#not having close friends anymore doesn't help it

[corvus-ix]

Another You

Yandere Phainon x GN! Trailblazer Reader

Imagine Phainon have two close childhood friend, but he feel so much closer to the other than Cyrene

He doesn't understand why but he just does

Imagine how devetation he felt once he realizes his feelings but it was too late

Everyone and everything he know from Aedes Elysiae including his beloved is now gone

Phainon try not to linger through those memories for it only bring him back to that day

But most of the time he couldn't ignore the ache he feel in his chest

And then

You come, alongside Dan Heng and Caelus that day

He couldn't stop staring, he even try to impress you before Tribbie came up and interrupt them when he realizes what he was doing

Not once did he took his eyes from you, you just look so much like them

But that isn't right, you were suppose to be dead!

He try to start casual talk with you which was easy and it seems that you don't mind answering personal questions but not all questions was answer but he was fine with it

As You answer his question, not only the two of you lookalike but as if Phainon is talking to them at that very moment

Your likes, dislike, your favorite food, preference, it's like you never died to begin with!

And he couldn't help himself, Phainon start to visit and accompany you almost everywhere that rumors start to spread about a Chrysos Heir having a lover

Who could blame those bystanders, the way Phainon approach You is like a man courting his very beloved

Of course these rumors reach Your ears and your try to establish boundaries with Phainon

Phainon was disheartened but he didn't give up, just tome down his actions

And then one day

"I don't know Caelus, his nice and all but I'm starting to feel uncomfortable around him"

"Avoiding him will be kinda hard but he did push the boundaries you set"

"I don't know Dan Heng, NAME kinda have a valid point. Phainon barely leave their side and they way they look at them it's like he's full of...."

The other voice who might belong to Caelus cut off

He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he did and he stay in hope to hear more but he couldn't hear anymore from that cut off

Phainon was afraid, what if you distance yourself from him or worse leave him behind!

His heart won't be able to take it!

Phainon decided that for now, he'll be the ones who make some distance in hope not to scare you away

But one day he'll make sure your never able to leave his side ever again

He'll be damn if he ever lose you all over again

====================================

My original plan:

"I don't know, he remind me of Kevin so much but I know his not him.... Mei killed him long time ago..."

"I understand your anxiety but you shouldn't worry too much about it"

"I'm just afraid if Phainon will ever fall to same path as Kevin fall and I couldn't just watch it happen all over again"

He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he did and he stay

He remind you of someone name Kevin as much as You remind him of Them

You wouldn't mind if Phainon take Kevin place, would you?

At this point Phainon lose much reasoning and believe that your appearance is a gift from the Titans

And the uncanny similarities between the two of you and Him reminding you of Kevin

He'll be damn if he ignore those (non existent) signs and lose you all over again

Phainon is actually motivating me to write something for Kevin

Edit: forgot to add this but the Kevin Reader mentioned isn't HI3rd but the one in Acheron trailer and Acheron mentioned during her and Welt conversation at Penacony

[m1rotics]

Possessive

cult leader's son!hongjoong x fem!reader (however body isn't mentioned

this is literally just hongjoong being a weird little freak but this marks the end of her ability to be friends with anyone besides him. hongjoong is a HUGE red flag.

hongjoong is staring again, you can see him over yunho's shoulder, off in the distance, next to someone's house. you can see his wide eyes trained on you. you force your gaze back to yunho with his bright smile and kind eyes. he's cute. charming. the kind of boy that oozes happiness. you're pretty sure he bleeds sunshine.

yunho's a nice boy. he's fourteen just like you. he's so sweet, it makes your teeth ache. he's got an easy laugh, and he helps your neighbors out from time to time— hell, he's even helped your mom a few times. he's everything hongjoong is not, and that— that bores you. thinking too much about it feels like pressing on a nasty bruise, so naturally, you ignore it.

despite the realization that this is beyond rude, your eyes wander back to hongjoong. he tilts his head, and grins but it doesn't reach his eyes. it's not mirthful. it's lackluster, dull like a rusty blade. it's barely visible, and you barely make out the idents of it but somehow you see it. then, his mouth starts moving, "come here."

your eyes drift back to yunho, tuning back into what he's saying. something about his brother, whose name you didn't catch, and how the heat has been killing him lately . mundane stuff. immediately, your mind jumps to other things. you don't know what hongjoong wants from you because he hasn't talked to you since that time by the river, and you're not close, like, at all. (you choose to disregard how bummed out you were when he started keeping his distance again.) you're barely even acquaintances.

you look past him again, but hongjoong isn't there anymore. you don't think he's gone far though, he wouldn't have. he wants you to come to him.

and that's what you do.

looking at yunho, you cut off his ramblings with a small, "it's been so nice talking to you but I have to go."

yunho pauses, eyebrows knitting together. he scans your face like you're a puzzle, trying to understand. after finding nothing, he says, "um, okay."

you don't give him any time to ask questions, rushing off in the direction you saw hongjoong. it doesn't matter that he's gone, you'll find him somewhere in the area. once you make it, a hand tugs you behind the building. you stumble a bit, narrowly catching yourself on the wall. you turn around to face him, hongjoong doesn't say anything, simply looks.

"wha-"

"who was that?" he snaps, cutting you off.

"who? yunho?"

"you know his name" he says, terse "is he your friend?"

"kinda," you mutter, and hongjoong smiles again. it's sharp this time, threatening. he steps closer and you back up, "really? you two seemed close."

stunned, your mouth opens and closes. there's so many questions running through your head, that all your words die on your tongue. hongjoong inches closer, you back away as much as you can until your back hits the wall.

"tell me, is he your boyfriend?"

you vehemently shake your head. hongjoong laughs; short puffs of air through his nose.

"then you must be fucking him? is that why he looks at you like that? because he's been sticking his dick in you."

the words impale you, leave you stuck there, choking on air. they poison your blood, make your heart pick up. beating faster.

"why," you swallow, throat dry, "do you care?"

hongjoong's eye twitches and he sneers, borderline snarling; mouth curled like a wild dog. he looks feral. he looks mean. dead eyes staring back at you. they bounce around from your eyes, to your nose, to your mouth and back up. his hands settle on your arms, slightly below your shoulders, and squeezes. his grip aches. you can feel the bruises blooming beneath his fingertips.

"I care," he spits, his tone scathing, "because you're mine."

you blink dumbly. hummingbird heart pounding in your chest, beating against the cage of your ribs. you would've laughed at the childish decree if the situation was different, if anyone else uttered such nonsense, but it's hongjoong saying it that makes it difficult.

"do you understand?"

slowly, you nod.

hongjoong's grip eases up a bit, "good, but I want to hear you say it."

"I'm yours," you mumble. you can't tell if you're embarrassed or shy or nervous and this feels like selling yourself away. what you do know is that your stomach is flipping and eating itself from whatever it is that you're feeling and looking at hongjoong's surprisingly pleased expression, you think you might've gotten in over your head.

in a flash, hongjoong's back to normal like nothing ever happened. his face blank, eyes vacant, hands dropping to his side, "it'll be in your best interest not to forget it."

and with that said, he leaves.

[ghouljams]

Hey Ghoul, hope your doing well. I'm sending this in hope of some advice. You can totally ignore this if you're uncomfortable. I've gotten myself into a certain situation and I can't stop myself anymore. A few years ago I started exchanging flirty texts with this coworker/friend. We no longer work together but are still in touch, every few months we would grab dinner together (with another friend so we're never alone). The thing is he's married, and recently had his first kid. Our less than friendly interactions started when we were still working together, during his first year marriage they were having issues and he confided in me, and I was having alot of family issues and I leaned on him, and we became close. We never did anything physical, it was more like dirty jokes and occasional flirty comments back then.

Over the last few years it's escalated, I recognize he would text me whenever he was horny and always lead the conversation to suggestive texts. I never started it, but I never stop or discouraged it either.

The thing is (and it's no excuse) I'm in my 30s and I've never been in a relationship, never been the girl guys choose or wanted and am extremely lonely. I like the attention he gives me and I can't stop myself from replying or engaging with him. I want to stop, I don't want to be the other woman. I know he'll probably never leave his wife, certainly not for me.

This is probably the only male attention I've ever gotten in my life, and I know male validation isn't something I should strive for but having never received any it feels nice. It doesn't feel nice being a dirt secret.

I don't know. Thanks for reading if you got this far...I just don't know how to stop myself

Wow. This is a lot friend. I want to start by saying I think for your friend's wife's sake I think you should block him.

While you're not without blame in this situation, this man also sounds like absolute trash for letting this go on this long without stopping. He has a wife and child, and any good person would not be cheating on their partner like this. That said, you should show some compassion for not just the wife but yourself and get this man out of your life asap.

This validation and attention feels good in the moment because it's fleeting and you don't have to worry about any of the hard relationship stuff, you get the pay off of "you're hot" without any of the emotional stuff of a relationship, and as good as it feels in the short term it's not going to help you in the long run. Which you already know because you've said it doesn't feel nice being a dirty secret.

Now. It is a terrifically false statement that you have "never been the girl guys choose or want." It is an unkindness to yourself and a categorically untrue thing to say. You don't know how many people have seen you and wanted you or known you and never said anything about wanting you. And to wallow in self-pity and say "but I do, and that number is zero" is just stupid. It's stupid and it's unkind to the people that pined for you, it's also just-

like there's a measure of self-centeredness to self-loathing that I think makes people think they know other people and how they should think better than they actually do. You don't know how many people or who has loved you for 30 years, and unfortunately you probably never will, but to assume that number is zero is just statistically improbable.

I've been where you are, when you've never gotten what you think every other woman does it's intoxicating to get that male attention. You feel almost honored that you finally got cat called, that some guy is giving you attention through flirty texts, that people are liking your bikini photos, or your male friend from college is rekindling your friendship. Craving this sort of validation isn't great, but it's understandable. What I think is more important to realize is that these men don't respect you, or care for you, and are using you as a means to an end.

You should block him because you deserve better than being a dirty secret, and you should start trying to love yourself more. Just because you're not your type doesn't mean you're no one's type, and just because you've never dated doesn't mean no one has wanted to date you. Most people cannot identify when someone is flirting with them, but that doesn't mean people weren't trying.

Give yourself some credit, and this guy's wife some peace of mind.

[theloveoffootball10]

ғᴏᴏʟɪsʜ - ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪs

complete masterlist

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪs x ᴏᴄ Something a little bit different from me tonight. A very old one shot reimagined as a Lando fic because I can’t help myself.

ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ᴡᴇᴀᴋ 'ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

Five years ago when Lando Norris asked me to be his girlfriend, I was the happiest I've ever been we may have been young but we were in love. I never thought one person could make me feel like I was on cloud nine everyday the way he did. I had the life so many dream about; the most loving boyfriend, amazing friends, the nice house, the nice car, the luxury holidays. I had it all. It sounds perfect doesn't it? Don't get me wrong it's an amazing lifestyle until the person you love more than anything in the world cheats on you. Not just once but regularly. That's when none of that stuff matters anymore it becomes a world of anxiety, doubt and worry. Where is he? Who is he with? Will he come home tonight? This is the life I'm living now as Lando Norris's fiancée. 

"Where've you been?" I ask Lando casually as he strolls into the bedroom of our Monaco apartment. Deep down I know where he's been and truthfully it makes me feel sick but I don't actually want to hear the words come from his mouth. In my head it will be more devastating to actually hear him say what I know has been going on behind my back for months now rather than acting oblivious.

"Just out with some friends, you should come next time" Lando says as he starts getting ready for bed. I don't understand how he's so blasé and how he can act like he's doing nothing wrong.

"That would be interesting wouldn't it" I mumble to myself as I turn the TV off and pull the duvet over myself, cocooning myself in.

"What was that?" Lando asks as he stands in the doorway of our en-suite.

"I said maybe one day. Night Lando" I say turning my bedside lamp off to put an end to our conversation. Hearing the bathroom door close I finally let the tears roll down my cheeks. This seems to have became a more regular thing lately. Lando comes home late with no explanation and I cry myself to sleep. Thinking about our relationship I question how things have got this bad between us. How have we allowed things to get this bad?

"You cried yourself to sleep again last night didn't you?" My best friend Sarah says the next day as I sit in her kitchen.

"What makes you say that?" I don't even know why I'm trying to deny it. It's obvious when you look at me and sadly she's been through this with me so many times she knows the signs.

"Your eyes are red and puffy. The bags under your eyes are something else and your mood tells me that you're beating yourself up. Why do you let him do this to you Taylor?" Sarah says not even needing to ask what's going on.

"I love him Sarah. I haven't actually asked him about anything yet but it's the same signs as the last four times" saying things out loud makes me realise what I'm actually letting Lando do to me.

"Taylor get some self respect! This might sound harsh but I can't watch Lando hurt you any more. He's cheated on you multiple times! You know about four girls he's admitted to but let’s be honest there's probably a hell of a lot more and every time you keep running back to him. You throw him out for a few weeks maybe two months at the most and he begs enough and promises to never do it again and you take him back because you miss having him around! No one deserves to be treated the way he's treating you" listening to Sarah I know she's right but I can't physically admit that my relationship with Lando has ran its course. It's destroying me mentally. 

"It's not all bad though and I know he does love me" I'm aware I sound pathetic but I truthfully believe that Lando does still love me. We’ve been together for so long now, he’s the only one I think about when I think about forever.

"This isn't how you treat someone you love. Look I'm not going to say anymore because you know I have a strong opinion on this and we don't agree so rather than this ending in an argument I'm going to stop talking. I've told you what I think but sadly I can't make any decisions for you. If I could he'd have been binned off a long time ago" I know everyone who knows me would be happy if I left Lando for good but I can't, I don't want to be alone. I can't picture a life without him in it. I feel like I've put so much time and effort into our relationship to throw it away.

sᴏ ɪ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ

"Will you come in with me? I know exactly what I'll be going in there to and I'm not prepared for that" I say as we pull into the garage at mine and Lando’s apartment and I see the strange car in one of our parking bays.

"Taylor this is so wrong. We've been away for a hen weekend and now you're worried to even go in your own house because you know your dick of a boyfriend has most likely cheated on you, again. However I can see how anxious you are so I will come with you but I'm telling you now I'm not being held responsible for my actions if he has got a girl in there" getting out of the car with Sarah I'm terrified. I know Lando has cheated on me probably too many times to count but I've never actually caught him with another girl let alone with another girl in our home.

"Lando?" I say walking into the kitchen not seeing Lando anywhere. This just confirms to me that he's still in our bed with a slut. Yes I'm going to call her a slut even though I don't know her. Mine and Lando’s relationship has been in the public eye for as long as I remember and there's photos around the house of us together. There's no way she can't know about me. Walking into our bedroom I feel sick. Lando is still sleeping with the fake red headed slut next to him and I feel like I can't breathe.

"You don't deserve this Taylor. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know anymore Sarah. I could always block it out when I didn't see anything but how will I get this image out of my head? She's in my bed" I say. I'm angry and I'm shaking but I don't know how to act.

"Not for much longer she won't be" Sarah says walking over to the bedside table where she grabs the bottle of water that is sat there. Before I know it she's pouring water over Lando and whoever that is in my bed "get up now, both of you" I don't think I've ever heard Sarah so angry in the whole time I've known her.

"What the fuck are you doing? You absolute psycho!" Lando shouts as he jumps out of bed.

"How could you?" I say when Lando looks at me actually realising I'm there and not just Sarah. I'm scarily calm and I'm even scaring myself. I don't even shout, I haven't got it in me to raise my voice.

"Taylor babe this meant nothing" always the same speech. It never meant anything when Lando tries to justify his actions.

"Don't you think you better leave?" I say looking at the girl in my bed "I don't care who the fuck you are but get the fuck out of my bed and get the fuck out of my house. Now!" Seeing the look on Sarah’s face I know she never expected that tone to come from me, hell I didn't even expect it.

I don't take my eyes of the red head as she climbs out of bed gathering her clothes, within minutes I hear her leave the house. That's when I let the tears flow free and Lando gets the brunt of my anger. Next thing I know I'm throwing things at him, I'm hitting his chest and I can't stop the tears.

"Why would you do this to me!"

"I'm sorry! It was a mistake. She didn't mean anything to me. Taylor she's nothing compared to you" Lando says trying to pull me into his arms but I resit and pull back.

"Don't touch me!" I scream at Lando not wanting to be anywhere near him.

"You disgust me Norris! You've got the most amazing girl and you treat her like this! You don't deserve her! She should've left you the first time she found out you cheated" Sarah shouts at Lando and I know she’s right. I should have left years ago.

"Keep out of this Sarah! This is between me and Taylor! Why are you even here?"

"Because your fiancée was too scared to come into her own home by herself because she knew you'd have a slut here! Look what you're doing to her! You're destroying her piece by piece!" Sarah has so much built up anger towards Lando I can see this exploding as both of them raise their voices at each other.

"Stop it! Stop it now! Both of you!" I scream nearly hysterical looking between my fiancée and best friend "I know you don't like each other but stop! Sarah will you give us a minute please?" I say knowing I need to speak to Lando alone.

"I'll be in the kitchen" Sarah says giving Lando daggers as she leaves the bedroom.

"Tay..." Lando starts but I cut him off.

"Don't bother Lando. I don't want to hear it. From my perspective you have no excuse for any of this. We were supposed to get married! Christ it's not like you don't get sex from me because you do! I could understand a little bit more if that was the case! I want you to leave" I say determined this will be the last time.

"Taylor please don't. I love you"

"This isn't how you treat someone you love Lando. Just go please. Stay with a friend, stay with your family, stay with one of the sluts you've been shagging behind my back I don't care anymore. All I know is that I want you to pack a bag and leave. There never will be a wedding" I say throwing my engagement ring on the bed before walking out of the bedroom not giving Lando the chance to respond. This is the final straw I can't go through this anymore. After five years I need to plan a life without Lando Norris by my side.

[itsmeyaspider]

You are mine~

Yandere Risotto Nero x female reader x Yandere Diavolo/Doppio

Trigger warning: yandere, stalking, possessiveness, obsessive, forced kissing, drugs mentioned, cursing, blood and gore discribtion, Yandere Risotto and Diavolo are their own trigger warning

Notes: I'm back and I finally rewatched Jojo again! I can't believe how long it took me to write something for my all-time favorite Jojo characters !!! I hope you enjoy the story :D

Also a huge shoutout to my Italian friend who translated me some words<3333

It's a pleasant night in Napels, the moonlight shines in the dark alleyways and the only thing you can hear are the soft footsteps of the lost souls who are still outside. Most normal people wouldn't even think of going out at this time of night, the crimes in Italy are increasing day by day and even in the daytime you aren't safe anymore.

But none of that bothers a beautiful (h/c) haired woman, why should it? After all, she is a Capa in the well known mafia group Passione. Many people respect her, something she values very highly. Still, she doesn't like walking around Napels at this late hour, but we'll, she didn't really have a choice, the boss, who is the head of the organization, has ordered her too see him as soon as possible. This suprised her a lot, as she didn't know what he really looks like until today. She had contact with him by phone from time to time, but never ever face to face. So what the hell did he want from her?!

The woman who bears the name (Y/n), continues to walk in the direction that was directed to her. The boss is really overprotective when it comes to his identity, but she already understood that as she joined the mafia. (Y/n) changes sides of the street as she slowly and careful enters a dark alley. With a small, annoyed sigh she looks at the piece of paper with all the coordinates on it. Did she really get lost?! This can't be true...

She bites her underlip as she is about to turn back, maybe the house is in another allway. As she starts to walk again, she suddenly hears a strange noise behind her. What the hell? It's probably just a stray cat taking food out of one of the garbage cans. God, I'm so jumpy. But as she is about to leave, she is suddenly grabbed by something- no, someone. A strong, powerful grip pulls her back into this godforsaken alley.

Just as she was about to say something, she looks into ice cold, demon like black-red eyes. Her (e/c) colored eyes widen in shock, as she immediately knows which man stands before her. Risotto fucking Nero, the leader of La Squarda Esecuzioni. What is he doing here? Did he watch her?!

"What the hell are you doing here?! Let go of me, I need to-" but before the woman could continue, the stand user interrups her. "(Y/n).." His voice sounds rough, almost beastly. His gaze rests on her, like a brid trying to catch a worm and she almost notices a malicious, sadistic glint in it. "You shouldn't be here, bambola. There are a lot of dangerous people around at this time of night."

A sudden, involuntary shiver comes over her, something is strange, the way he looks at her, but above all..those words - those damn words scare her. "I-I can defend myself, no one is stupid enough to attack me." she says in an almost stuttering voice. "I don't see any of that."

The Capo's grip tightened as he pulls her closer to his muscular body. His other hand rests on her cheek as he suddenly grabs her chin and continues to force her to look into his possessive eyes. A gentle breeze blew through the alley, and everything about her wanted to run away, damn even her Stand couldn't help her right now. Not against him. "Mia. You are mine (Y/n). Do you understand that? Mine and mine alone. Since the day you joined the mafia, when you were a little fish in the water, I've watched you. And now after all these years I've been waiting for you..."

The black dressed man comes closer and closer, so close that she can feel his breath on her neck. Her (b/t) shaped body stiffens, as she is overcome by goosebumps. Surely, Risotto couldn't be serious...Is he crazy or perhaps on fucking drugs?! "Risottto, p-please let me go-." Suddenly she feels ice cold, rough lips pressing against hers, the woman tries to free herself, but the man doesn't even think about it. He puts his two hands on her hips, forcing her to hold still.

---

Meanwhile, a relatively short, pink haired man observes the whole situation. He hides behind a house wall as he glances at the woman from time to time. Anger erupts in him, how dare Risotto touch (Y/n)~chan like that?! He grinds his teeth as he suddenly hears an all too familiar sound. "Turuturu...turuturu" The man in the pink sweater looks abruptly around to see where the noise might be coming from. The boss is probably just as angry as he is- or even worse! He walks further into the the alley as he sees a banana peel lying on the ground, he picks it up as he holds it against his ear. "Boss?" He asks, only to be answered by an angry voice.

"Doppio, my sweet Doppio, make sure this filthy traitor keeps his finger off my principessa. Kill him for me."

The man called Doppio nods at his boss's words as he throws the banana peel on the ground. His light brown eyes darken as they twitch weirdly back and forth. After a little while, Doppio regains his composure as he slowly walks to the other alley where his beloved (Y/n) is being mistreated by a traitor. "You will pay for this Risotto. How dare you lay a hand on my (Y/n)!" His voice is no longer so cheerful and bright as usually, no this time it is filled with pure hatred.

The leader of the La Squadra Esecuzioni team immediately breaks away from the dominant kiss, as he licks his lips, he places the woman protectively behind him. "And who are you?!" (Y/n) no longer understands anything, first she was kissed by another Capo without her consent and now there is another man she didn't even know! What the actually fuck. The woman takes a few steps back, realizing the seriousness of the entire situation she is in. She crashes into a wall as she looks around, maybe she could find an escape route or anything to get away from this men's!!!

Doppio's eyes start to twitch again, but this time it's much worse than before, he holds his hands against his head, as he watches on the ground. His body appears slightly more muscular and much larger than before, a raspy, vicious voice can be heard. "I'm the one who will kill you. Do you think you can get away with this, Risotto? First you betray my organization and than you dare to steal my wife." The far too intensive green eyes shine with anger, how is this even possible? He clearly had brown eyes before!!!

Risotto crosses his arms as a small smile graces his lips. "So the boss is finally showing himself huh? I must have really hurt you then. But still, (Y/n) is mine, I will kill you and take over the organization myself."

The woman continues to search for a way out, unable to ignore their conversations. First it turns out that this pink Bimbo is the fucking boss himself and now he is also obsessed with her??? What the hell has she done in her whole life to end up there? Slowly she remembers the she only started out as a small drug dealer, she wanted to save some money for college. But now that she thinks about it, she has rises to the level of a Capa really quickly. Most of the people take years to climb the ladder in Passione, especially when you want to be a Capo. But she only achieve it in a few months.

'Shit! I'm an idiot!' She bites her lower lip, as she lets out a small sigh. She needs to risk everything now, the situation won't get better and she really don't want to stay any longer. The two men's are visible busy with each other and so she sneaks along the wall as inconspicuously as possible. Maybe, just maybe she will make it to the street and then her Stand could help her to escape, then she would he safe, or at least she thinks so. But before she could make another small step, she feels a sharp, unpleasant pain in her heel. A razor blade rips out of her now bleeding heel as she falls on the ground, she lets out a scream. The pain doesn't stop, it burns like hell, the red liquid slowly flows onto the stony ground.

"Where do you think you going bambola? Did I allow you to leave?" The voice of the black dressed man pulls her immediately out of her thoughts. Her now almost watery (e/c) colored eyes are filled with fear. The woman wants to say something, to tell them both to stop treating her like a piece of meat, but something inside her stops her from doing so. Is it the fear of being hurted again? Deep down she knows thar she don't stand a chance against any of them but still, she can't just do nothing! (Y/n) looks down at the ground as she really tries to get up, but before she finally manages to stand on both feet's again, she notices more blood running onto the floor then before. Suddenly she feels a strong hand on her shoulder and as she tries to look back at the two Stand Users, she realizes that the pink haired one is missing.

"(Y/n) you're not going anywhere, you will come with me." Her body immediately flinches, the dominant voice makes it clear that she has no other chance. Diavolo grabs one of her loose strands of (h/c) colored hair, as she starts to play with them. "I will kill Risotto now in front of your cute eyes and then I will take you with me. You will learn not to have such fooling thoughts ever again, otherwise I will make sure that you can never walk again."

Tears run down her cheeks as her hope slowly but surely fades away. This is madness, no matter which of these two psychopaths would win, she would get treated like an animal. She suddenly falls onto her knees as she inwardly prays for both of them to die! This couldn't be ture, this simply couldn't be. It has to be a fucked up dream, otherwise she will slowly break and will never be free again. 'I should never started selling fucking drugs.'

---------------

Here is a small drawing I did for this fanfiction! It's only Yandere Doppio but I really hope you like it<3

[missgallavjch]

i feel so love-starved it makes me feel so miserable

[wereh0gz]

Sonic au where everything's the same except the werehog was feral during unleashed. Nothing else abt the plot changes bc at his core sonic is still himself BUT he's more Creature. Bigger, fluffier, can't talk, overall more animal-isms. Yeah

[thealwayshappyanon]

I had this girl, her name was Octavia. She was an incredibly kind when I first met her, you're very quickly became good friends. I would soon learn that was not the case, she became obsessive, murderous, and toxic... It turns out she only became friends with me because she "loved me", but it wasn't love it was obsession, toxic killer obsession. She traped me and her web of lies, forcing me to be your quote on quote lover. Anytime I was upset even in the most mild ways, she would hurt me

*he held up his hand, in his anon form his hand had four fingers, but whenever he ever took his glasses off his hand would only have two fingers*

That's how I've lost most of my fingers, and how I became crippled.

*a subconsciously reaches to his side feeling metallic plates lining his back*

I eventually learned to entirely turn off my feelings when she was around, to only show a perfect happy smile, and I learned how to dry my tears in mere seconds. We got into a fight one day, over me crying over for my dead brother, I had only begin to start to learn how to control my anon magic, and I said a empty threat "I wish you were stabbed a thousand times over", and it better happened, all I hear is just scream as the knives penetrated her flesh, if I turn around to see her dead on the floor.... It's been 18 years since that's happened, it left me with quite a couple problems, like for one whenever anything bad happens to me I get emotional immediately because I hid my emotions for so long, I simply don't know how to control them anymore. I also have a harder time trusting people to touch me, even if it's something as simple as a handshake, I tend to pull back scared, because all I can feel is Octavia her hand gripping my arm its strength being so close to breaking my bones..... Plus that damned Sun Glass Corp and here pill dont help much.

It's been getting harder and harder to deal with it by the day. But of course I don't have anybody to tell this to do I? Plus best to just keep it in, I don't want to scare anybody.

*it was at this moment he realized he just said everything, this surprise them quite a lot as he usually doesn't just talk like this, it would have took literal torture to get this out of him with anybody else, and trust me he's been tortured before. Is this what happens when he's giving therapy to other people? It would make sense.*

Huh....

Hello Peppino! How have you been?

*the first thing you immediately notices that his voice seems to be normal, it's no longer popping and hopping in random places. He holds a small tub where a container full of spaghetti*

- @thealwayshappyanon

❝Oh...?❞

[alren-ki]

.

[spotaus]

Pt 22! (An actually sweet one!)

[dr-gaytorius]

Very awesome that my night was ruined because other people can't act like adults in ways that result in majorly divisive schisms in our community despite the fact that is entirely counterproductive to having any chance of surviving the next 4+ years. I'm just going to have to play my cards right and try to reach these people because they're all my friends but have decided they're each other's mortal enemies. For frankly stupid reasons. Terrifyingly flippant and fickle and honestly I just think some people take for granted the bonds they have because they don't know what it's like to have them suddenly taken away by death, or be betrayed, or left behind. They don't know how good what they have is because theyve never experienced just how bad it can be. And so they don't have the perspective of that loss and loneliness and hurt to fully comprehend the value of what they have. It's sad to say the very least. What a harmful waste.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

A this point we’ve got so many threads going, I gotta sit down and focus for them, too, ( ´ ▽ `  )ゝ

AND YEAH EXACTLY? Out of everyone, it genuinely boggles my mind they never connect, especially when Kate’s openly yearns for what Mark can offer? It's concerning now, too ??? (〇_ｏ) Does she understand she can be vulnerable without having a sexual, or sexual and romantic relationship? Does she have any connection outside of TT? Did she ever have one? If she's leaping at possible connections, was she and Eve ever close? Does she feel like she has anyone?There's shit to explore here and the show just casually moves on? STOP. SLOW DOWN. WHAT'S GOING ON HERE? I'd even argue Mark needs a friend who also doesn't have a looming, like, threat of romantic connection (cough, Eve, 'cause future!Eve what the fuck), while he's convinced he can't have normal non-heroic friends? They'd genuinely benefit from bonding with another?

AND YEAH? Robot's casually admitting he stole Rex's DNA, is now wearing his face, got swept under the rug TOO QUICKLY? Ain't that WEIRD? Like, it feels we're rushing to establish new dynamics without EVER exploring anything about them. 'Cause you're making such great points, here, why doesn't Immortal talk about betrayal to the TT/New!GoG? Why isn't anybody horrified after being lied to for years? Ain't anybody concerned if Robot would just wear your face what ELSE would he do on a whim? Can they trust him anymore? WHY ARE WE JUST MOVING ON, HELLO? Where's the team break up? Where's the arguments? Where's the bitterness, the wound of betrayal, mistrust? I'd even argue Kate and Mark can bond over thinking you know someone, I'll die on the Make-Them-Friends Agenda.

ALSO, again it goes so fast I didn't even process the weirdness of Samson, 'cause why wasn't he at the funeral? I'm going to go insane over the fact we never got any Samson and Nolan? WHY? They keep just saying things then moving on, like it's just the new status quo. Him clawing his way back for insurance, steady pay, etc, could lead to exploring how TT work for the same thing! How it works. (Like will Mark ever get paid for this stuff?) Also, why wouldn't Mark try clinging to any mentor he could get now he's Dad's the Worst Remodel? Why not grasp onto any help? And the potential for Samson, like the guilty relief? How it could've been you? And then, what to do when powers are back, do you fear your vulnerability more or less? Powerlessness saved you once, no? Even if it's irrational association, since he's got more power now, when they're called to a meeting does he feel wary, knowing that's how it happened? Immortal and Cecil are only ones really paranoid or wary, but give me more. Why isn't there a reaction or exploration with Samson as he was uniquely pushed back and only now, given a chance again, which came after his former coworkers were SLAUGHTERED.

ALSO SPEAK ON IT? I'm far too tired to speak clearly, here, but the lack of any insight on how they function on a systemic, interconnected global level, the utter absence of any politics, even to answer who pays for construction post-battle, baffles me. Yes, yes, Invincible is taking the shape and tropes within heroic genre, but relying on the assumptions of the audience only works so far. It leaves questions on how this universe, in particular, actually operates.

Even if it's one off lines about cost of aid, construction costs, diplomacy, heck, do heroes have to be extra careful in specific countries? If there is a global registry, what qualifies you, and can countries cherry pick whose allowed within for emergencies? What's the law like for this? Is there a United Nations for Heroism? What are the benefits? Pay? Can, and have, heroes have unionized? Do you have to report / file a quota to access said benefits? Patrol hours? Can you be cut from the registry and heroic acts made illegal by financial penalty, or does it mean any costs are billed to you individually? Do they have to give their real identities for said registry, and what happens when there's a data breech? Like, are the GoG called that because they have access to ALL nations to help? What does it mean in the context of vigilantes? Do heroes have ranks? How much information is put on file, accessible?

AND YES. Nolan's "protectiveness" becoming isolation, restrictive. GIMME CONFLICT, PLEASE. YEAH, I'd imagine having a partner is already risking it for heroes apparently, so having a vulnerable child is 100x times. I'd love if hero-parents are an actual rarity, or there being an almost unspoken understanding to retire/break for years to actually be in the child's life, earning Nolan odd looks for not doing so. Like "Oh, you're not gonna...? Hm, I mean, it's your kid!" People are already opinionated on parenting, I'm sure hero parents make it 10x worse. ALSO YES. GDA? Do they try discourage parental leave on some "too many heroes cannot retire at once" type beat? Do they offer "babysitting" services that also act as monitoring?

AND YEAH? I think about that, was Mark an accident? Was raising him too much, considering Nolan's Functionally Over Seas, and Debbie's got her own hardworking career going? I can see there being a frustration with raising Mark alone, and omg, please, I love the idea of him being like GoG's Shared Nephew, or just straight up parented by a whole group of Heroes. Does that mean he, as a baby, was lowkey in a car seat while Darkwing or War Woman flew a plane for a mission? Did they just come over and babysit normally? Did he wander around GDA, does he know the in's and out's of the GoG's base intimately then, to the point it's mundane? As he got older did he ever just stay there after school if Debbie was busy + too young to be home alone and someone was always there? I know Debbie doesn't trust Cecil, but fuck it, was there ever a point he had to babysit? And Debbie lost trust in him, specifically, for anything else after that? Even, back to Samson, when GoG died and Nolan was just "injured" and not being investigated, did Mark call or reach out to Samson? WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HAVE A GOG as a whole network?

Trying to explore every crack in canon just drives me further insane because I want more of what could have been explored and then just isn't?????

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[rixsjwb]

waist problem geto suguru x reader

part 2

suguru has a habit of always putting his hand on your waist, even when you're both just close friends.

whether it's needing to get past with a 'my fault', his hands have a magnetic pull to the curve of your waist, whenever you're hanging out with the group of friends satoru, shoko, sukuna and toji and some others, you've become almost touch blind or lost all feeling on touch whenever suguru holds your waist. he does it so much that you don't even notice it anymore until people point it out.

" are y'and suguru a thing or..." You hear satoru say, " Why would you think that?" You say out of genuine curiosity.

you can feel suguru apply comforting pressure to your waist, which slides down to your pudgy, curvy hips, his vainy hands flexing.

"You flirt with everyone all the time. You don't see me asking if you're together." You shrugged, you lean your head on sugurus chest that he seems to bring you into.

eventually, satoru drops the accusation but doesn't seem fully convinced, but you don't mind.

the assumption continues to flow around in the group, sugurus hands always all over your body, hips, waist, and even going as far as to hold you from just under your breast to give the push up bra effect, ogling at them too.

pulling at the belt loop of your jeans before sliding a hand to rest on your waist, whenever he's sitting down while you're standing near him, he can't help but wrap an arm around your hips. leaning his head against your hip.

whenever he's down he pulls you by the waist snuggling into your chest, and on a rare occasion he would squish your boobs like a stress ball. which always made you laugh at the funny feeling.

overall, you can't ever keep him from not gripping your waist. He'd pull you closer to rub your stomach, letting some fingers slip up your shirt, but nothing too crazy.

note: THANK YOU GANG FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT, especially you guys in the comments😋😋, this is the most likes I've ever gotten on a post, and I'm honestly baffled but I'm greatful, thank youu all😍😍😝😋😊🎉🎉😈😈🥹🙏🙏

note 2: part 2 is out!!

[djenxuelmxue]

The main thing tho is! That I feel like dad feels like I'm taking up too much space as it is. Like he's obsessive about not wasting money and I'm literally wasting money by being here. He is retired so I'm putting pressure on him. And I have less money yhan before so i have even less ability to move out so I feel trapped.

And i feel unwanted. That the space I'm taling up is too much. That I don't deserve to breathe the air bc im a parasite. I feel totally trapped and pressure builds from feeling like I donr have space ro more and breathe in.... like i have to do something but idk how--

I am trying to achieve my dreams and I spent all morning yesterday making my new planning document for this year. Certainly THIS year it will work. But if i just have to get something asap to pay the bills-- not be even more of a burden when my money runs out-- I will be too exhausted to work on my dreams and do some menial job I hate. I've done those mind number jobs before and far from leaving room for creativity they totally sapped my mind and body of any energy so . That's not the future I want.

[psychoticallytrans]

I do wish that "oppositional sexism" was a more commonly known term. It was coined as part of transmisogyny theory, and is defined as the belief that men and women, are distinct, non-overlapping categories that do not share any traits. If gender was a venn diagram, people who believe in oppositional sexism think that "men" and "women" are separate circles that never touch.

The reason I think that it's a useful term is that it helps a lot with articulating exactly why a lot of transphobic people will call a cis man a girl for wearing nail polish, then turn around and call a trans woman a man. Both of those are enforcement of man and woman as non-overlapping social categories. It's also a huge part of homophobia, with many homophobes considering gay people to no longer really belong to their gender because they aren't performing it to their satisfaction.

It's a large part of the reason behind arguments that men and women can't understand each other or be friends, and/or that either men or women are monoliths. If men and women have nothing in common at all, it would be difficult for them to understand each other, and if all men are alike or all women are alike, then it makes sense to treat them all the same. Enforcing this rift is particularly miserable for women and men in close relationships with each other, but is often continued on the basis that "If I'm not a real man/woman, they won't love me anymore."

One common "progressive" form of oppositional sexism is an idea often put as the "divine feminine", that women are special in a way that men will never understand. It's meant to uplift women, but does so in ways that reinforce the idea that men and women are fundamentally different in ways that can never be reconciled or transcended. There's a reason this rhetoric is hugely popular among both tradwifes and radical feminists. It argues that there is something about women that men will never have or know, which is appealing when you are trying to define womanhood in a way that means no man is or ever has been a part of it.

You'll notice that nonbinary people are sharply excluded from the definition. This doesn't mean it doesn't apply to them, it means that oppositional sexism doesn't believe nonbinary people of any kind exist. It's especially rough on multigender people who are both men and women, because the whole idea of it is that men and women are two circles that don't overlap. The idea of them overlapping in one person is fundamentally rejected.

I think it's a very useful term for talking about a lot of the problems that a lot of queer people face when it comes to trying to carve out a place for ourselves in a society that views any deviation from rigid, binary categories as a failure to perform them correctly.

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨