally over, you almost run towards the exit of the large building in which you’ve spent almost eleven hours of your day locked up.

In the blink of an eye, you’re already parking your car in the garage of the apartment where you live with your other two boyfriends. You know they were already home, probably cooking, watching a movie, or playing. As usual.

In about five minutes you’re already inserting your key, the sound of the locks and their mechanism working correctly to unlock the door being the only thing you could hear. Once the door is wide open, you cross the threshold and kick off your heels which have trapped your feet from a long day at work. You feel like you’re floating when you finally touch the warm floor of your apartment, and you trudge to your room, finding San leaning against the bed’s headboard, smiling at finally seeing you after a long day. A book resting on his right palm and his glasses decorating his beautiful face. The sigh that leaves your lips is inevitable. A soft smile is placed on your lips.

“Sannie.” You murmur, your arms outstretched for him to wrap you in a hug as you walk towards him.

“My love,” he crawls to the edge of the bed where he reciprocates your hug.

Your cheek resting against his flat chest, his hand gently caressing your hair. Through your nostrils, you can perceive the combination of that lavender shampoo you bought him a few months ago and soap. He smells so good, you thought to yourself. Him cooing at you like you were a baby is an image you want to keep in your head forever. You swear you can give into his arms as the tiredness starts affecting you.

You manage to hear the sound of a door opening. Then you turn round and find your other lover, Wooyoung, his hand drying his damp hair with the help of a small towel. However, you can’t see him, because your eyes have closed involuntarily while you enjoyed San's loving hug.

His eyes shine when he sees your figure. “There’s my girl.” He approaches you and San. His lips make contact with your other cheek.

Finally separating from San, they can ask you how your day was.

You sigh to look them in the eyes. “Terrible. Everything was so overwhelming today.” You pause, “Too much paperwork, too much.” You repeat it a second time, this time even more exhausted.

“Mm,” San murmurs, “Do you want to talk about that?”

“Not really. I just want—”

Wooyoung interrupts you to say, “Did that bitch have anything to do with it?” He says referring to Bora.

A loud gasp leaves your lips as you remember that she’s also been part of your day, “You have no idea what she did to me today,” You tell him what happened with your coffee. A soft giggle comes from San, the same person you just denied wanting to talk about your day.

“That bitch. How dare she?” San lets out an annoyed ‘mhm’ when he hears him speak. Your chivalrous San never uses that kind of insult to refer to women. He never actually insults women, “What? She deserves it. Look what she did to your girl today!”

“Our.” You correct him, a smile decorating his lips as he hears you say that.

“Yes, that. Ours.” You cup his chin and pull him to your lips to place a kiss on his cheek. His smile growing even bigger as San shakes his head at him.

A sigh leaves your lips, “To be honest, I just want to take a bath in the tub.”

“With bubbles?”

“And massages?” San adds after Wooyoung.

You can’t contain your smile, your boys’ hearts melting at the sight of you, “You guys want to bathe me? Really?”

“As if we haven’t seen you naked already,” Wooyoung speaks, your palm crashing against his side in a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment.

Your boyfriends guide you to their spacious bathroom. San heading to the bathtub while Wooyoung rummages through the drawers, looking for the bubbles he mentioned to you a few minutes ago. Your body collapses in slow motion against the cold porcelain of the tub, San holding you securely in his arms like a baby.

“You’re home now. You don’t have to worry about anything else, okay?” He places a quick kiss on your forehead, “Let us take care of the rest.”

Tiredness barely allows you to give him one of those smiles that your boyfriend falls in love with so much, “Found ’em!” You turn to meet Wooyoung with a victorious smile on his lips.

It takes several minutes for the tub to fill almost completely. When it does, Wooyoung undresses in a flash and climbs into the bathtub, keeping you company. San was still sitting behind you on the wide edge, his hands working your scalp so you don’t even have to worry about washing your hair.

You hum under his touch, your body gradually relaxing. Meanwhile, Wooyoung starts putting bath bombs of your favorite scents. The delicious aroma of vanilla and coconut invading your senses.

You feel San’s laborious hands leave your hair and subtly dry it with a towel. Now his hands move down to focus on your shoulders, his fingers exerting gentle pressure against your skin. Again, you hum as you felt him work that area.

“We know how hard you work every day. And how hard you try, and we love you so much for that.” You’ve already lost count of how many kisses San has pressed against your forehead, “That’s why we want to take care of you,” He paused briefly, “Tonight and always.”

A genuine smile forms on your lips. You really had no idea what you’d done to deserve two great boyfriends, so caring and affectionate. Your love for them can’t be described in words and neither can theirs for you. You melt after hearing their words, only being able to utter a soft ‘thank you’, hoping they understand that that ‘thank you’ was much more than the meaning of the word itself.

Wooyoung’s hand brushing against your skin as it goes down is what takes you away from the sweet words of the man behind you, his eyes never disconnecting from your gaze. You finally understand the way your boyfriends want to pamper you. And you’re not against their intentions at all.

“Just relax, my love.” Wooyoung whispers, “I’ll make you feel so good.”

Heat flushes through you as he drags his hand even lower, your legs unconsciously opening a little more, your cheeks turning a cute red. You hum when his fingers caress your folds softly, leaning your head against San’s forearm.

“Young-ah,” His name is nothing more than a simple breath of air in the silent bathroom, “Please.”

“What is it, princess?” San’s low voice resonates inside your ears, “Tell us what you want.”

“P-please,” You beg, “Touch me.”

“I am touching you, love.”

You let out a minimal desperate pant. “Come on. Don’t tease, Woo”

“I’m not teasing, babe. I’m just doing want you’re telling me to do, aren’t I?” He scoffs. Your hips slightly rocking against his hand looking for some friction.

You let out a long sigh and with that your last trace of bashfulness, “Please. Put your fingers inside me, Woo. Please.” You give him your best doe-eyes, you know it worked when he emits a 'fuck' under his breath. 

Wooyoung dips his middle finger into your heat, the sound of your stickiness being drowned out by the warm water, how wet your cunt is being a secret between your boyfriend and his fingers. Thanks to the habit of doing this almost every week, he now knows where to touch, when to increase his pace, and above all, how to drive you crazy with just his long phalanges.

You don’t know when your eyes closed, but you know it was because of the satisfaction that was overtaking you. You unconsciously raise your hips in an attempt to get his fingers even deeper into you. 

For a moment you think San was enjoying the view in front of him with fierce eyes, hungry for you. You imagine him lightly pumping his cock behind you, a sight for sore eyes.

That is until you feel a pair of hands rest on your breasts, skilled fingers touching your nipples, varying in a pattern of touching and pinching them.

“I’m—” You can’t even formulate a coherent word, everything just being overwhelming in a good way, a very good way. 

Wooyoung hits the soft, right spot and you tremble beneath him, your back arching beautifully. Your lips vocalize a precious moan, “Wooyoung, baby. Don't stop.”

“Fuck, your moans are so pretty,” San says as he reclines and attaches his lips to the side of your neck, leaving cute lovebites that will surely turn purple by tomorrow morning. You’ll have to take care of that, but later. Right now you’re trying to hold onto the last piece of sanity you have left.

“Definitely our favorite sound,” Wooyoung replies, his fingers pumping into you faster, “Are you close, my love? Gonna cum on my fingers?”

His husky voice just pushes you even closer to the edge, “Yes, yes!” San sucks sharply in the right place as you cum. A long moan leaves your lips as you tremble beneath Wooyoung, him helping you ride your orgasm the best way possible.

Your eyes shut the moment you come. A few seconds later, you feel movement in the waters, as if someone has left and entered again. You think it’s Wooyoung, who came out to get a towel and dry you off, but when you feel a hand, different from the one that had been touching you until a few seconds ago, caressing your inner thighs you open your eyes meeting San’s.

“Hi, beautiful.” He admires your blissed-out expression for a moment, “Can you give us another one?”

You whimper, trying to hold yourself together, “I-I don’t know, Sannie,” You try to say “no” since you’re still sensitive and kind of overstimulated, but you just don’t want to admit it. Somehow you turn to your shy self again. It only lasts a few seconds though. His fingers make their way into your arousal and a hot, loud moan escapes from your lips.

He starts pumping his fingers into you at a fast pace, barely bearable for you. His movements cause you pleasure and pain at the same time, after all, you haven’t fully recovered from your previous orgasm and your boyfriend is already pushing you toward the abyss of pleasure again.

“Oh, princess,” He murmurs with the sweetest voice, “You’re being such a good girl for us.”

Wooyoung now is occupying the sit San was in, behind you. He reclines and murmurs right into your ear, “Come for us, darling. Just let it go. We’ve got you.” His voice is so unrecognizable, so fucking deep.

Your visual field begins to be covered by small black dots that get bigger and smaller, overstimulation causing this effect. Your body trembles in a sudden rush of heat, finally releasing into the now lukewarm water with a loud, long moan that sounds more like a cry. The small tears caused by pleasure slide beautifully down your cheek, dripping down your chin and mingling in the water. Your body feeling as if a fresh wave of water has washed over it.

“Mm,” San starts, “The only bad thing about doing this in the tub is that I can’t taste you, but honestly seeing your face as you come undone for us is more than enough.” He presses a kiss against your slightly open lips. Your blissed-out gaze making them fall even more in love with you.

“I... I love you both, so much. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“You deserve to be loved and pampered for everything you do for yourself and us every day. You’re amazing and we’re so proud of you.” Wooyoung mentions.

If you had the strength to cry right now, you would. However, sleep is taking you over so you can only mutter, “You both mean everything to me.”

You really have no idea when you fell asleep, but it’s okay. You know perfectly well that your boyfriends are going to set everything up and snuggle you in bed.

Wooyoung watches as San sees you with all the tenderness in the world. He was about to tease him saying that he was going to scare you if he kept looking at you so intensely, when he heard a cute, low snore.

“Did she fall asleep?” Wooyoung asks.

“Like an angel.” San replies, still admiring you.

“Well, let’s get her into a pair of pijamas so we can cuddle with her in bed.”

They both dry themselves off before taking you out of the tub. Seeing you so adorable and soundly asleep makes them share one of those looks of theirs. 

Yes, they have a big, painful boner with no relief, but tonight was all about you, so they decided to put their needs aside and focus on you and making you feel good, loved and important. Because you are, because they’re willing to give their lives for you if they had to. 

Because you’re their everything and they love you more than the word itself could mean. 

| masterlist

[thecheshirerat]

On TAZ-

Wow that sounds like I’m about to summarize some sort of discourse but I promise I’m not. I guess I’ll say that I really like this show and I will keep listening even if my worst fears come to pass, so keep that in mind!

For reference, I started listening near the end of Amnesty.

I’ve noticed, with the past few arcs- really since Ethersea- the narratives have just… not been fulfilling their promises, so to speak. They’ve been placing a lot of guns that don’t go off. What I mean by that is, the characters are great. Excellent, really. Lady Godwin? HELL YES. Emerich Dreadway? Fuck yeah! And so on! And the settings and premises have been epic- the goofiness and also horrifying nature of Engrave, the mad and thrilling world of Steeplechase- these things are COOL AS FUCK.

and then the actual narratives keep flopping?

And honestly, I notice it most in the endings, because you can really tell when an ending doesn’t land. You feel the sense of disappointment. But with vs. Dracula, for example, I could kinda see leading up to it that the ending couldn’t really BE anything special, because they lowkey didn’t set themselves up for it.

They spent the campaign fucking around in Engrave, finding clues and solving problems and not really experiencing any particularly meaningful character arcs or growth or, idk, forming relationships? So there wasn’t much to pay off, I’m not gonna lie!

Of course it doesn’t feel quite as dissatisfying when you’re in the thick of it, because they’re funny and the stuff is cool and- oh hey! Lady Godwin’s been turned into a werehorse against her will?? that’s got some real potential for a LOT of allegories and exploration of some fun character development! And then it’s kinda played as a joke. And then they do that again and again.

And they actually said that that was a move they made intentionally, in the TTAZZ. I’m not quoting them perfectly here, this is from memory, but I do remember them mentioning that they wanted lighthearted comedy without the burden of real life story stuff. And I get that, honestly, but… it’s not the choice I would’ve made. I do think you can keep a lighthearted tone while also, idk, forming relationships and wholesomely engaging with some amount of emotion. And sometimes going way too deep is funny as a tone shift!

But I digress. One thing that’s also popped out to me is the almost complete lack of any kind of romantic storyline or even references. This becomes obvious if you’re in a fandom because everyone is always dying to ship SOMEONE, and you can tell when people are really getting desperate. I don’t blame them for not wanting to roleplay romance with their family, and I do think stories lacking romance are COOL and SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED!

However if you can’t find ANYBODY to ship together… that may mean you just don’t have character bonds. The growing popularity of the PC polycule is interesting to me; I wonder if it’s partially because

a) none of the pcs have significant relationships outside of their party and

b) even within the party, there doesn’t seem to be much chemistry between any given pair of characters…? I hope I’m making my point well here- the PCs all seem equally close and have more or less the same relationship to all of their compatriots with little distinction, meaning, essentially, no shipping fodder that doesn’t involve just all of ‘em.

Either way, it makes me wonder if I can blame the “Graduation has too many NPCs!” critique. They really stopped giving the parties tag-along main NPCs after graduation, with the exception of maybe.. Urchin? Kodira? Shlabethany? Poppy? and even they get relatively little “screen” time. Steeplechase has great NPCs, I love them to death, but none of the PCs seem to ever have one on one conversations with NPCs or each other that do not explicitly focus on the plot. And I think that’s part of why the characters feel so underdeveloped despite having spent a lot of time with them- because in this character-driven genre, we get very little insight into their feelings or motivations or even their rudimentary backstories.

I started watching Fantasy High recently and it made me realize a couple things about TAZ.

1) Recently, TAZ has sooo few core NPCs, and it’s weird that the characters aren’t doing more one-on-one purely character based scenes. And that makes it really tough to develop them.

2) TAZ is- and I should have realized this before- one of many good dnd podcasts. They’re probably looking for a niche they can master.

And it sounds like they’re trying to get back to that old “Here there be Gerblins!” energy. They’ve referenced it so many times in recent TTAZZes- they wanted to be job-focused, allowing story stuff to happen organically, so they tried a more open world vibe with Ethersea. They wanted to be less afraid to kill stuff, so they tried playing criminals (and were still afraid to kill stuff). They wanted to be silly and light on character, as they tackled with taz vs dracula. Now they’re trying to bring in the silly cartoon vibe with Abnimals. I think they’re trying to make that family-friendly, funny and goofy show their niche. Something other actual plays can’t be better at them at.

And honestly it kinda makes me sad, that they keep trying to go back to Balance while ignoring everything they learned during it. Because I loved Dust. Because I loved Amnesty. Because I loved Ethersea. I loved these past arcs! But they keep doing their brilliant characters dirty for some reason!!! And i don’t know why!!!!

You know that meme about people who ask questions in movies and then the person responds “Have you ever been to a movie before? You watch them and the information is revealed.” There have been so many times in TAZ recently where information has Not been revealed and if they keep doing it the audience will stop bothering to suspend their disbelief, because the trust just isn’t there.

What is Montrose’s deal? What on earth was Carmine Denton’s whole thing? Tell me more about Zoox’s feelings, about Devo’s past, about Amber’s future. Show me how Lady Godwin feels about the body horror that is her life- like, seriously! WHY DID WE HAVE TO COMPLETELY DISMISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO DISCUSS GENERATIONAL TRAUMA IN MUTT’S LIFE FOR A JOKE??

Do you remember in Steeplechase where the boys were getting medical attention or something- i don’t remember, but they were all in one room and only talking about The Plot. And Poppy literally banged on the door (speaking for both Justin and me, tbh) and was like “does anyone want to share any feeeeelings??” and they were like NOPE! and they moved on!!

like. cmon. you can’t just put a character like montrose out there and then leave them severely underdeveloped to the point that what would be interesting in proper context, with audience insight, becomes confusing and chaotic.

I just wish they would take their stories as seriously as we do.

It feels to me like they don’t believe in themselves, and it makes me sad. Maybe they didn’t get the response they wanted from Ethersea and so they’ve been trying to pivot, hoping to recapture whatever it was that earned them a loyal audience.

Again, I love them. They’re so funny and I’ll keep listening until the day they stop making this show, and when it happens I’ll cry.

But i KNOW they have more in them. Remember the “we’ll grow gills” monologue from Justin in the Prologues? Remember Travis’s SOLID acting with Devo? Or his awesome choice to give Lyndon/Beef a clearly delineated work/irl identity? His excellent narration and prose? Remember when Montrose described being lonely?! Remember all those moments where Shit Got Real and you cared??? The nanofather said some dope shit! dracula and victor and sweater dracula had such a wild dynamic! Clint’s acting in Dust 2- I can’t remember the characters name right now- was ASTOUNDING, I genuinely didn’t know he had that in him and it blew me away!

I’m not referencing Balance on purpose, both because the fandom is way to hung up on it and because I want to prove that you don’t even have to look at Balance, or even Post-Balance arcs, to see this kind of good cool stuff!

GAAAAAAAGHHHH!!! I want them to have fun. But also. We’re starving out here.

[luvrodite]

JASON X F!READER [14.8K]

synopsis. the room, at a glance, looks like it would belong to a beloved child. you smile at the massive bookcase that spans nearly an entire wall, the toys neatly arranged in their chest. a pair of matching hand prints are stamped into the white trim of the windowsill, matching the paint of the wall, one much smaller than the other. the only problem, you realise when bruce crosses the room, is that the room is devoid of an inhabitant. 

content warning. fem!reader, inspired by The Boy (2016), dark content, horror, extreme dubcon, non consensual voyeurism, violence, death, blood, masturbation, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie please let me know if you feel i've missed any tags

additional note. idk i’m trying my hand at something new but also this isn’t for everyone and that is OK! please don’t read if you’re not interested in the above tags and remember that you curate your own internet experience. peace and love.

minors and blank blogs do not interact, you will be blocked. please have your age in your profile

read on ao3

You see the notice when you need it the most. Seeking Household Manager/Nanny for Child, written in small bold letters on the corner of your friend’s open newspaper. You’re glad then, for their insistence on subscribing to the papers of surrounding cities, the Gotham Gazette something akin to a beacon of hope when you nearly topple over yourself to reach for the issue and scan the ad. When they’ve saved the glass of wine you nearly knocked over, their eyebrows furrow into a disdainful frown. 

“You’re not seriously considering that.”

You look up from the black and white print, breathless. Immediate start. 9 to 6 weekdays. Boarding and meals provided.  “It isn’t like I’ve got that many other options.”

They grimace, leaning over to skim the print. “It’s in Gotham. You’re just asking to get robbed, at the very least. Have you ever even looked after a kid?”

The double digits in your bank account weigh on you, the suitcases that have been pushed into their storage closet. The couch that’s served as a bed for the past month has begun to mold itself to the shape of your body – and isn’t that a humiliating thought, for how much had been spent on it, it deserves more than for its primary purpose to be housing a poor girl. Your friend sits beside you, clad in thousands of dollars worth of clothing and sneers at what’s beginning to look like the only option you have.

You push down the urge to bite back, eyeing them pointedly instead. “I can’t afford to be picky. Besides, I’ve babysat my cousins before. It’ll be fine.”

.

.

.

The semester is well underway when you get the email, midterms that you haven’t so much as glanced at closely approaching and about a dozen other things to do that threaten to break you into hives when you linger on it for too long. A Mr Bruce Wayne confirms that you’re fit for the job, and he looks forward to meeting you. You stare at the cracked screen of your phone until the letters begin to blur into one another, feeling the rising lump in your throat. A dinner party goes on around you, all friends of friends who you’ve never exchanged more than a few words with. They don’t miss you when you slink away to the bathroom to cry, relief pulling the stopper of your emotions free.

Not wasting any time, the car comes for you early in the next morning and your friend sees you off, massively hungover and raising a hand as you pile the meagre collection of your belongings into the trunk. You are grateful to be rid of the townhouse, and in truth you think they are glad to be rid of you – a month and then some of their poor, Poor, border taking up space on their couch. It’s an unkind thought, fueled by the bitter humiliation of your failure – they’d not complained once, unthinkingly, unhesitatingly opening their door to you when the job you’d been relying on to (barely) make ends meet had let you go and your roommate had quit on you not a week later. 

The stress of it all lulls you into sleep as the car pulls away from the city, cement grey turning to green and rolling farmland. You’re too drowsy to appreciate any of it, and you’re out before you even leave the state. 

You wake from your dreamless sleep, startling at the sound of screeching metal. A wrought iron gate pulls open slowly, disused hinges whining loudly. It feels as though an eternity passes before the car is able to pass through, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end when you cross the threshold, eyes drinking in the secluded land around you. Gravel crunches under the tires as you drive down a private road, lined on both sides by looming oak trees. Through the gaps, you catch a glimpse of the wide stretch of land that makes up the Wayne estate.

The chill of the morning has travelled with you, it seems. A thin cloak of mist hangs in the air, painting all it touches in wide strokes of silvery grey. Through bleary eyes, you take it all in. The car turns a corner and you duck your head to peer through the windshield, a large manse coming into view suddenly, only growing bigger the closer you get. 

It looms over you when you come to a stop, blotting out the already pale autumn sunlight. Here, everything is tinged in a light blue film, forever suspended in twilight despite the early afternoon hour – the sun isn’t due to set for another few hours but you half expect the moon to be hanging in the sky when you step out of the car.

Sleep softened and weary from the journey, you stretch your limbs, trying to regain some of the feeling after sitting for so long. Your legs feel static-y and you’re conscious as the front door opens and the face of your employer comes into view, of the wrinkles in your clothing. Discreetly, you smooth a hand over the hem of your shirt, but it only folds back after your palm passes over it.

“Mr Wayne,” you greet when the man comes to a stop in front of you. 

It’s difficult to mask your surprise. For all that you’d spent the better part of the last few weeks emailing him, you hadn’t expected someone so...old. He looks a great deal older than a man nearing his fifties, raven hair streaked with thick locks of silver and exhaustion lining an aged face. You feel a pang of sympathy.

“Hello. I hope the journey up wasn’t too bad?” He turns his attention to the driver, who has begun to lift your things out of the car, eyes creasing kindly at the corners and an awkward smile lifting his mouth. “You can just take those on inside, thank you.”

“I can’t complain,” you tell him easily. I wasn’t awake enough to. “You’ve got a beautiful home.”

“Ah, thank you,” he mutters, glancing back over his shoulder at the house. Upstairs, a window is open, and the curtain flutters through, white fabric rippling in the air. “Come on inside, we’ve got a lot to get through before I have to leave.”

You pause at the doorway. “You’re leaving tonight?”

He hums. “Unavoidable, I’m afraid. You’ll have to forgive me.” He offers no further explanation and you’re too tired to press.

He runs you through the basics – emergency contacts, the local police department’s number – as he takes you through a number of rooms on the lower floor. In the living room, as he’s telling you about the fair distance to the town, your attention snags on the portrait hanging over the mantle.

It’s a large thing, set in a gilded frame with a small plaque below it. It dates to a little over a decade ago, and you look up to the subjects of the painting. Of the two faces, you recognise only one and it takes a few seconds to register. Bruce, much, much younger, stands for the portrait with an easy smile curving his mouth. The only wrinkles to be found are those that frame his eyes. He’s handsome, you think, stunned, with an old movie-star kind of charm, blue-black hair and pearly grin. It’s a stark difference from the man that stands next to you now, lacking all the heaviness that clouds over him now.

There’s a little boy in the painting, too. You draw closer, curious. Bright blue eyes, almost blazing, stare back at you, a soft, sweet face that offers a toothy smile.

You’re ushered into the next room before you can get a closer look, but the date lingers with you. What could have happened in such a short amount of time, you think, to cause such a change? Ten years had passed, yes, but the age in your employer’s face spoke of a greater, age old haunting.

You are finally led, after a labyrinthine tour through the manor and its various rooms, to the bedroom of your charge. 

Something, you aren’t quite sure what, tips you off before you even open the door. It might be the sudden tense set to Bruce’s shoulders, hiking up nearly imperceptibly as he reaches for the doorknob, or the tremble in his voice he disguises with a cough. 

“Jason,” he murmurs, “is eager to meet you.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him, too,” you say slowly, and he steps through the threshold.

The room, at a glance, looks like it would belong to a beloved child. You smile at the massive bookcase that spans nearly an entire wall, the toys neatly arranged in their chest. A pair of matching hand prints are stamped into the white trim of the windowsill, matching the paint of the wall, one much smaller than the other.

The only problem, you realise when Bruce crosses the room, is that the room is devoid of an inhabitant. 

He turns and you freeze when you take in the mass in his arms.

“Jaylad, come say hello.”

Pale, porcelain and unmoving, a doll stares back at you from its perch in your employer’s arms. Its likeness is a mimicry of the boy in the painting, a manufactured blush painting its cheeks in soft rose, dull blue eyes lacking the vibrancy of the portrait. It unnerves you, staring at it, and you look back and forth between Bruce and the thing but the former remains steady, expectant.

You raise a trembling hand, fingers clasping one small hand in greeting – it’s barely bigger than a pre-schooler, and even smaller in your arms when he deposits in your arms. 

(It takes every ounce of your strength not to flinch at the press of cool ceramic against your skin.)

Whether this is a sick joke or some awful scheme, your situation takes time to reveal itself. Bruce addresses the thing as though it were flesh and blood and you follow, uncertain and stilted. Rising unease makes it difficult to look at the thing properly, and you trail after Bruce back downstairs cradling it stiffly. 

It begins to piece itself together easily enough when on your way out of Jason’s bedroom, you catch sight of various photographs littering the surface of the walls and end tables, Bruce and a very real boy with bright blue eyes. It’s easy then, to understand what has happened, and what is being asked of you. Your discomfort softens, if only slightly, making way for sympathy. 

You know loss. Death is no stranger to you. The grief of losing a child – it feels cruel to fault your employer for how he’d chosen to cope. Soft-hearted, your chest aches when you catch the lingering of his gaze on the photographs as you pass them in the hall. So dearly loved, it’s no wonder the death of his son had driven him to...this. 

Still, you wonder whether this is right, to take money from him like this. It feels as though you’ve taken advantage of this man, accepting to live in his house and eat his food in return for services that wouldn’t come to be.

But the emptiness of your wallet stings like a phantom lash, the desperation of your situation weighs on you and you close your mouth. 

Bruce takes your leave almost immediately after your tour concludes. You stand on the front steps with the doll in your arms, a puppet held like a toddler on your hip, and watch him pile into a sleek black car.

“If you need anything,” he says, “they’ll take care of you in town.”

Something in your consciousness snags on the tightness in his voice, something that’s just out of reach, a note you can’t quite make out. His eyes flicker down to the mass in your arms and you follow his gaze. There is nothing you find, the black of the doll’s sweater unruffled, the manufactured flush of his rosy cheeks still cool to the touch – still porcelain. It has not suddenly gained the weight and warmth of a real child.

“Jason’s a good boy. He won’t give you too much trouble,” Bruce murmurs. 

When you look up, you catch the comet tail of a funny look, winking out of existence before you can see it properly. It triggers a crawling sensation on the back of your neck that you try to tamp down. Grief is all it is. You chalk it up to grief.

He takes your leave, then, piling into his car with a brief goodbye to the doll. A cloud of dust kicks up behind him and by the time it settles, the car has vanished.

The doll remains tucked in its bed in the hours that follows your employer’s departure, and once or twice you’ll peer into the room, tugged by an invisible string towards the empty bedroom to make sure you haven’t dreamt it all. But every time you open the door, there it lies, porcelain and so very still. 

You take the rest of the evening to explore the house – properly this time, lingering in the various rooms of this huge home. Part of you wonders how you’ll manage to keep the place tidy. You’re no neat freak, but it seems a herculean task for one person to manage the entire household. Dust amasses easily, and you eye the high ceilings of each floor critically – how on earth are you meant to get up there?

You file it away as a worry for later, drifting in and out of rooms. An office, untouched, down the hall from your room with a sturdy, mahogany desk and large window which offers you a view of the estate. Guest rooms on guest rooms, white tarp covered furniture and slightly stale air. You find the library after a few turns, drawing closer to a table stacked with books. 

They’re well loved, each with a child’s scrawling handwriting in the front cover. Property of Jason Peter Todd. 

It sends a pang through you and you pick up the books, flipping through them absentmindedly. It’s fairly advanced for a younger child, you think. One of them piques your interest and when you leave the room a little while later, it’s with the hardcover in your hands.

Your first night in the manse is restless. The house is old. Every so often, the bones of the place snap and crack, shuddering under a great weight. You curl further into the heavy blankets of your bed, willing your burning eyes to close but the nap on the way up has left you unable to sleep. You let out a frustrated sigh, a hand smacking against the sheets before you push yourself up to sit against the headboard and switch on the bedside lamp. From where you sit, the mirror in the corner of the room shines your reflection back at you, a soft orange diffusing through the room. 

Down the hall, another snap of the foundations. You shiver, and reach for the book, opening the cover to the name scribbled inside. The clock on your phone reads a bright 2:43 and you flip the page.

To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking...

Dawn comes in slow breaths, the world swallowed in a cool, blue mist as the sky begins to lighten. You have long since succumbed to your fatigue, the pages of your borrowed book splayed open against your sheets and eyes closed to the world. The shadows lengthen on the floor, the house echoes, groans, and sunlight slips in through the gaps in your curtains. 

Still, you sleep.

.

.

.

The schedule that Bruce leaves you with is left on the table in Jason’s room, a sheaf of papers detailing his day at length – when he is to take his breakfast, lunch and dinner, when you are to sit down with him for his lessons. 

There are more pressing things that hold your attention – namely, the matter of your coursework. 

When you wake the following day, it is a little after noon and you curse when you realise you’ve slept half the day away. The list of things to do hasn’t grown any shorter in your search for a job. In fact, when you sit down at the desk in the office with your laptop and connect to the internet – poor, laggy – it only seems to have grown exponentially. 

You spend most of the day holed up there, staring at the screen of your laptop as you try to catch up, typing out notes upon notes until your eyes burn and the emptiness of your stomach is too hard to ignore. In the kitchen, you assemble a plate of what you can find. Cold cuts of meat, cheese in the fridge that seems edible, bread slathered in butter, a few slices of fruit.

It isn’t a proper meal, but it tides you over until dinner, when you wander out of the study to root through the butler’s pantry and put together a simple bowl of pasta. 

You eat alone in the kitchen, sitting at the island and staring at the grooves in the counter-top. The silence presses in on all sides of you and not even scrolling through social media, of which a limited number of posts actually deign to load, distracts you from the stillness of it all. For some reason the tinny sound of your music, filtering through your wired headphones, isn’t enough either. 

Dinner is a short affair, before you return to your work. 

It’s a gradual thing, the building anxiety in your gut. The loneliness and late hour are no friends of yours and the tottering pile of coursework threatens to topple over, crushing you beneath a mountain of assigned readings and lectures. The world had not waited for you to get your shit together, and midterms had crept up on you before you could blink.

It isn’t the time for panic. You stave it off when the anxiety simmering in your cells threatens to boil over, willing your tears away. The third cup of coffee at your desk side has grown cold, and the espresso tastes bitter when you bring the mug to your mouth, clinging to your tongue like film. 

You get back to bed well into the evening, too exhausted to shower the day off. It’s all you can do to let out a few bitter tears before unconsciousness claims you, a distant throbbing in your head that you ignore in favour of sleep.

how is it out there? haven’t heard from you since you left, just checking in you get there okay? let me know

The texts on your phone are responded to in a perfunctory manner – yes, everything’s fine. talk 2 u soon. very busy !! – before you shove it into a drawer and return to your work.

You think the isolation must be getting to you when things begin to go missing.

It’s easy to grow lonely out here, you realise on the third day when you pick up your phone to message a friend and the connection is so bad your texts barely go through. A rare break from your work, you curl up in the window seat of your bedroom and thumb through the photos on your camera roll. Faces you haven’t seen, fond memories of nights out and shared experiences – your old life seems farther away from you than ever, and part of you is a little bitter that it’s only the case for you. 

out for G’s bday!!! we miss u text u when im home?

Accompanying those texts are photos – they take an age to load, of course, but when they finally do, your eyes burn with jealousy at the wide, drunken grins, carefree and happy. 

It seems especially cruel to you that fate would deal you such a poor hand in comparison to those around you. The girls you love – whose circle you’d once been part of, young, privileged enough to be reckless – get to reel through their lives without a care. Here you were, miles away from anyone else, a grand total of fifty dollars to your name and with only a fucking doll for company. 

Envious, self loathing and miserable, you don’t reply to the messages.

You try to reason that you’ll get to it later, that you have work to do, that the house only seems to grow wider and lonelier around you. 

Work. 

You fling your phone to the side, pressing your hands to your face and letting out a heavy breath. It clatters against the floor with a dull thud and you can already imagine the newest addition to your screen’s collection of hairline fractures. 

You file it away – just another thing you don’t have time for.

Back in the study, you sit down at the desk, only to stop short. Where your pen and notebook had been, outlining your midterm paper, the ballpoint is nowhere to be seen. You peer over the edge of the desk, ducking your head underneath, but there’s no sight of it. You’re certain you’d left it just there, atop the paper. 

It’s innocuous enough that you forget about it, coming up with a replacement when you rifle through the drawer of the desk. The thought leaves your mind when you return to your work, new, blue ink crossing out black to scribble notes in the margins. It’s not a loss you mourn – or notice – much. 

Your bracelet, however, preceded by the vanishing of your clothes, is. 

A pair of jeans, your underwear and a shirt had been folded on the counter only twenty minutes ago when you’d entered the bathroom to take a shower. Now, clad in only your towel, you stare at an empty spot and feel something like fear prickle over your skin. 

Blood rushes in your ears the longer you remain in place – for what, you have no idea. Perhaps willing your things to return in between blinks, assure you that it had only been a trick of the light, or that the caffeine and stress had gotten to you.

No such luck. Your belongings do not reappear and the longer you remain in the bathroom, the more you feel like a sitting duck, like soft-bellied prey waiting to be caught. 

You venture out of the bathroom timidly, clutching the front of your towel. The floor is cold under your bare feet and you suck in a breath, trying to remain quiet. The house is quieter than usual, it feels like, when you peer carefully out into the hall. There is no sign of any disturbance, no sound from the lower levels or any of the surrounding rooms. 

The closed door of your bedroom is much more ominous than it ought to be. You stare at it for a long time, heart in your throat, before you reach for the doorknob with shaky hands.

A soft, scared noise leaves your throat before you can reel it in. Your room has been nothing short of ransacked, clothes and other belongings strewn about your bed and the floor. There isn’t an inch of it that hasn’t been left unturned, drawers pulled out, trunk at the foot of your bed sprung open, the fucking covers pulled back. You step further into the room, horror only growing as you spin slowly, taking it in. 

Somewhere down the hall, something clatters and your blood turns to ice in your veins. You whirl back to the open door and lunge forward to slam it shut, breath rattling in your chest as you fumble with the locks on it, palms sweaty and fingers trembling so badly you fear it’ll sweep open on you before you can latch it. Water drips into the carpet at your feet when you finally lock the door and back away, trembling lips pulling downwards. 

Fear blurs your vision in saltwater, slipping down your cheeks when the sound of laughter filters through the walls, a soft, child-like, playful sound that only drives you further backwards, a scream spilling from your lips when you bump into the post of your bed, the wood pressing against your back unexpectedly and startling you. 

“Please...” You don’t know what you’re pleading for, or who to. Tears stream down your damp face, and your breath hitches, stuttering over a sob when the shadows in the hall shift, the gap underneath the door showing movement right outside your door. 

And then – so sweetly, so softly you wonder if you’ve heard it wrong – your name.

You begin to cry in earnest then, taking in big, shuddering breaths that wrack through your body. Crouching, you press your hands to your face, sobbing louder when the voice continues – 

“Please come out, I promise I’ll be good.”

Your scream catches in your throat, turning into a spluttering cough when the door knob rattles slightly before stilling. You watch through teary eyes, snivelling, as the shadows move once more and then, as if it had never happened, the house falls into silence once more.

It takes a while for you to move from your spot on the floor, to relax your frozen muscles and pull yourself up, clinging to the banister of your bed to steady yourself. Snot and salt smeared across your face, you keep your eyes on the thin gap beneath the door, the small, solid mass in the centre of it.

You must be going crazy. The isolation must be getting to you. It’s the only reasonable explanation you can procure when you open the door and find your clothes in a clumsily folded pile, the metal of your bracelet glinting amongst the folds of fabric. Holding a hand to your head, you slump against the door frame, feeling the energy leave your body. 

“Fuck.”

It takes you a long time to clean up your room, pulling on your clothes with an eye kept on the door and returning your things to their places. Nothing is broken, but you don’t know whether you should be thankful for it. The house continues to breathe as it had before, the structure settling back into place after letting whatever had been outside your door loose. You don’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

Daylight returns some of your courage to you. You venture outside, clutching the end of a pair of scissors as a safeguard. You don’t know how much damage they’re actually capable of, meant for cutting through first aid dressings and fabric, the blade barely an inch long – but it feels comforting that you aren’t empty handed.

In his bedroom, where you had last left the Doll, you do not find it. Even the sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains isn’t enough to fully shield you from your unease. You look all over the room, pushing aside the curtains, peering under the bed, but it isn’t there. 

The afternoon you had planned to spend studying is wasted away on a hunt for the thing. You check each of the surrounding rooms, first, before moving to the upper floors. In each, all that greets you is a thick layer of dust, white tarp and the smell of long undisturbed air. It grips you, the intense need to locate the doll. You cannot place anything beyond this feeling, only that you must find it.

In a downstairs office – what you assume serves as Mr Wayne’s study – you find, curiously, a few papers scattered over the edge of his desk. At first you are too preoccupied to pay it any mind, instinctively crouching to pick them up and arrange it. Your mind remains fixated on the task at hand. 

Chance, or perhaps the machinations of fate, pulls your sight to the bright, bold print on the paper in your hand and you process the text belatedly, stilling on the floor.

GOTHAM GAZETTE Wayne Heir Found: Body Recovered From Tragic Blast  Alexander Knox The body of Jason Todd, aged 10, was discovered yesterday after a blast in central Gotham that killed at least 200. The Gotham City Police Department is currently reporting this as a “tragic accident.”  Jason Todd is survived by his father, Bruce Wayne, who currently holds the position of CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and older brother Richard Grayson. He is remembered by his classmates and teachers as a “bright soul, with boundless potential, who was taken too soon.” The GCPD are working together with the Gotham City Fire Department in responding to this incident. As of this morning, Rescue and Recovery teams have made progress through 75% of the fallout zone and are continuing to do so.  Civilians are reminded to keep clear of the area until recovery efforts have been finalised. In remembrance of Jason’s life, the family asks that any charitable donations be made to the Catherine Todd Recovery Centre.

The photos of the fallout that accompany the article make your throat tighten, staring at the grey of a destroyed city block, smoking rubble and dark stains seeping from beneath cracked cement. The faded edges of the paper, the deep creases where it had been folded and unfolded – your heart twists painfully in your chest at the thought that Bruce had kept this reminder in here, all these years. 

It lingers with you long after you exit the room, searching for the doll with a slightly muddled mind. You’d known, of course, that his son had died – but you think of the violence of it all, how abruptly he’d been ripped from him. It settles in your chest uncomfortably, making a home for itself in the space beneath your sternum and pressing down on your oesophagus as you move through the house.

When you finally chance upon the doll – sat upright in plain sight in the downstairs sitting room – you pause a few feet away. The fear of last night’s incident clings to you, but with that is something else, the makings of a theory you haven’t quite gotten to, another, foreign feeling that outweighs your fear, tempers it into something malleable. You scrutinise the porcelain face, drawing closer slowly until you come to a stop in front of the armchair you’d been lounging in only yesterday.

Crouching, you stare into dull glass eyes. They remain lifeless, forever affixed on nothingness, unmoving. You pass a hand over it.

“Was it..” you hesitate, feeling acutely aware that you’re talking to an inanimate object, and half expecting an answer. You whisper, “Was it you, last night?”

There is no answer. Of course there isn’t. Still, you stare a moment longer, before your gaze slides over to the leaf of paper that’s tucked beneath it’s leg – the schedule of rules you’re meant to abide by in Bruce’s absence.

You look back up to the doll. 

.

.

.

You’ve bowed to the pressure of your isolation and gone mad, you think absently as you sink a knife into the flesh of an apple. Clumsily cut, you arrange the slices onto a plate in the kitchen and slide it onto the small table where you’ve sat the doll. You lean forward until you’re level with it, and narrow your eyes.

“Is it you?” you ask again. Silence hangs in the air of the kitchen and you begin to feel a little hopeless, clinging to this half-formed idea. 

You stand and turn, taking a few steps forward into the butler’s pantry but the sound of footsteps makes you whirl around, heart in your throat. The doll remains in place, but – the plate is empty. You draw in a shaky breath, moving closer. 

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Your hands tremble as you peer around the kitchen, eyeing the closed door. It’s implausible that anyone might have moved in such a short space of time without your noticing – you’re the only one in the room. 

You try once more, this time without turning around, keeping your gaze fixed on the doll as you slide a plate of toast in front of him. It’s covered in a thin smear of hazelnut spread, the chocolate melting over the warm bread.

The doll does not move. 

Your brows draw together, confused. A few beats. The toast is cooling, and a silly, superficial part of you worries that it won’t taste any good if this goes on any longer.

“Are you shy...?” you wonder out loud. The doll does not answer you but you turn away slowly anyway, fixing your eyes on the back door.

A second passes, and then another. You wait. 

You feel it then, a few moments later, rather than hear it. It’s difficult to place, the manner in which the very atmosphere in the kitchen shifts, to let you know you are no longer the only one in here. There is the rustle of something moving, the bread, you think, and then it recedes entirely without a sound. 

You wait a few beats before you turn, and your breath punches out of you in a rush when you note the once again empty plate. Disbelieving, you laugh.

“Holy shit.” Rounding the table, you pick up the doll, handling its weight much more carefully as you hold it out in front of you. “It was you, then, last night. You know, if you wanted my attention, you’ve got a funny way of showing it, kid. I think I lost ten years of my life with that little stunt.”

The threat seems to abate, after that, when you consider it. The spirit of a lonely child tugs at your poor heartstrings, and when you open your bedroom door after your evening shower to find a clumsily arranged sandwich, it only softens you further. You go to check on the doll – on Jason – and find him sat in bed, his schedule next to him once again. 

“So this is what you want, hm?” you mutter under your breath, scanning the paper. Your lips tug downwards into a pout, and you reach out to fix his hair. “Poor thing. You must be bored out here, with no one else to play with.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you find you already know the answer.

Rules 1. No Guests 2. Never Leave Jason Alone 3. Save Meals in Freezer 4. Never Cover Jason’s Face 5. Read a Bedtime Story 6. Play Music Loud 7. Clean the Traps 8. Jason is Never to Leave 9. Kiss Goodnight

You bring him almost everywhere with you after that. 

There’s a shift in your mind after your discovery, a distinction that shifts the doll into Jason. You’re able to rest a little easier now, knowing what had been behind the disturbances, and that it wasn’t something you had to fear. He sits comfortably in a chair next to you in the study, keeping you company as you return to your studies, worries that you’d been dealing with something more nefarious comfortably assuaged. 

You learn to communicate with him, in your own shared way. The music you play as you study is no longer isolated to your headphones, but filters through the speakers of your laptop as you work. When you begin making your own offhand remarks to him, you don’t know, but as the hours pass it feels less like you’re unaccompanied and more like you’re studying with a friend. Every so often, there is a sign – a tap, or the roll of something on the floor outside the study – that signals you to take a break, pushing away from the desk to take a turn about the room with Jason in your arms. 

Once, during a longer break, you bring him along on a walk outside. He doesn’t seem to like it very much – hiding your notebook until you figure it out. And you suppose spirits don’t require much exercise, so you let it be, content to take quick trips to the kitchen for snacks. You keep it for after the day is over, right before the sun sets, stretching your legs as you walk around the gardens before dinner.

Before you’ve realised, you’ve built a camaraderie with Jason. It’s easy for you to confide in him, slumping back in your desk chair with your hands pressed to your face. Tonight, the amount of coursework seems, not for the first time, never-ending. Tears streak through your fingers as you quietly sob.

“I’m so tired,” you cry, and a little hiccup stutters out of you. “It’s so...it’s just unfair. None of this would’ve happened if I’d – if I wasn’t so busy trying to look for a place.”

You work yourself up, tears smearing against the deep hollows beneath your eyes – despite how comfortable your bed is, lately you’ve still been working late into the night, long after you put Jason to sleep with a kiss to his brow. Though the night is young enough that you won’t have to tuck Jason in for a while, it still presses on you. There is too much to do, and not nearly enough time. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble again, weakly. You slide a look over to Jason through swollen eyes, pressing your cheek against your knees. “Everyone else gets to – they get to not care about money and they get to enjoy their lives. It’s just...not fair.”

You close your eyes, hiding your face in the fabric of your leggings. Your head feels congested, after crying so much, heavy, and stuffed with wool. A few minutes later, as you’re working up the will to return to your work, you hear a thud. 

When you look up you find an apple on the corner of the desk, bright red and freshly washed, if the few drops of water that cling to it are anything to go by. The sight makes you burst into fresh tears again, a kindness that feels too tender for your poor, bruised heart. You reach for the fruit, feeling the juice run down your wrist when you sink your teeth into its flesh. Mumbling a thank you, you feel, for the first time since your arrival, your hopelessness begins to flicker out.

.

.

.

A crash wakes you in the middle of the night, startling you from your sleep with a jolt. At first, you think it might be Jason. You groan quietly, rolling over into the pillow with a grumble of his name before you sit up and shove the covers off. It’s particularly freezing tonight and you reach for a robe as you shuffle over to your bedroom door only to stop short when, through the walls, floating up from the lower floors, you hear voices.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins and you register the shattering of something downstairs. In the moments that follow, you barely think, flying down the hall to where Jason’s bedroom is and clutching him close to your chest. All the while, the racket downstairs grows louder, raucous bickering and jeering laughter nipping at your heels as you push into a spare room and slip into the depths of a wardrobe. 

You kick yourself when you realise you haven’t brought your phone, the landline in Jason’s room being too far out of reach now to dial the local police. You can only press yourself further into the wardrobe, cradling Jason with a hand on the back of his head like you might your own child – like he shouldn’t have to bear witness to the violence enacted on his home. Tears – how many have you spent since your arrival, it must be enough to fill an ocean – slip onto your collar and you hide in a case that smells of mothballs, the fur of old coats brushing against your arms and face. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper, feeling half crazed as you comfort Jason. “We’re going to be okay.”

It’s the longest night of your life, waiting for them to leave. Even without you leaving a crack in the wardrobe door, the noise from downstairs would have reached you. It’s jumbled in your fear-addled mind, but you hear the shatter of glass and yelling – they break out into arguments amongst themselves. You can’t make out the words, but it carries the threat of further violence – the kind that goes beyond stolen valuables and broken glassware. 

And then, abruptly, you think you hear a whisper of something, before it all falls still.

The darkness in the wardrobe is stifling but you remain there, clutching Jason with your head bowed until you hear a shout announcing the presence of the police. 

It’s only when the Commissioner announces himself, climbing to the second floor of the manor and stepping into the room, that you crawl out from the wardrobe. You’re shaking when he steps forward to meet you, arms coming around you to help you stand.

You’re coaxed into a blanket and ushered into a chair as they question you – the tiles of the kitchen floor are freezing under your bare feet and you wince when you catch the looks his deputies share amongst themselves. You must look like a mess, tear tracks drying on your face and cradling a doll in your arms. 

There’s a look in the Commissioner’s eyes, as he questions you, that makes the hair on the back of your neck raise – you forget about it quickly enough when he presses further, but later you’ll recall it. There’s a lack of surprise in his gaze, as though he hadn’t expected any less. You figure he’s hardened by his profession. Still, it lingers in the recesses of your mind.

They clean it up quick enough, and they leave right as the sun begins to creep over the horizon. You see them off, standing on the front steps with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders and Jason in your arms. When the last of the car headlights fade out of sight, you turn back inside.

You venture into the living room, staring at where the sunlight catches on a stray shard of glass, scuffs on the floor where heavy boots had tracked mud in on the hardwood. The lingering smell of peroxide – all that it suggests had happened here – makes you let out a shaky breath, clutching Jason closer.

You know it then, what – who had kept you safe. And if there were any lingering doubts about him, they dissolve under your tongue. The solid weight of the mass in your arms is an anchor, grounding you, reminding you. Safe. You’re unharmed, you’re okay. The intrusion is gone, it’s just the both of you now. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to his hairline. It’s cold beneath your lips as you whisper, a tear carving a path down your cheek. 

“Thank you, Jason.” 

.

.

.

After the intrusion things, mercifully, begin to settle. You’re glad for it, sure you’ve fulfilled your share of excitement for the next decade. You return to your and Jason’s routine, rebuilding your shattered safe space with every album you introduce him to and each portion of coursework you complete. Brick by brick, you patch the rift. 

The evening you finally feel as though you’ve begun to make headway, you turn to him, overjoyed, patting his hand excitedly.

“I think we deserve a bit of celebration, don’t we, Jason?”

You make dinner for the both of you, a simple but favourite pasta dish of yours that you’re grateful to have made extra of when Jason clears his plate in the time it takes you to carry your own plate into the dining room where you’d set him down. You pout at him sympathetically, running a hand over his head.

“If you’re still hungry,” you murmur, taking a seat and spearing a pasta shell on your fork, “there’s more in the pan, sweetheart.”

In the next room, a clatter almost immediately and it draws a smile on your face. You treat yourself to a glass of something sweet, giggling when the bubbles flit up your nose and pop. The taste lingers on your tongue when, after dinner, you scoop him up into your arms and travel into the living room. A record is placed onto the old gramophone and you spin on your feet, socked feet sinking into the plush carpet as you dance around the room. You spin, and spin, and spin until you land on the couch, laughing breathlessly. On the couch, Jason watches until you pick him up once more and dance with him in your arms. You’re careful with him, conscious of tripping in your state and dropping him. You think he might enjoy it, when you hear the whisper of laughter alongside your own.

When you tuck him into bed that night, it’s with a giddy smile as you kiss his forehead. You go to bed feeling floaty, lighter than you’ve felt in an age. There’s a buzz in your veins that isn’t entirely the drink. You’re happy. It isn’t the same as the life you’d wanted back so fervently, but you’re hopeful. It feels, for the first time, like things might work out. You cling to this victory with a vice grip, unwilling to be parted from it.

Your head hits the pillow and you sleep easily, but wake in the middle of the night, slipping out of hazy dreams into consciousness like slipping upstream. You’re distinctly aware of the wetness pooling between your legs, and the lingering warmth of the drinks.

It’s been a long time. The stress of everything – moving, money, adjusting to the manor – has left you unable to focus on anything else. Tonight, though, a reprieve from it all, a break in the clouds offers you a spike in your energy, a longing that heats the blood in your veins and makes your stomach twist. For the first time in a long time, you indulge, fingers creeping beneath the waistband of your pants.

.

.

.

He watches you touch yourself, the night spent tending to what is a seemingly insatiable appetite. Hardening in his trousers, he stands behind the panelling and a large hand curls into a fist by his side, nails digging into the meat of his palm so hard he draws blood. You work yourself up, differently from the way you had when he’d revealed himself. It’s gentler, fingers skimming over your skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. In the dark his gaze sharpens on the soft plane of your stomach, your body shifting under every touch, pliant and responsive. 

You come, and it isn’t enough. He tastes copper, sees stars when you kick the covers off and his keen eyes make out the folds of your cunt, sodden and wanting. Your body is covered in a sheen of sweat when you finally, finally, drift off to sleep. Hungry little thing, his girl. You’ll want for nothing, he thinks, remembering the debauched way you’d put your fingers to your mouth. He recalls the slick sounds, the little whines, drawn out and practically demanding he come forth to please you. With no one around for miles to hear you, unknowingly, you feed him with your gasps. 

He longs for it, imagines putting his mouth to you. How you’d keen, how you’d thrash under his hold like you had tonight, legs kicking out under the full force of your pleasure. But he’d hold you down, he thinks, breathing hard, draw even more wretched sounds from that mouth – pretty, soft mouth that always curled around his name so sweetly – than the ones you’d spilled out tonight. Prettier, than the sobs of the last few weeks, that’d had him gritting his teeth. He likes you drunk and dizzy on pleasure like this, likes the breathless, open mouthed smile that pushes the apples of your cheeks upwards. This, he thinks, is all you should know, tears born of desire. Not jittery hands, or envy.

Frail, pretty thing. You need to be taken care of. You wouldn’t know worry ever again, he would take care of you, would take care of everything. You’ll want for nothing.

His chest heaves at the thought, muscles tensing as if readying to crash through the wood at a moment’s notice. 

No, he thinks, taking a shuddering breath. He can almost taste you from here but – not yet. 

.

.

.

You wake up sticky, despite the chill in the air. Late autumn carries with it hints of the oncoming winter – you think it’s going to be a bad one, if your fingertips are numb already. It takes a bit of maneuvering to untangle yourself from the web of sheets and when you finally stand, there’s a distant ache in your head, a dryness in your throat that makes you grimace. 

You drag yourself into the shower, scrubbing off the filth of last night’s activities and letting the warm water run over your muscles. The steam fills the air of the bathroom, thick enough to trap the warmth when you step out and reach for your towel. 

It confuses you, though, once you’ve dried off and moisturised, that when you turn to reach for your clothes, they aren’t there. A sense of déjà vu settles over you. Significantly more awake, you wrap the towel around you once more and make the trek back to your room, a little peeved.

“Jason,” you call out as you pad down the hall, trying to keep the bite in your tone from being too harsh. “This isn’t funny, it’s cold. I’m not very impressed right now.”

Not even a laugh, but you’re too huffy to notice, picking up your clothes from where he’d relocated them to the top of your dresser and shutting your door firmly. 

When you go to pick him up before breakfast – closer to lunch, now, really – you frown at him. 

“Not cool, kid,” you tell him. “What if I got sick? Who’d make you lunch, then, hm? You can’t survive on peanut butter sandwiches alone.”

It feels a little as though you’ve regressed over the next week. More and more things go missing, only to turn up in the oddest places. You think he might be a little more playful, finally comfortable around you, but it’s hard to find gratification in that when your underwear joins the catalogue of missing things, turning up when you take your laundry out to hang even though you know you hadn’t put them in the washing. So maybe there’s a bit of wilful ignorance there. You don’t know how to address this, the pressing feeling of eyes on you at every moment now, an obvious presence that lingers around you more insistently, it feels, than before.

And you can’t place what’s brought this on, don’t know what’s to blame for this turn in his mood, toeing the line of malevolent, no longer innocently playful but shifting into something more intent, dull blue eyes seeming darker these days, more watchful. 

“What’s going on, huh?” you ask, when you put him to bed, brushing a hand over his hair. “How come you don’t wanna be good anymore? Is something up? I don’t know, kid, I’m not a mind reader.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his forehead. “Let’s have a better day tomorrow, okay? Goodnight, Jason.”

Midnight comes to you in slow winks that night, the pages of Jason’s book marked with a ribbon and placed carefully to the side with the half-formed, tired thought that you would talk to him about it tomorrow. Perhaps it would soften whatever had him agitated as of late. The lamp switches off, and you breathe out into the darkness, one last sigh before sleep claims you. 

You wake up to a pressing blackness. Not even the moonlight breaks through the clouds to offer you reprieve tonight, the very air sucked out of the room. Groggy, sleep still clinging to you like silken threads of a spider’s web around your eyes, you blink rapidly. The darkness settles around you and your vision adjusts.

The first thing you notice is the hulking silhouette at the foot of your bed and you freeze under the covers, breath punching out of your chest. 

Your first thought is to scream. Before your lips can even part, a rough palm is pressing over your mouth and tears prick your eyes. 

(What’s the point? Who is there to hear you scream so far out here?)

In the dim, your tearful eyes adjust further and your heart seizes in your chest when you make out the glint of white – a porcelain mask, a face that’s been your only companion these last few weeks. The cupid’s bow, rosy cheeks greyed in the dark. Down to the very last detail, it’s him.

The cause of all the haunting, the thief of your belongings, sentry of this manor. Not a spirit, but real, solid flesh and blood. He looms over you. There’s a solid weight that settles into the cradle of your hips, arms that cage you in, the smell of sawdust and something. Unbidden, your mind tugs back to you the missing lace, satin stolen by unseen hands – the very hands that press on your mouth and side, now, calloused, roughened. 

The whisper of your name hangs in the air between you, your resounding whimper muffled.

It’s faster than it ought to be, your compliance, going limp in his hold and ceasing your thrashing. You stare tearfully, heart in your throat, up at him. He lingers like this a moment longer before withdrawing, seemingly satisfied you won’t bolt. Slowly, you push up onto your elbows. The movement brings your face closer to his, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to flinch at the proximity. He seems pleased enough, however, head tilting, rather like a cat, tracking your movements carefully. 

It isn’t as though you’re going anywhere, his weight yet to lift from your legs. You reach out to the side, a shaking hand scrabbling for the flip of a switch. The sudden flood of orange light into the room, soft though it is, makes you flinch.

It’s the eyes that you’re drawn to first. Through the holes of the mask, you meet ultramarine eyes, leagues beyond that of the painting downstairs, which couldn’t hold a candle to the vibrant irises that stare back at you now. Your breath catches when he leans in a hair’s breadth closer and he pauses. 

Your voice fails you, when you part your lips to speak, frightened tears wetting your face. You clear your throat, and try once more.

“Jason?”

Dark lashes flutter, something pleased passing through his gaze, something like an unspoken affirmation. It floors you, the blood rushing from your head and leaving you dizzy all of a sudden. He swallows your field of vision, so impossibly big, broad and nothing about him carrying any of the delicateness your doll had. Dark curls fall over the edges of the mask, dark hair peeking beneath it, trailing down the sides of his jaw. 

You reach out, carefully, and he lets you press a hand to his chest – clad in a thin, dirtied henley. He gives under the slightest pressure, drawing back until he’s sitting on his haunches, your legs free. You let go, pushing yourself further up against the headboard of the bed and bringing your knees to your chest. He watches, silent, unmoving except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Real, solid, flesh and blood.

“You’ve been alive this whole time?” The dust clings to your sticky cheeks and you swipe at them again. Your breaths are shaky as you come down from your fright. He nods, and you wince, the porcelain mask shining as it reflects the light of your lamp.

“Can you – will you take that off? Please?” He stills and you, foolish, softened by fear or trust, scoot forward a little, legs folding under you. Now it’s his turn to widen the distance between you. You let out a soft warble, lips trembling. “It’s scaring me.”

“...Scary?” His voice is hoarse from disuse, and your eyes drop to his sides, watching his fingers curl into fists. “Under...you won’t like it..”

Your breath catches on a sob and you shake your head. You’re still shaking, still scared. He draws a little closer, hands raising as if to reach for you, and you flinch. “Please, Jason.”

Time stretches so long you fear you’ll remain here forever, trembling, suffocating, before big hands reach up to his face. He’s shaking, too, you notice absently. His head bows when the mask is discarded to the side, lying atop your sheets face down. The shadows obscure him slightly, cloaking his face from you, only the dark thatches of hair that cover his jaw visible to you. 

You whisper his name.

His eyes flash when he lifts his head, blue flickering into a green glow so suddenly it feels like a trick of the light – gone in an instant. Scarred flesh, waxy, pink patches of skin and pale, jagged remnants of lacerations; he bares himself to you and your breath catches in your throat. 

There are remnants of a classical beauty in his face, beneath the scarring. It’s the kind that would’ve made you stop short on the street, that would’ve brought warmth to your face if you’d met his eyes across a subway car during rush hour. The violence wrought renders him no less handsome but lends a brutality to him, the oppressive aura that cloaks him impossible to ignore, laid bare across his face. Still, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that your attention snags on, a child-like wariness that reminds you of the headline you’d found in Bruce’s office that day.

Silly, soft-hearted girl. It makes your heart ache, and once the tears start, they refuse to stop. Your hand draws closer to cradle his face, hovering a hair’s breadth from his cheek before he makes the leap for you, leaning against your touch. His own comes up, fingers pressing beneath your eye.

“Crying..”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, sniffling, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Crying for me?” His voice sounds odd, a tone you can’t quite read through your tears. You try to look away but he refuses to let you, clumsy fingers swiping beneath your eyes.

“You didn’t deserve that. That must’ve been so scary,” you sniffle, and look up at him. “Why were you...why’d you hide? Did – did your father know?” 

His eyes flash at the mention of Bruce, and you still at the anger that lines his face. 

“Bastard,” he mutters, a decade’s worth of pain packed into one word. It hints to a history you aren’t privy to, raw, jagged wounds still bleeding from an age old hurt. He stiffens and you slide your hand to his shoulder.

“Okay, don’t – we don’t have to talk about him,” you defer hastily, wary of the way his muscles ripple, the thrum of lightning barely contained beneath his skin. It reminds you of something else. “Was...It was you...that night, when they -”

Your breath stutters on the memory of the invasion, and his eyes darken. He crowds into your space more, ducking his head to meet your eyes. More green than blue now, he wills you to understand the severity of his promise.

“Keep you safe,” he says, and you barely notice the hand that curls possessively around your hip, your heart thrumming anxiously in its cavity at the threat of violence his words carry. And yet, you can’t deny it to yourself that it quiets a part of you, too, stills a restlessness that had lingered in your skin after that night. 

You don’t consider that night, why he had chosen to reveal himself to you – properly, in all his glory, stripped of parlour tricks and the facade – you’re too relieved that he doesn’t intend to hurt you to linger on it. He lets you guide him back to his room and draw the covers over him, the mask carefully carried in your hands and placed on the bedside table. He catches your hand when you go to leave and for a moment you fear he’ll demand something of you, blue eyes flashing cat’s eye green for the briefest of moments. He lets you go after a moment’s scrutiny, and you eke out a timid goodnight, returning to your bedroom in a daze. 

Perhaps you ought to have, though. Perhaps it might have suited you better to linger on the why, to consider what this meant, that there was something in motion, had been since your arrival. Exhaustion renders you pliant, however, and you slip into dreamless sleep the moment your head hits the pillow, the lingering smell of sawdust beneath your nose.

.

.

.

Jason makes it easy on you. It’s a little eerie in a way, re-learning him and yet finding all the hints of your spirit companion in him. He doesn’t stray far from you, content to continue to sit at your side when you sit down for your classes. In the morning, when you go to check on him, he is already awake, and you usher him into the bathroom, unsure at all whether you even should follow the schedule but moving mechanically if only for something to do, to avoid floundering. He waits by the door as you brush your teeth, eyes fixed on you. 

You find yourself returning the stare, brows furrowing as you take in every inch of him. Dust and dirt clings to his skin. You wonder when the last time he’d bathed was. You tell him as much, receiving only a blank stare. Uncommunicative, even now. 

“You should take a bath,” you murmur, worrying the skin of your lip with your teeth. “I don’t want you to get sick, or something.”

He’s compliant enough, letting you steer him into the bathroom and turning the knobs of the tub. Water comes spraying out, and you startle a little when the pipes whine, but ultimately settle. Dipping a hand in, you test the temperature before looking over your shoulder. He stands by your side, and you tilt your head to the water.

“Will you check if this is okay?” He obeys, dropping his chin in a short nod after brushing his fingers in. You offer him a short smile, and move to stand.

“I’ll try to find some clothes, this is...” you hesitate, looking at the hem of his shirt. “You can’t wear this.”

But his arm blocks your path when you go to step around him, curling around your midsection to keep you in place. You look up, startled. You try to move but he doesn’t budge, looking down at you intently. 

“You’ll stay.” It isn’t a request, nor a command, but he delivers it firmly, a matter of fact statement – that you will remain here, with him. You balk, blood rushing to your face.

“I can’t!” you protest, stepping back if only to escape the barricade of his arm, your hands coming up to rest on your hips. “That’s not – Jason, it’s not-”

“You’ll stay,” he repeats, simply, rock-salt voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. Water drips into the steaming bath, and you’re at an impasse, abject indignation warming your veins.

In the end, you give in. You think there was no possible outcome where you did not acquiesce to his whims – you recall the destruction he’d wreaked on his father’s office the night you had foregone a kiss goodnight, frightening you back into his room to press your lips to his temple. You sit by the side of the tub, handing him a cloth and keeping your eyes trained firmly ahead of you as he scrubs himself down. Somehow, you end up washing his hair for him, soapy water providing a suitable enough cover that you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the gentlest you’ve ever seen him, pleased and bath soft, skin flushed and curls wet against his forehead as you pour water over his crown. 

He only lets you go once the water begins to grow cool and you insist on finding clean clothes for him. It’s easier than you think, rifling through the drawers in the master bedroom and finding a pair of soft trousers and t-shirt that you figure will fit him. You keep your back turned when he emerges from the bath, waiting until he’s dressed to face him with warmth in your cheeks. The glimpse you’d caught as he’d risen from the water had made you squeak, hard lines and dark hair, wet skin glistening – all Man, real, breathing, human man. It’s a jarring contrast from the sexless porcelain of his counterpart. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of his broad chest and you promptly whirl around, guilt swarming in your stomach at your momentary lapse in senses.

(In his mind he thinks, don’t you know you’re all his, as he is yours? There is no inch of him that isn’t for your eyes.)

When you sit down for your classes later, you’re more conscious of his presence than ever, a warm arm diffusing soft heat at your elbow. He only shakes his head when you ask if he would rather do something else and you get the feeling later, when you take a bathroom break, that he would follow after you, had you not closed it between you. 

He sits close when you have lunch, knee knocking into yours beneath the table in the kitchen. You watch him eat, ravenous, and your wariness melts a little at the familiarity. This, you knew. This, you could handle. When he finishes his plate you push your own towards him in lieu of pointing to the pan but he surprises you – shaking his head and watching you carefully until he’s satisfied you’re fed. 

It’s sort of like losing a friend to gain a guard dog. He lingers by your side, catalogues your every movement and bosses you around where he sees fit. You don’t know how to feel about it, and don’t witness the full extent of it until, midway through your lunch, there’s a knock at the back door.

Reactive, he’s a wraith at your back, chair clattering and pressing you away. No guests. You recall the first rule in his schedule as you wrangle him, a hand tight on his chest to set him at ease. You figure it’s fear, in his own, muddled way. There had been a break in, after all, he wouldn’t take kindly to anyone else on the property – you were the only one meant to be here.

“It’s only the groceries,” you whisper, fingers circling around his wrist and pressing down against his pulse to draw his attention. Green eyes strike you down, near unseeing in his wrath and you startle. The seconds pass and you figure the longer this goes unhandled, the likelier Jason is to react for the worse. You take a deep breath, wrangling your own unease to step in front of him, blocking off his path to the door and squeezing his wrist once more.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay,” you murmur, stroking the back of his hand comfortingly. “Just wait here for me, okay? It’s okay.”

He lingers in the room, though it seems only you’re aware of it as the delivery boy brings the bags in. You’re thankful he doesn’t loiter, unwilling to test Jason’s thin patience. The very shadows in the room seem to stretch the longer it takes and by the time the final bag is carried in and the receipt is left on the counter, you fear the kitchen floor will start to crack beneath your feet.

He’s on you the moment the door shuts, wrapping himself around you to run big hands over your sides, assessing you like he hadn’t kept you in his line of sight the entire exchange. You sigh, letting him tilt your chin, inspecting your face. The green in his eyes has completely swallowed the shades of blue, pupils dilated as he closes in on you.

“I’m fine,” you assure. He seems ill-convinced, but finally lets go. “Come on. You’re probably still hungry. Maybe that’s why you’re acting like this.”

He lets out a puff of breath in response and you let out a small laugh. 

You make the mistake that night, when you see him off to bed, of unthinkingly voicing out loud as you look around the room,

“Isn’t it -” you hesitate, feeling your words catch on something. You ought to listen to it, but he tilts his head inquisitively, and it coaxes it out of you. “Doesn’t it feel weird sleeping in here? It’s a kid’s room. I don’t think you even fit in that bed.”

His eyes gleam, and you don’t understand what for until he pushes up from the covers and stands. Your brows draw together, confused, but you have no time to question it, weight on your shoulders pushing you forward until you’re steered down the hall to – 

Your room.

You stare, wide eyed, as he pushes you; he’s clumsy, but gentle, fingers coaxing you under your covers before rounding the bed to slip under them on your other side. Your heart catches in your throat, alarmed.

“Jason – no, this isn’t what I meant, you-” He turns on his side and you fall silent. 

“Kiss goodnight,” he murmurs, a hand reaching out beneath the soft weight of your covers to tug you closer, warmth searing through your pants where it rests on your hip. You resist, pressing against his chest to create a modicum of distance between you, but it’s impossible against his strength. Again, your mind supplies you unhelpfully with attention to the heat that rolls off him, the proximity or lack thereof between you. 

“Are you – did the delivery upset you? Is this why-” You’re grasping for straws, searching for something to cling to, a reason that softens the weight of his gaze and all that lies behind it. You blind yourself to it, convince yourself the flash of his eyes is affirmation, let yourself believe it, breathing out a shaky, “Okay.”

“Kiss.” He repeats the word, and your chest presses against his. He’s a furnace, warmth trapped beneath the covers threatening to burn you alive. Your mouth is dry as you lean up, smoothing a hand against his curls to flatten them backwards, bare his temple to you. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper, into his hairline, lips brushing against the raised outline of a pale scar. 

Slowly, the sands in your hourglass begin to trickle to an end.

.

.

.

The kisses brush closer and closer these days. No longer do your lips meet the spot at his hairline, or his temple. The first time Jason brings a hand to your cheek and guides you lower, you’re too surprised to do anything, kissing the higher point of his cheekbone and pulling away hastily, face warm. It feels so incredibly inappropriate, letting him continue to blur the boundaries between you. He makes a noise of discontent the next night, when you return to his forehead, only settling back into your sheets when your mouth finds his cheek. The hand on the back of your neck is heavy, fingers brushing against the small hairs in feather light touches and sending shocks of something down your spine. 

He sleeps on his side, always, facing you. You can feel his eyes on your back as you feign sleep. Is it unwise, to turn your back to him, you wonder. The idea of sleeping on your other side makes your stomach curdle, his breath fanning over your cheek, nose brushing against yours – much too close, too intimate for the way he’s been acting lately. You fear if you give him an inch you’ll never come back from it.

(Silly little thing. You were his the moment you stepped over the threshold.)

Tonight, Jason is heavier handed with you than usual. Something simmers in your gut as he presses on the back of your neck, green eyes near luminescent under the swathes of soft orange light from your lamp. You waver, but it’s all you can do to give in, your arms threatening to buckle under you if you don’t follow. Hovering over his side, you bend your head.

Lower still, Jason pulls you to him – you only barely manage to avoid meeting his lips with your own, skating the corner of his mouth and planting a clumsy peck there. When you chance a look up at him, he’s already watching you, a crease where his eyebrows meet.

“Kiss goodnight,” he says, expectantly, voice rough with an undercurrent of something eerily like want. It makes your breath hitch.

“I...I did,” you stammer, one last attempt at resistance. He doesn’t buy it, blinking slowly at you. 

“Kiss.”

Saliva pools in your mouth the longer he stares at you, time stretching between you as he waits and when you swallow, his gaze flicks down to track the movement of your throat, pupils dilating. Now, only a thin ring of green surrounds the vastness of black, observing your every action. 

Finally, seemingly sick of your inaction, Jason shifts upwards on the bed and you squeak in surprise, reeling backwards only to meet the solid wall of his hand. Your heart races in your chest, sounds spilling out of your mouth that are muffled when he closes the distance and slants his lips against yours.

It’s a wet, messy thing, clumsy and hungry. Jason’s tongue slides against your bottom lip hungrily and you, foolishly, part your lips to protest. He only uses it to push further, tongue tracing the contours of your mouth, a deep groan wracking through him, a deep-seated tremor that you think he must have been holding back for a long time. His hand fists the material of your pants, the other bearing down on your neck as if to press you even closer. Your own are helpless against his chest, unbalanced and tottering forward onto his lap, trying to push away –

“Mmh, no, J-” you’re cut off, unable to get out a single word. “’S wrong.”

He ignores you, swallowing the pitiful whimper you let out to lick into your mouth. You’re dizzy, head spinning from the lack of air, mouth swollen and spit slicked. Against his chest, your fists push weakly, your strength pale in comparison to his. Absently, a part of you wonders if that’s really the reason you aren’t trying harder – a distinct pressure growing between your legs that you try to tamp down. 

Your spine arches ever so slightly under his fingers, legs bracketing his hips to accommodate his size. The throb you feel between your legs is not only his.

But it’s wrong. You can’t.

Uncaring of your internal conflict, the world around you tips in a matter of seconds and you blink up at Jason, vision swimming as he comes into sight. Your positions are now reversed, with him hovering over your body, pressed flat against the wrinkled sheets. Your clothing is rumpled, top riding up the expanse of your stomach and baring your flesh to hungry eyes.

He remains between your legs, an arm descending beside you to hold himself up as he closes in. You shake your head, twisting to avoid the wet press of his mouth against yours again, your hand coming to press against his shoulder.

“No– ‘s wrong,” you murmur, desperately, trying to push him away. Undeterred, his mouth trails over the line of your jaw and you stumble over a gasp when his teeth graze over your skin, taking it between his lips and nipping, tongue flicking out almost immediately after to soothe the sting, something like a keen in his throat when you squirm beneath him. You draw blood trying to stifle the sound you nearly make as a result of it, legs going to press together but only tightening around his waist.

“Not,” he pants, hand on your leg squeezing, trailing higher until it skims the space above your waistband, fingers ghosting over your bare belly. His touch leaves a trail of wildfire behind it, burning licks over your skin that make you gasp. “Not wrong.”

You whimper, a haze of desire settling like a cloud cover over your guilt when he flattens his hand over your stomach and presses down, eyes flashing possessively as he delivers his next blow. “Not wrong,” he repeats in a reverent whisper, leaning down until you’re nose to nose. The smell of cedarwood fills your nose, a history he’s unable to scrub no matter how much of your soap he uses, the milk and honey scented liquid bubbling over his skin. You hold your breath, eyes widening, the flex of his bicep in your periphery as he supports his weight with one arm. “You’re mine.”

The tears leak out of your eyes, and you shake your head. “I’m – not.”

Nose caressing yours – “You are,” he confirms steadily, voice low. 

You understand then, the curtains pulling back to reveal the future that has been hanging in the wings this whole time for you, the fate you’d sealed for yourself. The long absence of his father, the shiftiness in Bruce’s demeanour when you’d met him and the eagerness in which he took his leave. Your very purpose, here – all of it, every strand, threaded, curling around you. 

It all leads to Jason.

He swallows your sob with an open mouthed kiss, then, and the sands of time run out.

It’s horrifying, the gentleness he treats you with, divesting you of your clothing like you might wilt under his fingers if he isn’t careful, delicate flower that he thinks you to be. There’s adoration in every touch, worship in his eyes. Layer by layer, they come off until you’re bare beneath him, swathes of orange light swimming over your belly and lighting a fire in his eyes. They’re green again, now, near neon in hue, teeming with barely restrained hunger. His fingers shake, hovering over your sides, pressing you down when you try to raise your arms. One broad hand swallows your wrists, held against the soft flesh of your stomach as the other begins to tug his shirt off. 

Your breath catches in your throat, whimpered pleas clogging your airway when his fingers drift to the waistband of his pants. Scars, so many scars line the expanse of his torso. His body is a map of puckered lines and flat, pale marks, a lifetime of brutality carved into his skin. Dark whorls of hair dust his chest and stomach, a pattern that continues lower as he tugs his trousers off, muscles flexing as he twists. In another lifetime, under an entirely different set of circumstances, you might’ve salivated at the sight of a man like this, might’ve reached out to splay a hand against his barrel chest, reveled in how miniscule you were in comparison. In another lifetime, there wouldn’t be that ever pressing guilt, that shame that colours your vision and tightens around your neck – you might’ve admitted to wanting it.

In another lifetime, you might’ve even begged for it.

Your mind eddies at the sight of him, blood rushing so startlingly through your veins you have to slump back into the sheets, dizzy and daunted. You’re stunned into silence, throat too dry to string together any sounds beyond a strangled whimper.

He’s thick, head an angry, dark colour that you can’t make out in the low light, weeping. As if caught in a dream, you watch a bead of pre-cum slip down his length, the light gleaming over the trail it leaves on his skin. When you raise your eyes, fearful, he’s already watching you, eyes sharp.

The bright green of his irises shocks you back into your body, and you begin to shake your head anew, struggling to push yourself away, back hitting the headboard. 

“No, Jason, no.” You begin to weep, hands coming to pound weakly at his chest when he hovers over you once more and he dips his head, nosing along your cheek. Your tears do little to stop him. If anything, it only spurs him on, pupils dilated at the sight of you like this and breathing growing ragged. A rough hand skims along your ankle and pulls, until you’re flat on your back beneath him. “It’s wrong.”

“Don’t cry,” he rumbles, plaintive, lips brushing against yours clumsily, an attempt at comfort. He settles between your legs, one slung over his hip and you mewl when he tilts forward, the weight of his length sliding against your traitorously wet folds. You draw blood trying to stifle a whimper when his head nudges against your clit, a dizzying spiral of unwanted pleasure curling down your spine. His lips curve into a pout against yours, a hair’s breadth between them as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ll be good,” he promises quietly, voice pitching into a plea as he ruts against you. You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to turn your head but a hand comes up to cup your jaw, keeping you face to face with him. “I’ll be good. I’ll–‘ll take care of you. Make you feel good.”

Clumsy, painful, intrusive. You’re wet, but it’s not enough – Jason breaches your entrance and your gasp teeters on a scream, fingernails digging into the meat of his forearm as you struggle to accommodate for his size, not nearly prepared enough for the stretch. His voice joins yours, a different kind of pain in his groans as he pushes slowly in. You curse him, drawing blood where your nails sink into his skin and gasping for breath. 

It’s sweltering in the room, despite the chill of winter, Jason’s body a canopy over yours. Every inch of him that presses against you is searing, burning to the touch and threatening to flay you alive. You sob when he finally bottoms out, his teeth gritted and forehead scrunched, the last strands of his control steadily fraying. 

Big fingers swipe at your under eyes, smearing your tears instead of wiping them, and then he begins to move. The first thrust winds you, pushing all the air out of your lungs and eliciting a choked sound out of your throat, one he echoes, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck and thrusting again. 

Shame and guilt war within you, fear pebbling your skin as his hips cant forwards, setting a sloppy pace meant only to seek a quick release. Every second that ticks past, he draws closer and closer to the edge and shamefully – so do you. There’s a burning in your gut, the sound of your wetness loud in the room over his desperate groans, your cunt squeezing around his thick length. It’s a horrifying truth, one you don’t want to accept – it feels good. The drag of his cock against you, the slippery movements of his fingers, the overwhelming weight of his body against yours. It lights every nerve in your body alight, repulsion and longing amassing as one, a torturous cover that threads through your veins against your will.

Your sobs subside as it comes to you, pleasure pooling slowly in your gut like a leaky faucet, a puddle growing until your cries turn into whimpers, gasped breaths when he manages to find that one spot that empties your head of all thought. 

No, no, no turns into muffled whines, your tears carving their own scarred paths down your face. Each thrust, every slide of his length and whisper of his fingers carves a bit of your resistance away, until all that’s left between your desire and his is the ruins of your sensibilities. The last of your defences gone, your nerves feel like spun sugar, dizzying, electrifying – wanting, needing more. 

He’s highly attuned to your reactions, and you watch through blurry eyes as his gleam when he makes this realisation, thrusting forward unforgivably and pulling more screams from you. Your head tips back into the pillow, ultraviolet green burned into the back of your eyelids. 

“Be good for – for you,” he gasps out, a low whine building in his throat and you weep, arms reaching up to wind around his shoulders. It’s a twisted thing, that the one inflicting this on you should bring you comfort, but you cling to him still. He tucks himself closer to you, eager to provide this cover, allowing you to hide your face in his neck – hide from yourself, as he fucks you. His hands wander, brushing, coaxing, petting your body. No longer are you the caretaker, but now the doll, almost. A pretty thing for him to cradle, to have, to do with as he pleases. And he does, driving into you hungrily, as though he’s been starved of it, unable to hold himself back any longer. He sates his appetite on you tonight, teeth, tongue, cock. All of you, his for the taking. Under his hand you are taken apart and remade, molded by rough hands and lovingly pieced together until you’re born anew, settling into your role like drifting into dreams.

Your orgasm washes over you, abrupt and unrelenting, so far gone a scream tears from your throat to bleed into his, your teeth sinking into the junction of his neck and shoulder as your leg kicks out and you fall apart on his length. Sloppy thrusts pick up the pace and he presses you further down into the sheets, grasp on your hips and waist bruising. It’s animal, the way he bucks into you, mouth open in a snarl to bare sharp canines, tongue laving against your pulse. 

Too much – it’s too much. You’re still riding out the high of your orgasm, but he continues to fuck into you, head bumping against one particular spot that has your toes curling painfully, body twisting in his grasp and trying to pull away. A vain effort. Even your squealed protests fall on deaf ears, dizzying pleasure bubbling up once more in your gut, overwhelming and feverish.

Your eyes squeeze shut tight as you come again, colour exploding in your vision in vivid hues of red and orange, mouth dropping open to swallow lungfuls of air. Jason, in your ear, lets out a guttural moan that lances straight through his chest to spear yours. Warmth trickles down your body, spend and slick smeared where the two of you are connected. 

You swim in and out of focus, eyelids heavy and attention spotty. Like an old radio, or as if underwater, his voice breaches your consciousness in snippets. Soft cooing and fingers stroking along your spine, you’re vaguely aware of being shifted, hefted onto a warm chest as easily as lifting a feather. Downy hairs tickle your cheek, the smell of musk and cedarwood burning beneath your nose.

Mine...so good...take care of...

There’s an ache between your hips, a fullness that has yet to retract – but when you blink drowsily up at your captor, you begin to realise in the last dregs of your consciousness: in this, and all that follows after, he has no intention of parting from you.

Cobalt blue now, half lidded eyes regard you with reverence, kiss bitten lips cooing unintelligibly, praises you barely register. Jason cranes his head to press his mouth against your temple – a mockery of your rituals to you, perhaps an homage, in his twisted mind. 

.

.

.

The mark on his neck smarts, the beast in his chest purring in satisfaction. He looks down at you, the drying tears on your face, lashes fluttering in your sleep. He strokes a finger over the crease between your brows, dragging down to where your lips part ever so slightly. He barely manages to hold back a satisfied rumble when, at the touch of his finger, you accept him in. Precious, sweet girl. Even in sleep, you know him. He shifts on his back, careful not to jostle you too much, and once more the bite stings. In the morning, you’ll insist on tending to it, he knows. Your eyes will pool, diamantine, lips trembling tearfully at the wound you’ve left on him. You’ve claimed him as he would you, in time, but he knows it’ll take a little longer for you to see it as he does, that in the morning you’ll begin to piece back the ruins of your defences and he’ll have to work again to keep them down. 

That’s okay. He’s got all the time in the world. You’ll see, soon. Out here, with only each other for company, you’ll quickly learn. He’ll take care of you.

You’ll want for nothing.

fin.

um. there's a lot i wanted to include in this fic, mostly that there's something off about jason's death and his being alive - i didn't really get to explore that beyond the eyes so if you caught that i hope u know i meant for it to convey that he's a Freak.

Brahms in The Boy is entirely human but i think there's an air of supernaturalism to jason in this (and even arguably in the original source material) with how such a large man manages to move through the walls quietly and quickly, he feels a bit wraith like to me. also again with the eyes - there's something wrong with him but there's literally like 294728 other things to worry about that you don't notice until it's staring at you in the face and by then it's too late.

anyway this came to me during finals and it was driving me SO damn insane during finals, i think i've been working on this for about a month? i'm not sure - the writing program i've been using lately doesn't have a date of creation so i don't really know but finals were in early june so maybe just shy of two months? i would say a month and a half.

this is the first time i've properly dipped my toe into content of a darker nature like this and i hope i did it justice! idk i wanted to try my hand at something new, i think there's a lot that's interesting about the psychological aspect of fics like this, like the buildup and feelings leading up to and during the climax. anyway this was a bit of an experiment and i hope you enjoyed it.

[vessel-token]

— sugar, i’ve got a taste for you now.

Sleep Token Vessel x F!Reader x III.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Dom/Sub Undertones. Implied Polyamorous Relationship. Implied Established Relationship. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Threesome. Hints of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism. Minor Breathplay. Aftercare. Fluff (at the end).

AN ; did you see what i did there with the title. smirks. do you like that. lmao man idk why i’ve been writing so much with the reader getting eaten out, it’s just lowkey fun to write and i don’t think there’s ever enough of it ykwim?? so enjoy this nasty idea that came to me while listening to sugar and remembering that time when vessel straddled iii on stage. they’re highkey gay for each other in this, hence why i went ahead and tagged it as poly, but they’re also down bad for reader so??? also, before anyone asks, i do plan to write a part 2 and maybe 3… as always, this is NSFW, so MDNI. ⚠️

Divider ; @benkeibear-deactivated20240529

How you got here, splayed overtop Vessel’s lap, largely remains a mystery to you. What you had been doing, why you had been doing it, all of that has essentially left you. All that registers in your clouded mind — all that is important enough to register — is the sensation of Vessel’s hands groping at your naked body and the sight of III kneeling between your parted legs.

Your back is flush to Vessel’s chest and his thighs are hooked beneath your own, ensuring that they stay open nice and wide for III. It puts you on a downright lewd display, worsened only when Vessel decides to tease III further by reaching his hand down and spreading your slick folds apart. Almost instinctively, you clench around nothing, terribly aware of the invitation Vessel is making out of your evident arousal. You can’t help but squirm against him, equal amounts shame and desire painting your face with a red flush. It crawls down your neck and reaches the tips of your ears, but there is little you can do about your current predicament.

Vessel’s arm remains a firm barrier around your middle, keeping you trapped against him. It’s not that he’s holding you there against your will, but rather to keep you from thrashing in the midst of whatever he has planned for you. You’ve already got a pretty good guess, seeing the blatant hunger that burns in III’s eyes as he drinks in the near-pornographic view Vessel is presenting him with. You’re unsure which of you he aims to torment more, yourself or III. It’s likely both of you, if you’re thinking realistically.

Vessel isn’t exactly a sadist, quite the opposite in your opinion, but he is most definitely a tease in almost all that he does. Whether it be his performances, his rituals, or his general appearance, all of him seemed to be designed to leave one wanting more. Perhaps that was why he’d snagged the attention of Sleep, having been enough to entice even an ancient deity.

“Look at you,” Vessel murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “So eager for us.”

You make a noise that ends up sounding like some pathetic amalgamation of a whine and a moan, agreeing but begrudgingly. You hear III laugh between your legs, but the clear strain in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You shoot him a pointed glare, hoping to convey your feelings of faux betrayal. He holds your gaze steady and unwavering, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal smug grin.

Bastard.

“Go ahead. Taste her,” Vessel instructs, nodding to III. He rests his chin on your shoulder, making sure to give himself an unobstructed view of the other man as he retracts his hand. He places it instead on III’s cheek, stroking the revealed skin beneath as he guides him closer to you.

Whether III’s quick response time is due to him receiving permission or because it’s a command from Vessel, you don’t know. You sure as hell don’t care either, not as you watch III delve between your thighs. You feel his tongue before you see it, swiping across your neglected cunt in broad strokes. All at once, your head falls back against Vessel’s chest, a punched-out moan ripping free from your throat. Hearing it only spurs III on, no longer simply teasing but instead devouring you.

Much like Vessel had appeared to predict, you begin to squirm in his lap, trying in vain to grind yourself against III’s face. Both men take notice, with Vessel groping at your tits and III giving an acknowledging hum against you. The sounds the latter makes are nothing short of perverse, sucking and licking at you like you’re a delicacy and he’s been fasting. His nose bumps against your clit a few times, but you can tell he’s purposely avoiding it, something which nearly makes you cry out in misery.

“Please,” you beg, too caught up to give a damn about your pride. “Please, I’ve been good. I’ve been patient.”

Vessel’s lips graze your ear. You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking. “This isn’t about punishment, my love.”

Just when you’re about to protest because that’s exactly what this feels like, you catch sight of Vessel’s free hand sneaking down, blackened fingertips dancing over your skin. He’s almost graceful as he does it, like this is some kind of intimate ritual he has to be mindful to perfect. You watch with heaving breaths as he seeks out your swollen clit, rubbing at it while III groans into your cunt. You can’t stop your hips from bucking this time, a broken cry fleeing your lips as both of them work at you. This time, Vessel mercifully doesn’t stop you from moving.

Not one to be outdone, III adds his own fingers, pushing two inside you. He curls and flexes them, seeking out the same bundle of nerves that Vessel is currently targeting on the outside. The dual stimulation has all kinds of sounds leaving your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut and your brows furrowing. The arm that once wrapped around your torso finally departs, Vessel’s hold relinquishing in favor of migrating further up your body. You feel all five points of contact from his warm palm as it closes around your throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult.

All at once, your orgasm hits you with blinding force.

Both men release gutteral groans as they feel you cum, fingers and tongue insistently working you through it. Vessel abandons your clit in favor of pressing down on the back of III’s head, practically smothering the other against you. III doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, if the way his hips jerk against nothing is anything to go by. For a brief moment, you swear you see stars behind your eyelids, your moans trailing into whimpers once overstimulation begins to set in.

“Too much,” you choke out, floating on the border between pain and pleasure. It mixes together to create a heady sensation, giving you a high like no other as Vessel and III finally begin to ease back.

III presses a featherlight kiss to your lower lips before resting his head against your inner thigh, panting just as heavily as you. Vessel soothes you both, loosening his grip on your throat and massaging it instead. He mirrors the action on III’s cheek with his other hand, murmuring soft praises to you both. He’s often like this with the two of you, ignoring his own needs in favor of tending to you both.

That isn’t to say he can’t be selfish when he wants to, the man can be one hell of a brat, but he’s nothing if not devoted. You can still feel his hardness pressing against your ass, silently pleading for some attention. You can clearly see III’s in the same predicament, but neither of them make any moves without your permission or request.

As your senses gradually return to you, you release your death grip on the couch cushions beneath you, flexing your aching fingers. You shift on Vessel’s lap, angling your head back to place a kiss on his jaw. You can feel III’s gaze on you and before he can dare pout or complain, you reach down to take him by the chin, gently urging him up to meet you. You can still taste yourself on him, but it’s a very small price to pay to kiss him. Vessel hums from over your shoulder, basking in the mutual affection as he kisses your cheek and then moves to III once you’re done.

Their lip-lock, you notice, is much more heated than yours had been. You watch as Vessel tongue swipes across III’s lips, undoubtedly enjoying the combined taste of him and you. As III moans into Vessel’s mouth, you find yourself reminded that this night has yet to be over.

Taglist ; @that-unfortunate-crow @moni-cah @avagraceiossi @miss-multi45 @adenobabe @swissy23 @justarheaslut

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to future fics!)

[0310s]

gently, by your side | jaehyun

members: myung jaehyun x gender neutral reader

genre: college au, angst, comfort, best friends! to ???, more platonic stuff in this one

tags/warnings: extensive discussions of mental health and chronic/mental illness, y/n is not okay. :(

summary: jaehyun finds you after a bad week.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this fic’s title comes from this lovely song. as someone who’s struggled with both chronic and mental illness, it really takes someone strong and amazing to keep on going, despite everything. most of the dialogue in this comes from my own musings and experiences with mental health. i wrote this for a dear mutual of mine! i hope better days will come for you soon, whenever that may be. meanwhile, i hope this gives you comfort when things are tough! sending lots of love <3 

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

5 days ago 1:28 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

(y/n) we haven’t seen each other in such a loooong time imy :(( i mean i KNOW it’s just been a couple of days since we last hung out but still!!!!!!! when are we seeing each other again !!!! tell me ur schedule QUICK !!!!

4 days ago 6:33 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeeyyyyyyyyy (with the intention to hang out) heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy reply to meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! tell me when ur free pls i miss u :((

3 days ago 11:58 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

hey i didn’t see u at the party today i thought u said u were going last week!!!  also i asked around and people said they haven’t seen u around recently??? and they don’t know what ur up to

2 days ago 2:05 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeyyyy ?????????? did i do smth?????  or are u just really busy w school and work idk either way pls just let me know :(( i won’t bother u if ur rlllyyy busy

10:35 PM sorry if i’m being annoying btw

Yesterday  11:32 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

ok i thought about it reaaaaaallly hard and i don’t think i’ve done anything to make u mad or upset w me??? well aside from that time last last week that u got mad at me for accidentally messing w ur computer and deleting ur work files WHICH IM LIKE REALLY SORRY FOR but i fixed it!!!!! i thought we were good alrd!!! are u still mad at me 4 that ?

1:00 AM (y/n)?

1:28 AM idk  i thought i was ur best friend :(( did smth change???

2:47 AM pls pls reply :(( i know we can talk this out i don’t want us to not be ok

Today  3:00 PM 🐶 cutie puppy i’m coming over.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Sitting up from your bed, your heart thuds in anxiety as you quickly scroll through your chat history with Jaehyun. Your eyes hurt and your brain feels especially foggy, like you’re looking at the world through a particularly cloudy lens. How long did you sleep? The last thing you recall was working on your assignments last night, then choosing to sleep instead when you got overwhelmed. Even then, you slept fitfully. You remember setting an alarm at 9 AM today to continue working, but even as you sat at your desk, you couldn’t type a single sentence on your laptop. Everything felt muddled and it was as if you couldn’t understand anything at all. Even the cups of coffee you drank in desperation was of no use keeping you alert; all it did was make you palpitate.

Then you gave up, went back to bed, and you’re here now. Checking the chat timestamps, you realize you haven’t replied to Jaehyun’s messages in almost a week, which has never happened before—you talk almost everyday, even multiple times a day. Jaehyun’s last message was at 3 PM, when he said he’d come over. One look at your screen shows you it’s already 3:20. If you’ve memorized his schedule right, it takes your best friend thirty minutes to get to your dorm from his Fundamental Maths class. That means you have ten more minutes to get your shit together and clean your mess of a room. 

But right when you’ve mustered the energy to stand up, you hear a series of knocks on your door. That can’t be— “(Y/n), open up, I know you’re in there!” Jaehyun’s voice echoes from outside the door. “I asked your dormmate and she said you haven’t left your room since yesterday, so there’s no use pretending!” Shit, shit, shit! You immediately spring up and hastily fold your blankets and organize your desk, throwing away stray food wrappers and plastic cups. You open your blinds to let some air in, and the bright sunlight makes your head throb even more. 

On your way to the door, you spot yourself in the mirror. There’s no other word for it—you look like utter shit. Your eyebags are dark and prominent, your hair disheveled from tossing and turning in your sleep. You look horrendous, but Jaehyun is persistently knocking on your door, so you have no choice but to fix yourself up as fast as you can. You splash water on your face and smoothen down your hair and open the door—then there’s Jaehyun in all his glory. Your heart clenches seeing him; he looks as handsome as always, his bangs fluffy and soft and his letterman jacket fashionably oversized. He looks nothing like you in your ratty T-shirt with coffee stains and pajama shorts. His hand is halfway raised, positioned to knock at your door (he could and would probably do it all day if he had to). Upon seeing you, he blurts out: “Did I do something?”

Instead of answering him, you open your door wider as an invitation, and Jaehyun takes the hint, stepping into your dorm. Once the door is shut, Jaehyun peers at your messy room and remarks, “Wow. When was the last time you cleaned up? You’re usually not like this.”

You know he didn’t mean it like that, but his comment stings at you all the same. “Sorry, Jaehyun,” you snap, “not everyone can be at 200% energy all the time like you.” At his hurt expression, you backtrack. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

“It-It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies confusedly. Then he looks straight at you, eyes pleading. He’s picking at the stray thread hanging from his jacket, a habit you’ve come to known is something he does when he’s nervous. “You know what, I thought about it. For days, really, if I did anything that would make you mad and ignore me. But I couldn’t come up with anything at all. I was really worried when you didn’t reply to me for days on end, especially when we talk everyday. So if I did something, can—can you just tell me? I just want us to be okay.”

Your throat closes up and your heart pounds even faster, making you feel dizzy. You have no idea how to answer him, when all he’s ever seen of you is the perfect student who does everything right, who’s smart and good at what they do without any flaws or exceptions. How would he react if he saw you for who you really were?

The words can’t form in your mouth, and out of frustration at yourself, you tear up. Jaehyun notices this, eyes widening in worry, “(y/n), baby, no, no,” and pulls you into his arms. Almost instantly, the tears cascade down your face and sobs wrack your body. You feel pathetic crying in your best friend’s arms, but Jaehyun just soothes a hand up and down your back as you break down. His other arm is wrapped around your shoulders, and it feels like your anchor when you’re drowning in all your troubles. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone, “let it all out.” You grip his jacket even tighter as you bury your face in his chest. 

When was the last time you’ve ever been hugged like this? The last time you’ve ever been truly vulnerable to anyone without that mask of perfection you often don? The last time you felt safe just being yourself? You have no idea. All you know that is in the circle of Jaehyun’s arms, you want to be small and imperfect and yourself just this once.

After your cries die down, Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what it is I did, but I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s not you, Jaehyun,” your voice is muffled by both your sniffles and Jaehyun’s chest. You don’t want Jaehyun to get the wrong idea that he’s hurt you in some way because of how broken he sounds thinking he’s done something to make you sad. “It’s just. Me.”

“You? What do you mean?” Jaehyun leads you into your room from the doorway. He’s holding your hand and doesn’t let go even when you both settle at the edge of your bed. His palm is warm and his grip loose enough in case you want to let go; you don’t. While you muster up the courage to speak, your best friend just sits there, waiting patiently. “It’s okay, whatever you say, I’m not going anywhere.” You don’t know that for sure, but him saying that makes you want to be truthful just this once, damn the consequences.

You take a deep breath, focusing on your intertwined fingers. You’re too scared to look at his face because you don’t want to see his reaction. “Jaehyun, what kind of person do you think people see me as?”

“Well…” He takes a moment to think about it. “Someone smart, talented, and who gets stuff done?”

In turn, you let out an resigned exhale. “Well, that’s the image I project. Of someone who’s perfect… someone who does things effortlessly. People think it comes easy to me. But it doesn’t. When people tell me that I didn’t need much effort to get to where I am now, I feel undermined. When I express I’m having a hard time, people brush it off and think I’m just overreacting. Because they think I’m perfect all the time. But honestly…? That’s the farthest thing from the truth."

Glancing up from your hands, you scan your room—your desk is a mess of papers and assignments that you have yet to get to. You can’t tell when the last time you spent time being actually productive when what you’ve been is fatigued out of your mind. When you try to sit at your desk and work, all you feel is difficulty concentrating and processing work and readings. Sleep has also proven to be elusive—no matter how long you lie in bed, you never feel well-rested. Simple actions and decisions require so much energy from you that you undeniably lack. You also constantly compare yourself to others, whom things like these come natural to them. But you’ve kept these feelings of yours secret for a long time—you’re utterly terrified that you’d be undermined for being useless and overly sensitive.   

“(Y/n)?” Jaehyun squeezes your hand, and you turn to meet his eyes. His eyes are sincere and kind. “I-I know I may not be the most empathic person, but I promise I’ll hear you out without judging you. I want to be here for you… and I hope you’ll let me. Please?” 

At this, you spill everything you’ve been feeling the past weeks—months, even—to Jaehyun. You stumble over your words and your breath gets caught in your throat, but he’s there to pat your back and to encourage you to keep going. Without you knowing, tears make their way down your face once again, and Jaehyun uses his other hand to gently brush them away. “It just gets so hard that I want to just. Give everything up. I don’t know what the use of trying so hard is when I see how other people don’t need this much effort to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s just so… unfair.”

When you’re finished with your rant, you don’t know what to expect from Jaehyun—but you’re stunned to see him crying. He’s sniffling and wiping at his eyes furiously. “Why…” You have no idea what he’s about to say, but you brace yourself for the worst. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t know you were having such a difficult time. I feel like such a shitty friend for not even noticing. I’m sorry, (y/n).” Jaehyun’s eyes fill with tears and he starts “I… I thought we were best friends.” The best friends tell each other everything goes unsaid, but you know exactly what he meant.

“I…” You feel awful now for making Jaehyun cry. “You’re just. You just naturally have all this limitless energy. You’re…” Normal. Not like me. “I don’t know how if you were going to take me seriously if I told you what I was going through… There were times I’d see you, and I’d be so disappointed in myself for not being like you. And I was so scared that if I did tell you, I’d be letting you down.”

Jaehyun’s expression grows more miserable at this. “I-I’m sorry, (y/n), I never meant to make you feel unheard. And I never meant for it to feel like you couldn’t tell me about these things.” 

“It-It’s not your fault, Jaehyun,” you protest, but he shakes his head, obviously disappointed in himself.

“No, (y/n), I’m supposed to be your best friend. How stupid can I be if I can’t notice when you’re having a hard time? I didn’t even stop to ask how you’ve been doing because you seemed to be doing fine. But I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken things at face value. I’m such an idiot,” Jaehyun berates himself. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

At his sincere apology, you can’t help but admit it to yourself—you desperately needed Jaehyun’s support as your best friend, but you were too scared to ask for it. And honestly? You felt immensely lonely without his words and presence to comfort you. 

“(Y/n), I hope you know that I see how hard you work. I know your sleepless nights and how much effort you put into every single thing you do. Despite everything you’re going through, you’re always trying to be better than the person you were yesterday, and it’s something I truly admire about you. But I hope you know it’s okay to be imperfect and flawed and to not be okay. I want to be here on your good and bad days. I just wish I could’ve been more vocal about this earlier… I’ve really taken you for granted, huh?” Jaehyun sighs wetly, taking your hand in both of his. He’s still crying; you both are, actually. What a silly pair the two of you make. 

“Thank you for trusting me and sharing all of this. It literally means the world to me,” Jaehyun rambles. “I promise I’ll be a better friend to you, someone you feel safe opening up to about anything, whether that be your achievements or your struggles. And (y/n), if it’s not too much to ask… Could I ask you to be more honest with me in the future?” He stares at you imploringly. “I don’t want you to think you have to go through all of this alone. I want to be here for you the same way you’ve always been there for me… Okay?”

“....Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” you respond softly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I… I’ve never told anyone about this before. But thank you so much for just listening, and not judging, and accepting me for me…” While you appreciate Jaehyun’s presence at this moment, a new wave of fatigue washes over you with all this emotional vulnerability and talking. “Jaehyun… I’m still feeling really tired, so I might go back to sleep. Sorry, I know you came all the way here to see me, but here I am being shit company,” you apologize regretfully.

“Oh! That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jaehyun stands up from your bed to leave. When your fingers slip from each other, you feel an acute loss of warmth—both in your hands and in your heart. He makes his way to the door, slipping on his shoes, and your heart sinks. There’s something you badly want to ask of Jaehyun, but you’re too much of a coward to tell him what you truly want. You don’t want to be on your own right now, but you’d probably be asking too much of him. Accepting your fate, you settle in bed, attempting to take a nap so restless you’re sure will be of no help to your exhaustion.

However, Jaehyun himself stops in the doorway. He turns back around, a distraught look on his face. “(Y/n)... I don’t want to assume, but are you sure you want to be alone right now?” he begins. “I mean, we just had this really heavy talk. Can… Can I keep you company? I promise I’m great at cuddles—that’s what all my other friends say anyway when I annoy them with my hugs.”

When you nod, that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to shuck off his shoes, strip his jacket, and climb into bed with you. With your ear against his steady heartbeat and his comforting arm around you, you’re asleep in no time. It’s the best you’ve ever slept in months.

[lunaviee]

can i request where reader cant go to their match and they got angry which makes them say the word "i shouldve invite *ex's name*, she wouldve come." and reader reaction can be up to you! with rin and maybe chigiri? thank you so much and please stay hydrate! sending loves <33

OHHH MYYY GODDD ANONNN……..

the way i gasped so loud when i saw this OMGOMG

okay so, idk if you’re wanting PURE ANGST for this but like i’ll add fluff at the end anyway bc the more the merrier😇😁😁

OKAY SO UMM..i’m a procrastinator, it’s no secret. so uhh chigiris will be posted when i remember to work on it, sorry😭

“are you serious?” “you’re..kidding, right?”

chigiri hyoma and rin itoshi x reader (seperate) click here for chigiri’s

tags/warnings: angst to comfort, swearing, arguing, NOT PROOFREAD…

synopsis: if he’s so insistent on you being there to support him, why doesn’t he do the same?

a/n: i am SO SORRY this took so long </3 i got busy but this request is soo..chefs kiss i hope i did it justice😓

RIN ITOSHI—

the faint mumbles from the tv filled rin’s apartment as you made a quick snack to eat, knowing your boyfriend should be home any minute. you sat down on the couch to eat, turning the tv volume up as background noise while you looked out the window. it faced a gorgeous view of your city, along with a nice view of the sunset.

after some time, you were back in the kitchen to clean up a bit.

*click*

the jingling of keys indicated rin was home, a tad later that usual but you payed no mind to it.

“hey,” you smiled, “welcome home, how was practice?” arms wrapping around his neck as he set his bag down, taking his shoes off. his arm snaked around your waist to pull you closer to him, planting a kiss on your temple.

“eh, same as always. those lukewarm lunatics don’t know what they’re doing”

you hummed in response, rin pulling away from you to look you in the eye. he spoke again. “we have a game in a few days. you’re going, right?” it sounded more like a demand than a question.

“oh uh about that” you broke eye contact, a twinge of nervousness tainted your face. “i was given an extra shift at work so i’ll be swamped, i don’t think i’ll be able to make it, sorry”

his before softened gaze now pierced right through you, full of annoyance. “really? i thought you’d want to come to my games.” his arms left your torso and flopped to his side, lower back resting on the counter.

“i do! i always do..rin you know this, i go to your games when i can but lately i’ve just been more busy an-” you rambled.

he cut you off, “quit the excuses.”

“excuse me?” you replied, shocked at how his silver tongue was so quick to interrupt you.

“i get it. you’re busy. you don’t have to make up these half-baked excuses and try to make me feel better.” he moved from the counter, straightening his back and showing his full height, looking down on you as if you were less than him at that moment.

“excuses? rin, what the hell are you talking about? i’m being serious.” confusion swirled in your mind, what was up with him??

“you know, i never had these problems with *ex’s name*. she was always happy to come to my games. no excuses, no lies. every game, she was there. why can’t you be like that?” rin’s venom stained words singed into your brain, glints of annoyance pooled in his eyes. a twinge of guilt settled in his gut the minute those words spilled out of his mouth, but he payed no mind to it.

“what?” your eyes widened in disbelief, “are you fucking serious?”

how could he say that? sure, rin was petty and used bitter language when he was upset, but comparing you to his ex? that was a new low, even for him. after all of the crap you two talked about when mentioning both of your exes in the past, you’d assume he’d want absolutely nothing to do with her. right?

“why wouldn’t i be?” not once did his gaze leave your figure, was he serious? “she actually took my career seriously.”

you were beyond shocked, eyes narrowing as your brows knitted together. “invite her then.” you retorted. “maybe i will, maybe then i’ll have someone who actually supports me there.” he scoffed.

his words made your blood boil, eye twitching before you spoke again, “get out.” you gritted through your teeth, fingers fiddling with the hem of your (his) sweater as to not lose your cool.

“what?” he scoffed, not expecting such a response (he really should have, what was he thinking??)

“did i fucking stutter? or is your skull too thick to hear what i have to say. get. out.”

the strikers face further scrunched, yet not moving an inch. “this is my apartment. if you’re upset, then leave.” he brushed past you without a single regret as to what he had said, not entirely believing you’d actually leave, where else did you have to go?

“fine then.” you slipped your shoes on while dialing a number on your phone before slamming the door, leaving the rin to sit with his thoughts. you had much, much more to say, but the thought of having to stay in the same vicinity as you made your stomach churn.

who did you call? why, your best friend of course, who else would you trust with this information. sure, rin’s teammates weren’t bad people to open up to, but you needed someone who could understand your feelings through angry sobs and incoherent mumbles.

it was only a matter of time before you were sat on yours friends bed, angry tears burning your cheeks as you rambled on about how dumb your boyfriend was.

“break up with him” your friend mumbled, only half joking. “me personally, i wouldn’t stay with a man, nah, a BOY who brings up his ex when he’s mad..”

you lifted your head from the tear stained pillow to meet your friend’s gaze. “yeah but……ugh i hate when you’re right” your sentence ending with a laugh

“i’m kidding..kind of” she sneered “either way, screw him, ghost his ass until he comes crying at your doorstep”

“what??” you shot up from your position, now almost on top of your friend. she was faced you, a more serious expression painting her face

“seriously though, you shouldn’t have to deal with that shit [n/n], he has the be the one to apologize.” you nodded in response, good thing your friend had a bit more common sense than you did in that moment.

“yeah, you’re right, thanks”

“any time, now do you wanna stay here or are you good to go home?”

“i’ll stay here and bug you more”

“okay then” she laughed out, the two of you now laying on the bed on your backs, staring at the ceiling

• { time skip - two days later } •

the radio silence that came from rin was like torture, did he not care? not a single text or phone call, not even a message given from one of his teammates. it was hard to stay positive.

sure, he deserved the silent treatment, but he was your boyfriend. his company single-handedly made your days better. being separated because of a fight that he didn’t want to resolve was stupid.

your friend tried taking you out today to get your mind off of the situation. it was going well, up until you walked into your favorite cafe.

you were met with a face you were too familiar with. rin’s. his eyes widened in disbelief and he twitched, almost as if he was about to run after you. and so you and your friend took one good look at him and immediately left. if the argument was going to be resolved, it wasn’t going to be in a public cafe.

your friend pushed you by the shoulders as you both shuffled out of the doors, you pulling out your phone to find another place to go to at the same time.

“shit.” was the only thing that rin had managed to mutter out as he saw the two of you running away from the cafe. it’s not that he wanted to avoid you. it’s that he was ashamed. he was scared that nothing he would say would amount to enough of an apology for what he said.

rin was scared that this was the end of you two. his worst fears of losing the one person he knew loved and understood him were coming true and is was his fault. the past few days were filled with doubt and regret, his teammates even noticing his practices were depleting.

the rest of the day came and went, your friend dropped you off back at your apartment where you collapsed on the couch, left with your thoughts once again. you were about to just pass out on your couch and ditch work the next morning, like you have been for the past few days.

that was until you heard a frantic knock on your door, jolting you awake. your worried expression dropped to one of annoyance and bitterness; it was rin. but, he looked different. his usually blank expression was now one of exhaustion and hurt.

he’d been..crying?

your eyes widened in confusion, you opened your mouth to tell him to leave before he cut you off.

“i’m sorry” he blurted out

he was looking down to you, except it was much different than before. rin looked desperate, his eye contact only further confirmed it.

he reached his hand out to place it on your shoulder, hesitating. you opened the door to let him in, sitting on the edge of your couch next to each other.

“i’m so sorry [name].”

“i know.”

“it was stupid, you mean so much to me and i..i ruined it.”

“i know.”

“please, you don’t need to forgive me now i just…”

he paused. rin’s head moved to look at the ground.

“i just need to know you won’t leave me. you can ignore me for as long as you’d like and i’d understand. but just…please i need you back” he begged, small tears brimming at his eyes, what a rare sight to see.

silence fell between the two of you, but it wasn’t like the comfortable silences you’ve shared before. it was tense and awkward.

“okay” your voice was barely above a whisper, “i won’t leave you, i think we both know that” you say with a smile.

rin looked back up at you, eyes wide, full of hope and relief.

“but listen i…” the moonlight only further highlighted just how much the two of you had been crying

“it’s gonna take some time. that was really fucked up, you know that?”

“yeah..yeah i know. i’m sorry. you’re nothing like her i-”

“i know.”

the two of you were now looking at each other, faces flushed from crying and relief. the silence was comfortable again.

“let’s just..go to sleep, yeah? we can talk about it in the morning, i think we both could discuss better afterwards” you offered, leaning closer to the armrest of your couch as you were too tired to go to your bed

rin hummed back in response, laying on your chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. your hands found their way to his hair, heartbeats practically synchronizing.

“you know..i’m still not going to your game” you whispered, peeking one eye open to watch your boyfriend. he smiled, “i know” a laugh spilled out of his mouth before you both fell asleep.

[scoobydoodean]

WAIT WAIT WAIT pleaseeee expand on sam separating his soul himself??? i’ve literally never heard this before (i really wanna agree cause i just can’t work out how cas just did not realize he’d forgotten sam’s soul)

This is just a pet theory I have. I first suggested it here when talking to Shal about Bobby not clocking Sam as soulless. The TL;DR is that Sam has a tendency to create emotional distance to protect himself from grief and other painful emotions. Shal's careful examinations of scripts reveal that it's even in the script direction when Mary dies that "Sam disassociates". In 8.08, Sam is paralleled with Fred, who disassociated to deal with grief (I talk about Sam distancing himself from his emotions in season 8 more largely here). I've been slowly collecting (when I remember) little bits and pieces around this idea that Sam tries to distance himself from his emotions in the tag #i just stopped—named that because of 11.11 when—after being confronted by Lucifer—Sam apologizes for leaving Dean in Purgatory, saying—seeming perplexed by his own actions:

I should've looked for you. When you were in Purgatory, I... I should've turned over every stone. But I didn't. I stopped. And I've never forgiven myself for it.

So this pet theory I have is that in The Cage, to cope with the torture being inflicted on him, Sam simply separated his soul from his body. It was the most extreme possible case of dissociating from his own suffering possible.

6.22 strengthens my belief in this theory because Sam splitting into three pieces is treated as a defense mechanism. It's kind of like an Id/Ego/Superego situation, except that the pieces are soulless Sam, Sam the hunter and family man, and the Sam who remembers hell.

SOULLESS!SAM: Well, your BFF Cas brought the Hell-wall tumbling down and you, pathetic infant that you are, shattered into pieces. (he points at Sam) Piece. (he points at himself) Piece.

SAM: I - I have no idea what you're talking about. SOULLESS!SAM: Why would you? You're jello, pal. Unlike me. SAM: What are you? SOULLESS!SAM: I'm not handicapped. I'm not saddled with a soul. In fact, I used to skipper this meatboat for a while. It was smooth sailing. I was sharp, strong. That is, 'til they crammed your soul back in. Now look at you. Same misty-eyed milksop you always were. That's because souls are weak. They're a liability. Now, nothing personal, but run the numbers. Someone's got to take charge around here, before it's too late. 

Sam and soulless Sam have a power struggle inside Sam's head over who gets control. Soulless Sam is really an enforcer, trying to protect Sam from his worst memories. As we see after Sam kills him:

You think I'm bad? Wait 'til you meet the other one.

Then when Sam finds the other part of himself:

SAM: I have to know what you know. What happened in the cage? TORTURED!SAM: Trust me, you don't wanna know it. SAM: You're right. But I still have to. TORTURED!SAM: Sam, you can't imagine. Stay here, go back, find that bartender, go find Jess, but don't do this. I know you. You're not strong enough. SAM: (exhales) We'll just have to see.

Of course, one could argue that Sam's subconscious creates this scenario with soulless Sam and the Sam who remembers hell because Death told them Sam would crumble and Soulless Sam was scared of the fallout of having his soul reinstalled. But idk. I feel like it goes deeper than that, and tortured Sam and soulless Sam's attempts to protect Sam from the truth feed into that to me.

[natailiatulls07]

The golden trio Pt 5

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - a cringy pick up line, cheating, slight argument and swearing

A/n - I’ve been ill all weekend so I have just been getting some things done so you are getting loads this weekend

There is also kind of a time skip half way through, but you’ll know when 🤍

How is everyone feeling about todays Grand Prix?? 🥹

The golden trio

-

Text (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Hey, are you lighting cause I make you McQueen 😉

Lando Norris are you trying to use a pick up line on me?? 😳

Of course darling, just trying to shoot my shot

Well in that case if you want to shoot your shot, take me on a date

Tomorrow 6pm I pick you up

Do I get to know where we’re going Mr Norris??

Nope. I’ll see you then 😘

See you tomorrow 6 pm 🤍

yourusername has posted a story

Gossip Groupchat (White: Reader) (Red: Charles) (Blue: Max)

Hey Bee, me and Charlie have found a new film wanna do a movie night tonight??

Yeah! It looks like a great film, we think you’ll like it 😁

Oh I’m sorry guys, I have a date tonight…

A date?!

With who!??

Um…Lando 🤭

Wait what?? Has finally come to his senses and remembered that night?!

Idk, he sent me a very cringy pick up line to shoot his shot

Yeah and then what??

I then said if he wanted to shoot his shot he should take me on a date so yeah he’s picking me up at 6

Ohhhh so that’s why you were busy all day

Yep, I was getting my nails done and doing some last minute pieces

Well we’ll probably see you just before you leave so I won’t give you the talk just yet 😇

Now I’m considering sneaking out 😅

Don’t you dare young lady!!

lando.jpg

Shooting my shot for her 😍

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 63,935 others

username I want dates like this 😩

username Lando taking photos of their date is just to make us jealous 😤

= username Well it worked 🫤

charles_leclerc Don’t forget about her curfew

= lando.jpg Of course, don’t want to get on the big brothers bad sides 😳

= username Overprotective brothers!!!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

I had a great time last night, thank you 🥰

Of course, I had to win you over and I hope I’ve done that 🤞🏻

You were successful in winning me over

Yayyy!! Wanna do it again some time?

I’d be a fool to turn that down 😅

-

yourusername

Monthly dump 😚

Liked by carlossainz55 and 63,826 others

username Not Y/n posting Lando’s back like we don’t know who she’s dating like girl we know, it’s okay 😂

username The food is making me HUNGRY!!

username She’s just like us, posting the ‘worst’ photos of her bestfriends lol

landonorris Who’s that in the McLaren hoodie?? 😏

= yourusername Idk but he uses some cringy pick up lines 😃

username Not Max being an iPad kid 🫣

f1gossip

Spotted: Lando Norris sharing a kiss with another girl whilst Y/n L/n is seen shopping on the other side of Monte Carlo

Liked username and 2,383 others

username Isn’t Lando and Y/n a thing??

= username Yeah…

= username That means he’s cheating on her 🫢

= username Yeah…

username Why?? Lando why??!

username No I can’t, I just can’t today no!!

username He continues to fuck up my ship! FUCK!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Baby I’m so sorry!

No you can’t go ‘baby’ me. No not after you go and kiss another girl Lando.

It’s not what it looks like, please let me explain

Go on then explain why you were passionately kissing another girl in your car

Seen 4 mins ago

I can’t, I’m so sorry darling

Please it didn’t mean anything to me honestly

Baby? Y/n??

I love you sweetheart

Twitter

username Lando Norris you are gonna need to hide from Max and Charles once they see what you’ve done mate 😳

username He has fucked up so much!

username I bet she’s devastated, poor girl 🥺

username Every thing is okay, everything is okay, everything is okay… we’re fucked

Text (Blue: Max V) (Orange: Lando)

Look I’ve tried to talk to Y/n but I’ve just fucked it all up I’m sorry

Yeah you can say that again. Mate if you’ve come here trying to get cut of any slack you might want to think again

I know, I just wish I didn’t do it

Yk that girl LOVES you, she has been the happiest she has ever been since she started getting hate but you fucked that up

Yeah

Charlie and I have tried to get her out of her bedroom but nothing so you gotta think of something and fast

I will, I’m sorry

I know you’re sorry, please don’t think that me and Charlie hate you because we don’t

Thank you, she’s lucky to have you guys

We’re just abit annoyed that she has been hurt once again

-

Tag list: @eviethetheatrefreak @janeholt3 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @namelesssav @amalialeclerc @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @ravisinghs-wife

[babydollmarauders]

THROWBACKS — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

y/n.hughes

liked by jackhughes, colecaufield, and 122,167 others

y/n.hughes alexa, play fifteen by taylor swift

though if i can make an amendment, there has been nothing greater than dating the boy on the hockey team 🤍 that boy has given me the world and the absolute cutest daughter in the world

tagged jackhughes

Load more comments

colecaufield damn, talk about some throwbacks!

y/n.hughes my phone made a compilation of these today and you know i just HAD to post them!

trevorzegras you post 3 photos of me and i don’t even get a tag?? i see how it is! hoe’s before bro’s i guess

y/n.hughes trevor, you’re letting your drama king out

trevorzegras he deserves to shine. don’t stick him in the basement when he deserves the pent house. he deserves to bejeweled.

y/n.hughes don’t you dare use the sacred word of mother against me! i advise you to check the book of Lover; chapter 14; verses 0:50-0:54

jackhughes it’s like i married trevor… oh i just got chills

user92 we ask, and y/n delivers omg

jackhughes lovie, you are the greatest thing i’ve ever done

y/n.hughes do you wanna reread what you just said?

jackhughes lovie, MARRYING YOU is the greatest thing i’ve ever done

jackhughes i still stand by my original comment though

y/n.hughes momma is gonna see this!

jackhughes we have a child, do you think she doesn’t already know these things?

slknight35 oh wow, you’ve been down tremendously for THAT man since you were 15? look at him

y/n.hughes since i was 13*

slknight35 that’s actually worse

_quinnhughes you two make me sick in the best way possible

y/n.hughes my bad, Q— didn’t know you were allergic to love

_quinnhughes you’ve been with him too long, he’s corrupted you. what happened to my sweet little y/n that asked me how the star wars movies were made if they would’ve been floating in space? she would never talk to me like this

y/n.hughes hey! i was young!

_quinnhughes you were 14, you were old enough to realize they weren’t actually filmed in space

y/n.hughes i was a dreamer and a believer! your brother seemed to have found that quite charming

jackhughes you were like an innocent little kicked puppy that i wanted to take home with me and keep safe forever

y/n.hughes @/jackhughes why do you speak? you’re SO pretty, and then you open your mouth

jackhughes technically, i didn’t say it, i typed it.

y/n.hughes @/jackhughes crib.

jackhughes yes, that is where El sleeps?

y/n.hughes @/jackhughes no, that is where YOU will sleep. act immature, get treated immature.

jackhughes i’m sorry, i love you

user27 these photos omg i just can’t even believe they’ve been together THIS long

lhughes_06 sis, i say this with so much love… why?

y/n.hughes what do you mean “why” ?!

lhughes_06 i mean, why the pictures? why Jack? why?

y/n.hughes you guys look adorable! and because he’s always been the cutest boy to ever walk the planet to me

lhughes_06 i think you need your eyes checked

jackhughes what is this, hate on Jack day?!

_alexturcotte i’ve always been stylin 💯

y/n.hughes hey remember when you used to call me at 7am and ask what you should wear?

_alexturcotte idk what you’re talking about. that doesn’t ring a bell.

y/n.hughes really? cause you did it for 5 years

_alexturcotte lovie, please, you’re killing my game

y/n.hughes you have game?!