#so he doesn't really get why murder is bad

[andromedicasphyxiate]

Hello chiljren 😈😈😈 mommy's byaaaaaack 😈😈😈 with a BYAAANG 😈😈😈!!!

Guys this beautiful Pic looks like the view from the back of my apartment (that has more unruly bushes tho(which I still love ❤️❤️❤️)and is a lot less pristine looking than this glorious pic lol) but this pic is so lovely, and made me miss it soooo much, so I decided to put it on my blog 😭😭😭😭

Ok so in case anyone was wondering why I've been silently rotting on the Blur (that's what I will be calling tumblr affectionately from now on) and posting only pics and shyet (read that in a valley girl accent) is cuz I just got really fkn bored of my own fkn typing voice and...needed a little bit of a break from myself? Idk, I was giving myself the ick

So anyway, I decided to lie down for a bit. I've been contemplating my language choices too, I swear and cuss a lot and I have since I was 12 but I don't know how I feel about it. Like I thought I'd take a minute and make up my mind about it, but I couldn't. Eeeeeeeeee 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Honestly swearing is the way I punctuate my sentences with aggressive magnitude and general rage. Like who would I FUCKING be without that lol. And I guess my last aggressive streak died down by like 80% when my mom threatened to murder me but some still remained, and I tend to swear more when that's the case. That's why everything has been so sailor-y around here. Pirate-y actually. Arrrrrr. ☠️ 🏴‍☠️ 🦜

So anyway chiljren, let's see, what HAS little mommy been upto? Mommy's been RELAXING. Don't be too happy tho, it's the calm before the storm cuz your uncle (my little brother) is coming home in a while and we're all prepping for that. He's coming home after a year but he only has time to stay for like 15 days (tech jobs do be like that sometimes xoxo), So my mom and dad and I are trying to pack as much as we can into that!!!

It's mostly gonna be all about food tho, cuz it's hard to get vegetarian food in America outside of Indian restaurants, and he gets bored of Indian food only cuz that's all he gets to eat on the daily, and if he wants pizza or fast food or something...he can't just order it from outside cuz the cheese tends to be non-vegetarian and like...what's the point of eating stuff without cheese?! Or else there is cross contamination with meat, which again, we don't consume.

I mean he can get vegetarian cheese and cook for himself but he doesn't like his own cooking much. It's not too bad tbh, but it...is. 😂😂😂 And I mean mine and my mom's is waaaayyyy better. Indias pretty traditional like that, women cook here for the whole family anyway and the men kind of just lurk gratefully in the background, haha.

So anyway, sorry for the rant!!! Basically now, I'm making a list of all the food I'm going to cook while that ungrateful schmuck is here. He wolf's down everything I make, and then he says it was ass 😡😡😡 and then he sends me memes like this:

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Maybe I WILL never find a man 😭😭😭 but that's OK, I forgive my brother cuz he's DUMB. And u can't fkn fix dumb, now can you?!?!?!

Either way, I've been prepping for the cook-a-thon that's about to transpire at my household.

Ok enough ranting for rn, I'll do more on whatever I reblog next. xoxox wuv u!!! 🎀🎀🎀🎀🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🩷🩷🩷🩷🌺🌺🌺🌺✨️✨️✨️✨️

Carpeted

[isetfiretomyself]

Yandere Test Subject X G/N Scientist Reader

I promise I did have something for 100 followers 😭 I spent a week drawing them all but I hated the quality and the end product soooo let's not talk about it 👀 Thank you so much for 100+ followers though, genuinely means a lot - (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ Jay

Trigger warnings! Mentions of murder, I mean the Yandere is isolated from the real world, not much else he's one of the more needy ones ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌, This is all fictional I don't condone toxic behaviour irl!

Now this is the same universe as Yandere hero and Yandere Villain. When humans have so much super strength and speed of course the government was going to want to control it! There's only so much they can do with contracts and training but if they were to make a hero? They have full ownership! (Full control)

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was the only subject because they realised too late this was a terrible idea. He was aggressive, and strong...far too strong.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject spent his whole childhood in tests and never really had a connection with anyone. Not that he wanted one, he hated all these damn people in lab coats.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who had to be chained and muzzled while getting tests done because last time he was free he broke the poor scientists arm just by grabbing it.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was the exact same when meeting you for the first time. He snarled and growled more like an animal if anything. What he didn't understand was why you got so close.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was even more surprised when you unchained him from the wall. Giving him a chance to walk around you.

"Can't expect you to trust me if you can't move, now can I?" you smile a little, Yandere Test Subject steps forward in your space.

You look up. he's huge, 6'4 at least. You know about his violent past as well but you know he's not going to change if your team continues treating him like this.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was monitoring you, watching you chest rise and fall fast. You're scared like everyone else but your brave enough to stand next to him. He can't describe it, he doesn't like it but he doesn't hate it either. (poor boy was never taught how to describe his feelings)

"I'm (Reader)!" You put your hand out. All the other scientists monitoring you in another room all flinch or look away. excepting you to have your hand ripped off. "I'm new! I'll be working on your case. I'll try and help you set goals you can aim to achieve!"

🦠 Yandere Test Subject GRIPS your hand, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"And what goals would those be?" He's voice is deep and gravely, like it's been damaged. "We could take you to the garden!" You squealed out, his grip was in fact painful but you tried to hide it.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject face soften. "I got told that wasn't allowed?" He remembers destroying half of the lab because he wasn't allowed outside as a teenage. It took a whole swat team to tranquilise him.

"Well not right now but I do truly believe we can get you to that point!" You smiled.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who got used to you coming and seeing him. He would never admit it but he liked you. He was even allowed the muzzle off after promising not to bite you! (Oh Yandere Test Subject was such a biter as a child)

🦠 You felt bad for Yandere Test Subject he didn't even have a name at first!

"What's your name?"

"00."

"Oh no not your number Hun, your name?"

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was embarrassed when he realised he didn't have one, what he didn't expect was you to come in the next day with a book worth of names. He chose Malachi.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who grew incredibly attracted to you. Hugging you every morning, Obviously he got told that wasn't allowed but really try telling him no. You think that'd good well?

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who'd ask you about the real world all the time! He was envious when you'd let him about all the stuff you did but he was always fascinated by the real world.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who could finally go to the labs garden! (They finished building high enough wall around it)

It really hadn't been looked after. Everything was dead and the atmosphere was just depressing.

"Oh Malachi, I'm sorry." You felt really bad, like the worst bad you could feel. You got his hopes so high. "It's not your fault. They would of started neglecting this place years before you were even here."

His voice is low, he's upset but doesn't know how to manage it. You see his knuckles turn white has a clenches his hand into a fist.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was surprised when he felt you take one of his hands and started massaging it. It did help him relax a bit.

One time you were late for work because you were in the cross fire of a Villain and Hero fighting. By the time you got to work all the alarms were going off.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject had got loose trying to find you.

You were still a little disoriented when two hands grabbed your shoulders to turn you towards them. "Where were you!? Why weren't you here with me!?" Yandere Test Subject asks question after question and till he noticed the tiny cuts around your face.

You were swept off your feet and he started walking towards the medical room. By the time everyone had calmed down you were back in the observation room with Yandere Test Subject.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was confused you had never told him about the dangers of the real world. That's what you've been coming from everyday?

🦠That night Yandere Test Subject decided he'd had enough of the little routine they had for him. When he was a young kid they could stop him but he knows his power now. Nobody had time to warn anyone or to even scream.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was a bit embarrassed when he realised he found killing the easier part of escaping because god damn are road signs confusing. He had looked at you confidential details. He knows where you are, it's just getting to you he's struggling with.

You were laying in bed ,unable to sleep. Something just felt wrong. You got up to check your door was locked when you hear a thud from the other side. You yelp a little and go to run away till you hear "(Reader)! This is your place right?" Huh!? Why is he here!?

It didn't take you long to piece together what happened. The blood you were washing from underneath his nails proved as much. "I'm angry with you." You've learnt being blunt is the best way to be with him. "What!? Why!?" He sounds genuinely upset. "Because you hurt people! They had a life, a family!"

"They kept me there just for being alive...I think I had the right" He mumbles the last part not wanting to look you in the eyes. "I'll be good now ,I promise! If you teach me I could take care of the cleaning, the cooking, anything! Even if they realise where I've gone they're not going to remove me. They couldn't get me away from you even if they tried."

Apart from the creepy last part you realised he did have a point. They weren't going to do much about him living with you now...Great.

I like to think he then became a silly little househusband - Jay

Now I did think to celebrate you guys could choose what fic you get next!

All will be released but the order in which is up to you guys!

[hvnsinureyes]

You’re friends with Luka except it’s much deeper then that. Like when he first got drafted and moved to America you two became friends. So he considers you his first friend he ever made in the states and that’s really special to him. He considers your apartment the perfect safe space and is over there more than his own big ass house. He’s secretly been in love with you for YEARS, but will probably never tell you because this friendship is just too good to ruin and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you ended up leaving cause he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself. He def spoils you like you’re his girl too, he genuinely puts any other boyfriend or situationships to shame with his birthday gifts. Imagine trying to date a girl and her 6’6” millionaire nba player best friend giver her a necklace that’s worth more then you make in a year☹️. Ughhh he’s so down bad you’ll tell him you’re going on a date and he tries to plan other shit for yall to do together instead. Yap session over 💗💗💗

not even a request but i just had to write a blurb abt this like omg i'm in love?? thank u anon!!

it's honestly sick because everyone practically screams that luka is in love with you, but you don't understand where they're coming from!

when luka first met you, it was just so easy for him to get caught up in your world. you were so kind and accepting! while other people would make fun of his accent or barely make an effort to get to know him, you introduced yourself first and absolutely fell in love with his origin. whether you knew anything about slovenia or not, you happily listened to him talk about his home country. not with fake interest either, you actually paid attention. you didn't mind helping him get settled into dallas either. never shaming him for asking stupid questions, patiently explaining things over and over until he understood, and taking him out to restaurants and places where he could forget about basketball for a bit and have fun. so of course he's a little attached and maybe somewhat fell in love with you!

people look at you crazy when you say that luka stays over your apartment overnight or for a day or two (sometimes a week, to be honest). you always say that he should appreciate his house more, especially with how hard it is to actually find one nowadays, but he always brushes it off saying, "yours is more comfortable". when really, it's because he can't stand being in such a big home all by himself. you bring so much liveliness in every room you're in, so why not just stay with you half of the time?

since he's always around, even when you're going shopping, he insists on paying. it's almost annoying how quick he is to get out his card and slap your hand away when you try to pay with yours. over the years he gets really sneaky with it, like waiting until you go to the bathroom so he can pay by himself. what kind of best friend would he be if he didn't spoil you?

and yes, anon you are so right! there is barely any room for boyfriends and situationships because luka makes sure he takes up your whole space. they can try to butt in between you two, but it never works. none of them end up staying because they know they'll never be like luka. gifting you a whole vacation to cabo, buying you a birkin or cartier necklace like it's nothing? it's like that one druski skit where his girlfriend is getting better gifts from other people! he's watching them get all upset at you squealing over your new gift (knowing that theirs is next and definitely doesn't amount to his) with a shit eating grin like, "do better, bro." he is sooo evil.

and god forbid he finds out you're using tinder or going on a blind date. like hello? you'll be getting a 3 hour lecture about how guys can be either murderers/kidnappers, creeps looking for a hookup, or desperate old men. even if they're a normal guy, he still doesn't buy it. why not just have a movie night instead? or go to a restaurant? like don't be silly, just hang out with him instead!

he'll bring you to his games making sure you wear his jersey, post you on his insta, shout you out during speeches and everyone's like ??? are you sure you guys are just best friends? you're so smiley thinking he's just being sweet but no babe, he wants that cookie bad. it's so painful to watch because luka is so ready to be your man, but so much is holding him back? what if you say no? you guys could be friends yes, but it would never be the same. luka wouldn't know what to do if you weren't in his life anymore. you made his nights in dallas less lonely, making sure to appreciate his culture but also help him get used to a new one. giving him the comfort he needed, but couldn't get for so long.

ugh he's so cute i cannotttt :((

[fizzyghosts]

Hywel is inspired by a mix of my issues with stories with nonhuman protagonist/about nonhumans becoming human AND vet posts ive seen warning people about the dangers of anthropomorphisizing animals. Its fine to joke about your pets doing things out of spite or other human emotions, it does put you at risk of not being able to read their body language correctly. Cats dont cry out of sadness, a cat crying, with actual tears streaming down its face, is a sign of a medical issue. A dog smiling isn't doing it bc its happy, it means its nervous. Not being able to spot these is bad, and sometimes even dangerous, for you and the animal.

If you never get past Hywel's human appearance and treat him like one its like getting a reactive dog, doing zero research or training, and then taking it to a dog park. If Hywel mauls someone in town then its on you.

[silusvesuius]

t*lvas basically saying he'd rather be abused if it means he's learning more is kinda crazy. Chill before you get mora tentacle surprise'd in the mail

[monandre]

was not looking for you but hello gongous.. come to strawpage's sticker section often ?

[is-not-a-bell]

Danny's mind was racing as he approached the hidden lab. He was so close and yet he found it hard to keep moving. When his legs were too rigid to walk he forced himself forward by floating. He- he was right outside the man's lab. His father The growing cold was freezing by now, it felt pure relief.

Danny let his feet touch the ground again and for his invisibility to wash away. He made sure his foot steps were loud enough to be heard. Mr. Freeze was already staring at him when he entered, freeze ray in hand. "Who are you? Why are you here." He demanded. Danny raised his hands in surrender. "My name is Danny Fenton, four... four years ago I was diagnosed with Huntingtons disease."

That gave the man pause, and a mount to inspect the boy. He seemed completely unaffected by the cold. Pale skin completely not flushed, no sign of frosted breath and he wasn't shaking from the cold at all. What was this boy, a meta?

The back of his mind screamed about a boy, still just a baby. When Victor's work and Nora's illness became too much and he sent Daniel to live with relatives as temporary guardians. It was better for him to live people who could care for him, as much as it pained Victor and Nora. Then things went downhill and temporary turned to permanent. Victor was in Arkham when he learned that Daniel was put into the foster system and he didn't hear anything else since.

Victor was brought back to the present when Danny spoke up. "I dug up old files about me being taken by cps. From relatives of your's who were my temporary guardians." He was shifting nervously, looking to the ground. "I- I was hoping you'd let me join you."

"I've been doing my own research and my friend's grandmother promised to help funding but she's not a billionaire." Victor started walking to Danny. "I'm pretty good with engineering too, I can help you make equipment you need." He trailed off his rambling as the man stopped in front of him. Victor pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry" He said and Danny's heart clenched at those words. With tears threatening to spill, Danny hugged him back. "You couldn't have known."

Danny is the son of Mr Freeze

So! Danny was adopted as a Kid.

It was never really that big of a thing to him, just a small footnote in his life. He never really cared about finding his Bio Family, or even looking into it at all. His new Family was enough for him, no need to complicate it all that much.

But then, the Accident happened.

After he got shocked by the Portal and passed out, his parents had rushed him to the hospital. Apparently his Heart had been pulsing irregularly, so they had decided to not take any chances.

While at the Hospital, the Doctors noticed a particularly strange result in his blood tests. So, a few months after he had been discharged (it took a while for the blood work to come back), they asked him to come back in for further testing.

At first, Danny was scared that they had found out about his Powers. But when he walked into the Room, they had other news.

He had been diagnosed with Huntingtons Disease, a rare neurological condition that apparently had no known cure. The only possible way to contract the Disease was to have inherited it from one of his parents.

They said it was in its early stages at the moment, but as time passed he would become weaker and weaker, and he would become more sickly. They diagnosed that he had just over 5 years left before he died, and there were no treatments or cures that could save him.

Danny got a second opinion with Frostbite, since he knew more about Ghost Biology and might know if it was truly a fatal Disease for a Halfa.

And yeah, it was. No matter how much of him is Ghostly, he is still half Human, and the Human Disease in his body can and will kill him. And there's no guarantee that he will become a full Ghost upon death. For all he knows it will just End him.

So, Danny had a time limit to find a way to cure himself. He didn't have much time to study, what with the constant Ghost Attacks, his School Work, and keeping his parents from attacking innocent Ghosts, but he managed where he could.

Speaking of his parents, they had been looking into the disease as well. But they seemed convinced that they could find a way to save him by simply dissecting a Ghost to study its biology. (It was as if this was just a convenient excuse to dive deeper into their obsession)

After a while, he mamaged to resolve the Ghost Attack stuff and got his grades under control, but he was still making little progress on finding a Cure.

So, he looked into other people who might be studying the same Disease, to see if he could look I to their research. But that search came up empty.

There was nobody who wanted to fund research into such a rare disease, so nobody was studying it. There was one man who was studying it, but he was a convicted Supervillain. Danny decided that he would be his backup plan, since he wasn't sure how Jazz would react if he teamed up with a known Villain.

He just kept on studying his condition.

...

It had been about 4 years since his initial diagnosis, and Danny was 18. And he needed help.

He had made no progress in developing a Cure, and his condition had worsened. He could barely walk without a limp anymore, and his limbs felt weaker by the day.

He did manage to get some luck when he found out that lowering his Body Temperature would slow the progress of the Disease. He was never more thankful for his Ice Powers than on the day he figured that out.

But he had hit a roadblock. He needed help, and unfortunately there was only one place he could go to get it. The Supervillain he had read about all that time ago, Mr Freeze.

Now he was headed to Gotham City to seek his help, even if it meant becoming a Villlain himself.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes--"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, her arms a flurry of motion, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a huff, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of motion and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did--like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was--the shift. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up--the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice--wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean—maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second—wide-eyed panic—but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak. His grin was insufferably smug, the kind that practically begged for something to be thrown at him. 

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part--it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that soft ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile—the one that always made you a little breathless—spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

The words hit you like they always did--soft enough, but with the force of a thousand butterflies taking flight in your chest. You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy--your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over--but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it--your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[salemwasnteverhere]

How the Hashira men react to your neighbor asking you to be quiet

Characters: Tengen, Sanemi, Rengoku, Obanai, Gyomei, Giyuu,

Additional shit: Swearing, Sanemi fighting said neighbor, Rengoku being blunt, mentions of sex, ooc mot likely :p

Tengen

He couldn't care less

His whole thing is being flashy and loud so he wants you to be loud

Like it's not his fault that dick is magical

After he shoos your neighbor away he makes sure to be as loud as possible that night

He's pounding into your cunt and you swear your gonna break when he whispers "okay now scream exactly how big my dick is. Don't forget the tip color-"

He gets cut off by you hitting him with the pillow

Way to ruin the mood

But that doesn't stop him and instead he goes harder, making sure the bed creaks loud ASF for your neighbor

"Not my fault he doesn't know how to please a woman." Is his main reason for doing so

He really wants you to scream his name so it's imbedded in your neighbors head

"Morning N/N!" Him to your neighbor from the balcony while your trying to get out of bed and failing

"Actually die." Both you and your neighbor to Tengen

Sanemi

Cares alot

Why the fuck is that limp dick biscuit talking to you and him? Who does he think he is?

You were the one who broke the news to him thankfully cause if Sanemi was the one who opened the door then you'd have to see your husband through glass in a prison

Just kidding. The Slayer corp would get him out of trouble if he didn't do it himself.

Anyways

Sanemi made it his goal to piss your neighbor off as much as possible

Your under him, practically creaming on his cock, and he's slamming the wall yelling "This loud enough yet?! Huh!?"

Not kidding I can see him doing that

He quite literally had you against a window where your neighbors could see him destroying you just to make them mad or uncomfortable, hopefully both.

But then he'd get pissed someone else would see you all naked and fucked out so he settled for the wall next to the window

One day your neighbor, finally having enough, bangs on your door yelling and guess who opens it...Sanemi!!

Good Lord was he waiting for this

It took one punch and the guy was out

Kinda what happens when you put a normal dude against a guy who kills demons for a living

Rengoku

He's a good neutral between caring and not caring

Like he doesn't wanna make your neighbors mad but he also loves hearing your screams

So he tries to keep you quiet during sex but fails since he gets to into it to give a fuck

The next days his loud ass voice wakes you up

"IM SORRY FOR MAKING INCREDIBLE LOVE TO MY WIFE!" He's not being sarcastic thats his genuine apology

Your facepalming and you want to die when you see your neighbor and she can't look at you

"PERHAPS SHES MAD BECAUSE HER HUSBAND CANNOT PLEASE HER!" Rengoku says casually and you know she can hear you from outside in her garden

"Inside voices!" You place your hands over his mouth to try and shut him up.

It works for a bit before he's yelling again

You love your husband but holy shit you wish he would speak normally sometimes

He's actually quiet in bed though

So your the problem (real)

Obanai

I'm not an Obanai fan so forgive me for how bad his section will be

Obanai is a quiet mf, and you're not even that loud

It's your neighbor who was the problem

A little old man whose hearing aids apparently had the power of 67 suns

You and Obanai found this out when he was outside training and your neighbor came over

He was so sweet and polite and even chuckled at Obanai's redness

Obanai cared at first but got over it

You? You make sure to not make a PEEP in bed

Okay that pisses Obanai off but he understands your reasons

At least make a gasp or sum cause he's over here like "Wait does this feel good? Can she feel it? Did I forget where the clit is?"

Brother is STRESSING

Then you cum and he's like "ah"

Then he's like "Did you take it?"

You have to keep yourself from murdering him cause how tf would you fake squirting

Gyomei

Babe I'm not gonna lie, you're a screamer

Gyomei is built like a house and your telling me your just gonna whine and whimper?

NO

Your over here crying and screaming into his chest, neck, the pillow, anything.

And Gyomei loves it!

He can't see your reactions so hearing and feeling them let's him know he's doing good

Gyomei isn't loud but he's not quiet

He'll grunt and moan and praise you, but he's not gonna cry out.

Well he'll cry but you can never tell from what

When the pussy so good you start crying 😭🙏

When your neighbor politely asked you to be a tad bit quieter Gyomei actually laughed

Not in a 'nah we'll keep being loud' way but more of a 'sorry we'll be quiet' way. He also found it hilarious how you actually died of embarrassment.

Don't worry he thinks its endearing

Yet it was kinda hard for him since he enjoyed hearing you

But your touches and now quieter moans made that better

And then there's also you literally drawing blood from his back you were scratching so hard

Giyuu

Holy shit you have never seen him so embarrassed

Like you could shade match his Haori to him and get the exact same color

He was the one your neighbor told and he stopped working when 'loud' and 'moaning' left their lips

If a demon doesn't kill him then his own actions will

Giyuu isn't loud, and he loves that he can make you feel so good that your loud for him.

But he didn't want your neighbor back over at your house so he tried to keep you quiet

You were super confused when he held his hand over your mouth in bed and he just pointed to your neighbors house. Then you got it.

So you nod and try to keep quiet.

You know in school when the teacher tells you and a friend to shut up but they look at you funny and you break?

Yeah that was you

You were riding Giyuu one night and you were loud so he was like "holy shit I love you but please- I can't look our neighbor in the eyes anymore."

And you couldn't help but laugh

Like howling

You calmed down obviously but sex was very giggle filled after that

You've never seen Giyuu so panicked

But give him a week and he'll stop caring

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo'66 au ! old!serial killer! rafe x young!sugardoll!reader

warnings : daddy issues/kink. slight of rafe having a god complex. smut. sick love/obssession/behavior. age gap. size kink. gunplay. spit. mean!dark!rafe. mentions of kidnapping/murdering. dark content. be careful with the warnings.

author's note : i think a lot about rafe having a god complex. and the way it could fix him to have a girl who cherish him and love him like he's just the only one. as the same i think a lot of rafe being a cult!leader with a sweet lamb. anyways, enjoy !

you knew you weren't allowed to touch his gun, but you couldn't pretend that the forbidden rules didn't excite you either. the proof being that you were still with rafe even though he had kidnapped you. you had found the glock in the drawer, and now you were having fun with it to the point where you hadn't heard your jailer come home. you were too captivated by the handgun to pay attention to that.

“ will you teach me how to shoot ? ” you asked in a soft tone.

“ obviously not. but i can swear to you that if you don't put the gun right in my hand in a second, i will show you how i use it. especially on a little tiny thing like you. now stop playing and give it to me, sugardoll. i already told you to not get on my nerves. ”

“ are you a serial killer or something ? ” you said to him, not aware about his job.

“ no obviously, i'm a babysitter. see ? how well i care about little silly girls ? ” he answered with the most sarcastic tone. “ i think you already know what i am, but you like playing dumb. because you're desperate for my attention. you need me to explain things, to satisfy your need of validation. that's right ? ”

he moved from his place, and placed himself behind you, your small body caged against his bigger size. you could feel all the pressure of his strength on you, and you started to shiver when his breath came near to your ears.

“ since you want to play with daddy's gun so bad, i'm willing to give you what you want. ”

“ no, i don't want to play anymore ! ”

“ oh i'm afraid to tell it's too easy like that, sugar. the game doesn't stop when you decide. the game stops when i’m done playing. got it ? nod your head if you got it.”

you really started to be his doll, accepting to nod whenever he wants, to use you whenever he feels the need, to move whenever he decides. when you nodded your head, giving him a little look, he grabbed the gun.

“ you will kill me ? don't, i can be good ! ”

“ you can ? no, you will. choose your words better, sugardoll. why are you crying right now ? the worse it yet to come actually. now, open that pretty mouth of yours. ”

you refused, shaking your head. you were terrified that he would kill you.

“ i said open it. if i have to repeat it, i swear that i will snap dry this gun further in your cunt, and everytime a sound will come out your mouth, pushing it deeper inside. do you understand me ? now, don't you want to be a baby sugardoll, full of kindness and sweetness ? show me how sweet and pretty you are for me. and listen to me. ”

with tears on your cheeks, you slowly opened your mouth. you could feel rafe’s smile against your neck. you were so submissive, the perfect victim. he had chosen you well the day he saw you. like a true serial killer, he never missed his prey.

“ this is why you call me sugardoll ? ”

“ see ? i'm good enough to give you a nickname. ”

it was sick but you smiled, you felt like you were special in his eyes. maybe rafe had a collection of little dolls but you felt unique.

“ don't kill me. i'm begging you. ”

“ fuck, you don't know how hard you make me when you're desperate like that. but trust me, i will make you see soon how good you make me feel. it will be your reward for being this sweet for me, sugardoll.”

he spread your legs, holding them wide with his strong hand covering your trembling thigh while his other hand brought the front of the gun down onto your skin. passing the coldness of steel across your tummy, while you shivered at the thought of dying. when he got to your underwear. you had heard his smirk.

"oh sure, you don't want to die. you want to be fucked. it's so wet here, i could stick the gun in without even preparing you, it would slide off so easily.” his mocked tone made you yelp.

“ i'm not controlling myself ! ”

“ and you don't need too. let me take care of you. keep your mouth open. i will put my gun in. ”

“ i can't do this ! it seems very dangerous…”

“ then suck it well, sugar. especially, if you don't want me to empty the gun on your gorgeous throat. ” he warned you, while pressing his lips on your neck. it was not a kiss, but you were so soft for this little touch. you wanted to please him, to see him proud of you.

he rushed the pistol between your wet plump lips, and you almost choked on it. “ be careful, doll, daddy's gun it's loaded. ” he said with a smile that made your tears even saltier.

while you had started to do your job, his fingers were lightly pressed on the surface, fiddled with the trigger. he loved seeing your petrified eyes, he loved feeling your blood freeze inside your veins, the way you resembled a frightened and helpless animal. you were defenseless and he had no limits.

you lapped at the cold metal at first, your tongue rolling over the barrel, swirling like a needy pet, and licking every bit of the object. you didn't waste anything, moistening the weapon with your own spit, some trails dripped down your tits. rafe had pushed the gun farther, almost into your throat. you choked, a trail of saliva raining over your jaw.

there was nothing amusing about it, but he found it fun. you sucked like your life depended on it even though let's be honest, it did. you moved back and forth quickly, rushed every movement with a softly sloppy gasp. he loved, no he adored the view of your ruined face and your mouth stuffed by the cold weapon. your great job made his dick painfully hard. you could feel the gun under your tongue, and the way it abused you. you drooled, a batch of saliva engulfing one side of the charger.

“ slow down, sugardoll, you're about to melt. ”

you felt dirty for being turned on by something so humiliating, the way you were pathetic for every single thing he introduced you to. it was as if he knew what you wanted, and how to exploit it. he could destroy you as well as shape you. you were nothing but the doll he wanted to play with. he knew more than anyone how to make you feel good. he knew well how to play with his toys.

you were killing him slowly with the way you were going about it, your pink tongue tickling the barrel, your mouth swallowing the entirety of his gun. every inch moved in and out of your parted lips. you lost count of the number of times you almost choked to the point you could throw up, you did your best.

the cold air of the room hit the soaked fabric of your underwear. it had gotten so wet down there.

you tried to focus on this dangerous game but you saw his bulge growing, his crotch distorting his pants.

“ keep sucking, i'm not done. ”

“ but ..."

he ignored you and took off his pants and boxers, freeing his hard cock. the next minute he was inside you, completely buried to the point where you could feel him all the way to your stomach. you salivated on the handgun, making a rain all over it.

as he filled you up, his thick cock abusing your tight pussy, the position was totally different, you were lying there, still the gun in your mouth, but now he was fucking you. his eyes were on you, and you could feel that motivating him even more to pounded you. your juices pooled on the surface the deeper he went. the slobber gathered around the metal. he rushed away your tears with his thumb.

“ stop whining, sugardoll. you can't cry when daddy takes you so well. ”

you really wanted to listen to him but it was too much for you. you were full of tears and they constantly wanted to come out, even when you felt good. but it was like the more you cried, the more he bullied your pussy, and by that, giving you more reasons to whine.

“ jesus, i'm pretty sure that you really like that gun in your mouth. ” he said with a firm thrust that made you squirm, your eyes wettering as the sentence. “ you like being this pathetic ? don't worry, i got you, i'm not judging you, but don't mind if i take advantage of it ? of course, you don't mind. you love being this sick, you're just a needy freak. ”

he pulled out before putting it back in you, inched himself deeper and deeper, letting you breathless. he was more rough this time, his fat length stretching you wider. his hips slammed your skin, his sweaty balls slapping you in motion. you nodded your head, your loud moans echoed in the empty room. his heavy hand on your tiny throat, pressuring it every time your walls tighten him.

his big other hand squeezing your small waist, as your core wrapped him harder. “ see ? daddy's making you a new home, right now. ”

his breath was heavy and short, the sweat of his body pressed against yours, while you were about to explode, so close to the orgasm. you were crying even more. and he covered your mouth with his large palm. he hitted the right spot again and again, without a break. you reached the second orgasm quickly, and you waited for him to explode at his turn. but he was taking his time on purpose. he obviously liked to abuse this little cunt of yours, wrecking like it was nothing your cervix. he glared at your glistening eyes with a proud face, while hurting your sloppy cunt. “ be patient, sugar. it's a matter of time but daddy will make you melt, and you will make a big mess on his dick to show how grateful you are ? ”

you didn’t answered, even when he released your mouth from his hands, because of the overheating.

“ you better answer because i can go to the next round. ”

“ yes .. yes !! ”

“ you're so naive, sugar. trusting me this easy, it's your own fault if old men like me use you. like did you really think we will not go on another round ? i'm about to make you dumb. not only your brain, your pussy, all of you. after this, you will not be able to think, to talk and even to walk. ”

your tears made him cum, and you let out a noisy and desperate whimper. “ it's sad for you that i'm the only god you can pray for, because i'm going to ignore all your prayers, making you on your knees every time for nothing more than my own good. sweet lamb, i'm such an uncaring god. but you can't hate on me, even a little, such a pretty precious thing you are. ”

“ why ? ” was the only word that came out of your mouth.

in fact, you were a little sad about this, because you wished that he cared a bit, even an hint about you.

“ nobody deserve you like i do. nobody deserve to touch you, or put an eyes on you, no one. you're just mine, and i need you to understand that clearly. do you got it ? do you even understand what i mean ? i will never let someone have you. never. ”

“ i really love you. ”

“ not only you love me, sugardoll. you adore me, you cherish me, you can't breath without me. do you understand ? how trapped i made you.”

“ bu…”

“ quit crying. you wanted this, you begged for. ”

“ i thought you only wanted to kill me ! ”

“if i wanted to kill you, it would already be done. i don't mind having blood in my hands, i'm a killer after all. but yours, i promise, i would never dream of, sugardoll. ”

it was very sick. but his words made you smile.

“ i want to hug you ! ”

“ don't make me regret my words. i still can choke you to death. ”

“ can i ask a question ? ”

“ jesus, if you don't yap more than a thousandth time each day, you're dead or what ? i swear, tell me your question, but choose it carefully because it will be the last. so, use your dumby brain very well. ”

“ i just wanted to know…if it's the first time you do this with one of your victims ? ”

“ why do you want to know ? ”

“ you need to answer ! ”

“ and you need to mind your own business. ”

“ i asked you a question ! it's not fair if you don't answer it ? ”

“ you better not try to raise your voice at me because i can shout, and trust me, the tears i will bring in your face will not be that pretty. ”

“ you're still mean to me…nothing has changed. ”

“ and you're still annoying. yes, nothing has changed.”

and you smiled at him, your sweet eyes melted on his unhichanged look.

“ someday i know you will love me too ! ”

“ bold to have faith, better to work on it, sugardoll. ”

you gave him a sweet look, even if he was grumpy, you wanted him.

[sunvylovebug]

A bath together

↬Warnings: There are mentions of nudity but this is NOT NSFW, Y/N is a killer, mentions of murdering …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Gender Neutral!Reader, they/them pronouns and third person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬Author Note: He's such a green flag, such a sweet boy, I want to give Me. Crawling a big hug. Btw finally posting something that has warnings lmao.

↬Summary: Y/N teaching Mr. Crawling about something basic in the daily routine; a warm bath.

↬ Word Count: 1,435 Words

Masterlist

"Mr. Crawling please. I promise you it'll be fun! Fun? You like fun?"

Y/N's question was answered with a vigorous shake of the head. "No... Me no like. No like there. Not going."

"Please? Would you do it for me?" Of course they were gonna try to convince him that way, Mr. Crawling couldn't say no to that look after all.

It's been some days since they left that mysterious world. They went back to their usual activities like going to school and killing people, just the usual stuff for a human their age, right? They have been teaching Mr. Crawling about the human world and the routines that generally develop over time, a very important part of the daily routine is cleaning the body but Mr. Crawling was so hesitant to enter the tub, it was filled with warm water and soap, of course it looked comfy but then why was he acting that way?

Mr. Crawling stood firm in his decision. "Not going."

They sighed. "Would you enter if we did it together? Would you agree that way? You, me, together?"

He smiled and nodded, so he was throwing that whole tantrum so he could be with them. They weren't surprised really, he was a clingy being.

They took off their clothes with some hesitation, how would Mr. Crawling react? Would it be a good reaction? Now they were the one hesitating. And he noticed. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, it's just..." They shook their head. "Nothing."

Once the two were without clothes they shivered a little. "I already took a shower today, taking a bath is not necessary for me..." Y/N said to themselves as they stepped into the tub. "Your turn. Come here"

This time Mr. Crawling stepped into the tub without protest, a happy smile on his face. After feeling the temperature, he giggled, he looked happy. "Fun fun." He said, splashing a little of water.

"See? Told you it was fun... But you usually take a shower first, then get in the tub to relax, you know? The problem is that my shower is too small for someone so tall like you... I mean, this tub is also pretty small but I guess it works, not that bad hopefully. I hope you'll enjoy it." Indeed, it wasn't that big of a bathtub so they were pretty close, his cold back pressing against their chest.

He was happily listening to their yapping, not understanding a lot of course, but Mr. Crawling just liked the way they voice sounds when they're speaking to him, it was a sound that made him feel nice and warm inside.

"I'm gonna wash your hair, okay?" Y/N grabbed the bottle of shampoo, Mr. Crawling didn't understand what they meant with that but he was happy to let them take care of him. It made him feel special.

They started to gently massage his scalp, Mr. Crawling tried to eat the foam and bubbles that the shampoo produced but after they told him it wasn't food he felt somewhat disappointed, it smelled so good, how is it not something he cannot eat? "No food?"

"No, it's not food. It doesn't taste as good as it smells."

Mr. Crawling didn't get what Y/N said but he understood that he can't eat that and he was a well behaved boy so he didn't try to eat it again.

They spent a lot of time just washing his hair, making sure the tips and roots were clean, his hair got dirty when he crawled around and they wanted to take care of it for him. "Your hair is so pretty." They whisper softly.

He giggles. "Me pretty?"

"Your hair. Your hair pretty. But you're right Mr. Crawling, you pretty too."

He smiled and giggled, wanting to hug and headpat them but not being able cause of their position, Instead, he just rubbed his head happily against her neck. They took care of cleaning his body as much as possible while teaching him the basics of how to do it himself as well. He was very cheerful, as usual, always giggling and smiling, enjoying the experience, the attention he received and the gentle touches, the nice words and all the spoiling and pampering they gave him. They made him happy.

They started talking after starting to scrub his legs. "Next time I'll try to kill someone with money... Maybe we could put soft carpet on the floors or something... Your knees get bruised cause of your crawling and... I'm sure you don't feel it that much and you heal pretty fast... but I don't like seeing you like that." They gently kisses his temple, Mr. Crawling smiled and giggled happily.

Mr. Crawling He was having the best day of his life, the warmth of the water, Y/N's body heat, the pleasant aromas of the soaps and shampoo, listening to them humming while they took care of him... It was perfect.

But eventually the water turned cold and soon they got out of the tub, they wrapped a towel around their body to help Mr. Crawling dry himself with another towel. He liked that, it was soft and it smelled good. Everything in that room smelled good, it was different from what he was used to in his world.

"So? Did you liked it?" Y/N asked.

"Yes. Me like this." He nodded his head, smiled happily. "Me like you."

"Thank you. I like you too"

It was time for a new lesson; getting dressed. Mr. Crawling wasn't used to clothes and how humans dress, so they got him a new robe and some underwear. He protested a little at first, something so restrictive felt weird at first but once he got used to it he even liked it. His new robe looked a lot like the old one he had, that made him happy cause he really liked that robe.

"Me pretty, me pretty." He repeated over and over again when he saw himself in the mirror.

"Yes, you're pretty. Very very pretty."

He loved their praises, now that they were dressed and out of the tub he could hug them and give them the headpats he wanted. That made them happy too. He was so clingy. It was new to have someone so in awe of even the smallest detail about them, Mr. Crawling was a faithful devotee and Y/N a deity that he would worship for life.

"Let's dry your hair okay? We're done here."

They went back to the room, having Mr. Crawling sitting down on the edge of the bed, they were behind him, dryer in hand ready to take care of that beautiful and silky hair that Mr. Crawling had.

"This is a little loud but it's okay. It won't hurt." They wanted to make sure Mr. Crawling wouldn't freak out cause of the noise the air dryer made. He nodded and Y/N started doing their thing. The hot air felt nice, it took a good amount of time to dry all of his hair but they did it happily, Mr. Crawling felt excited and that was enough of a reason to do it.

"I'm done, what do you think?"

Mr. Crawling grabbed the air dryer and held it in front of his face, the air was moving his hair back, making him giggle. "Fun fun! Me like fun!"

"I know you like fun." They looked at him tenderly, Mr. Crawling was easy to impress, even the smallest detail could make him very excited, it was refreshing to have him by their side. "You know, I wanna braid your hair... Want me to show you something? You'll look pretty, I promise."

He tilted his head to the side but nodded gently, giving them the hair dryer back. They braided his hair gently, once it was done they made him look at the mirror.

They smiled, he was so excited. "You look pretty."

"Me pretty!" He looks at them with a big smile. "Me pretty... Thank you..."

They looked at the clock, it was almost midnight. "I should sleep now, it's getting late."

Mr. Crawling nodded, understanding their need of rest. They lay down together in bed after turning off the lights. He was hugging Y/N as if they were a delicate piece of art made of glass, something he had to protect. "You pretty... Thank you." He said against their neck.

"This could be a part of our routine... I like it, I wanna do it again."

"Again?" He asks happily.

"Yes. Not now! But tomorrow... Again"

He giggles. "Again! Again! Tomorrow again!"

They kiss his forehead. "It's time to sleep for now, okay? Goodnight Mr. Crawling."

"Night night... Pretty."

[intheholler]

the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

[daytaker]

The Gang React to You Falling Asleep on Them

Lucifer

*deep sigh that speaks volumes to how difficult it is for this man to get any sleep, and here you are, conked out on his shoulder...*

If you don't wake up within a few minutes, he'll have no choice but to move. He is not the sort to be so sentimental that he can't bear the thought of disturbing your precious sleeping face. Of course, he won't be an asshole about it; he'll be careful and try not to wake you up. He might even drape his jacket over you for your nap.

But only if he doesn't need it.

Mammon

"Hey, my arm's gettin' a little stiff, can I just-- ...ah."

Oh. Ah. Alright. Cool. This is happening. Hmm. Damn. Not super comfortable, and it's kinda inconvenient to be trapped here, but, pshh, what's he supposed to do, wake up a sleeping human? He's heard that can lead to...cardiac arrest, or something. He ain't gonna murder you just to move a little sooner.

You did not just start snuggling him in your sleep. Did Mammon score today or did he score today? Too bad his arm's starting to fall asleep, but, well, nothin' in life is free.

Leviathan

"What...? WHAAAAAAT?" (But only in his brain. He doesn't want to wake you up. Mammon says that can lead to cardiac arrest in humans.)

He's pretty sure he's the one who's going to keel over from heart problems at this rate. He hadn't even realized you were getting sleepy. Are you bored watching him tackle this single-player old school RPG? Did you hate it all this time and you never even mentioned it?! Why is your face so close?! Do you not have any idea the kind of mental torture you're putting him through right now?!

Deep breaths, Levi. Deep breaths. This happens in anime all the time. It's...usually a good thing! It means that the main character and their love interest are tripping all the right flags, and... and how long is this scene going to last? Those scenes almost always end with the two still on the couch, then they skip to the next day or something. How long is he going to have to just sit here... suffering...?

After about ten minutes, he's reached his limit and he gently shakes you awake. He is so embarrassed that he insists you go to bed now, and he will not take no for an answer. Good night. Goodbye. *door slams*

AAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Satan

"Hm? Have you been getting enough sleep...?"

Satan would be very pleased with the situation, though probably less intensely excited than Mammon. He'll make whatever small adjustment is necessary for his comfort, then settle in and read for as long as it takes you to wake up. He feels very warm and fuzzy. It's nice. Hopefully you do this more often. But he should really ask you about your sleep schedule. Levi must be forcing you to stay awake too often.

Asmodeus

"Aww, aren't you adorable?"

This is precious. He needs to document it. As soon as he realizes what's happening, he'll carefully pull out his D.D.D., making sure not to wake you up, and start snapping pics. A few of you, a few dozen selfies with you, a few with him pretending to be asleep too, and then a perfect shot of him kissing your forehead. Grammable as fuck.

Er... is that drool he can see in one of those photos? ...You're going to have to wake up. You can't just drool on his brand-name jacket.

Beelzebub

"Oh."

He's used to people falling asleep on him, so this doesn't really throw him for much of a loop. However, he's a bit more careful of waking you up. He knows that if he wakes Belphie, he'll just fall back asleep within a few seconds, but you're not quite so adaptable. So he'll do his best to stay quiet and not move much.

But no matter how hard he tries, he's never going to be able to turn off his stomach. You'll probably wake up with a start as his stomach roars at you about twenty inches from your face.

Belphegor

"...zzzz..."

Who are we kidding, we all know he was asleep first. Probably, he's the reason you fell asleep so easily. He's soft and warm, perfect for drifting off to dreamland...

Diavolo

"Very bold! You really are astonishingly brave."

It's not every day someone has the stones to fall asleep in his presence, let alone fall asleep and use him as some sort of glorified pillow. What a nice change of pace.

He'll continue doing whatever it is he was doing before, but he is a busy demon, running the Devildom and all. He'll slowly and carefully extricate himself when it's time to move, then have Barbatos bring you a blanket and prepare some tea for when you wake up.

Barbatos

"Humans are awfully needy creatures, aren't they."

He can't help but chuckle. You just pass out during the middle of the day? Then again, it's possible you're probably not entirely well. He'll have to disturb the young master to ask what sort of accommodations to make for you. Of course, he's sure Diavolo won't mind. But it's irresponsible to let yourself drift off like this in the castle of the king of the demons, isn't it? This isn't a resort.

Sleep well, human.

Solomon

"You're just looking cute on purpose now, aren't you?"

Oh well! Looks like he's stuck here for now. Too bad. He'll smile, put an arm around you, kick his feet up, and settle in for the long haul. Hopefully you're able to get a good, solid nap in.

Most likely, you both will. He'll pass out too within ten minutes, give or take.

Simeon

"Oh- shh. There, there."

Well, if you aren't adorable... You must be so tired. He's glad you feel so at ease with him that you let yourself fall asleep, and you certainly look cute, but he's also a little concerned that you're this tired. He'll patiently wait for you to wake up. Then he'll make you some tea and gently remind you to take better care of your health.

Luke

"Eh...?! Hey! ...WAKE UP!"

How tired are you?! You need to get better sleep! Sheesh, you need to be more careful too. You almost crushed him.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Past the Cemetery Gates

I haven't written ak!red hood in a while so here he is! This was originally for a request but I read the ask wrong and didn't realize until it was too late cause I'm mostly running off cough medicine and coffee  CW: You get chased and harassed by some creeps, and then there's some possible murder ~6.2k words

Every Sunday at three in the afternoon, you have a routine. You walk to the train station, take the six train four stops north, and, if the weather is good, you'll walk exactly six blocks to get to Gotham Cemetery. (If the weather is bad, however, you're more inclined to wait for the three-thirty-five bus, which stops almost exactly in front of the old, iron gates that lead into the graveyard)

This is the routine you have followed for every week of your life since Jason Todd died, ripped from your side by a cruel twist of fate. They called it a disappearance, an accident, a runway, all things you knew it wasn't. But it was Dick, after months and months of begging for the truth, for crumbs of anything to help ease your grief, who called it for what it was. A murder. A life ended by the bloodstained hands of the Joker.

It became a fact that engraved itself to the very core of your soul. Jason Todd was murdered. Jason Todd was murdered, so every Sunday, you find yourself standing six feet above where he should lay resting, where he should be resting forever. But the coffin you helped bury is empty, devoid of anyone or anything to care if you appear on Sundays or not.

Even so, visiting him, visiting the headstone with his name, just feels like what you have to do. He was your best friend, your foundation, and no matter how many months or years pass, it doesn't change that he is at the core of who you became. Your jokes mirror his humor, your favorite color was his too, your room is still littered with trinkets that remind you of him. You still throw punches just the way he taught you.

You couldn't just move past Jason, it never felt right to even try. So when you do go see him– his grave– you tell him about your week. Scrub the marble rock and leave flowers while you ramble about whatever is going on in the world, share jokes, relive memories, spill secrets, all to the boy who can never answer again. 

This is what you do, rain or shine, whether the city is in havoc or in some semblance of peace, in a rare calm before the next storm of mayhem whatever rouge designs to inflict on the streets of Gotham. (You've missed this tradition only once. Only the week Batman was revealed as Bruce Wayne, only after Batman died, and you had another empty coffin to stand by as it was lowered into the dirt)

It's something you're so used to, a task you know like the back of your hand. Every other Sunday, you'll run into a family with flowers, the ones that stop at a pristine white headstone to tell their grandmother about how big her grandchildren are getting. Every third Sunday, the flowers and gifts you leave behind are cleaned up by the caretakers once you leave. Every Sunday, save one or two, you smile at the elderly woman who walks in with a coffee and newspaper in hand.

These are all things that you're used to, facts known in your soul. It's why you notice him. The man in the ball cap and hoodie that hovers two rows and seven headstones behind you. The one that's been standing there before you arrive, and stands there no matter how long you stay, for the past three Sundays you've been visiting Jason. 

It's not exactly wrong for him to be there. It's just new. Different. And ever since Bruce died– ever since Dick disappeared without a whisper– you've been on edge. The whole city has been, really, but you can't help but feel like there's still a price you have to pay. That your time is somehow up. That after years of knowing who Batman is– after losing Jason and being able to do nothing about it– you're going to face something. 

You think it might be karma. Or maybe it's retribution. But there's a score to settle with the universe–  with something or someone out there. After all, knowledge has never been free in Gotham, and the weight of being associated with Batman always comes with a cost. 

It's not like you were a hero, or even the slightest bit a vigilante, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that you cared for Jason, and that Jason was Robin, Batman's protege.

And with no heroes left in Gotham to exact revenge on, why wouldn't they look for the next best thing? Why wouldn't that eventually make you a target? 

The paranoia isn't exactly your notion, but Tim's last, frantic warning before he went dark. But his words ring true, you've seen how everyone who's ever even talked to Bruce Wayne has been put under a microscope but the media, the GCPD, the world. And even if they haven't gotten their claws into you, it's only a matter of time before they, or someone with a score to settle does.

(Tim wasn't even the only person to warn you to watch your back, The GCPD's very own commissioner mentioned his own hushed concerns at Bruce's funeral. You had thanked him, and tried not to think too hard about what Babs not being there meant)

It should scare you, but all you feel is a vague sense of resignation. You just hope, that if whatever's coming finally catches up to you, if the slow creeping dread and feelings of being watched catches up to you, you'll find your way back to Jason.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when a voice speaks lowly behind you, you jolt, scolding yourself for getting caught off guard. But then his words register, and you whirl around, fuming, "What did you say?"

The stranger jerks his head towards the gravestone– Jason's headstone– "He was a stupid kid."

"He was not–" You start to hiss, huffing up in defense of the boy that meant everything to you, before he cuts you off.

"He was. He got himself caught. Caused a lot of problems. Trusted the wrong people. Did everything wrong and for what," he scoffs.

Your glare hardens as you step forward, trying to see under the ballcap and hood drawn low over his face, "He helped people. You can't just come here and spew whatever you feel like–"

He cuts you off again with the sound of your name, almost a warning, almost a threat. "Why are you really here," He asks, and you feel a chill creep up your spine as he digs his fists further into his pockets.

"I– always come here," you settle on. You know Bruce would chastise you for giving away your routine, but you can't find it in yourself to care when he already knows your name, with your blood simmering beneath your skin. 

"It's a waste of time. There's no one here to care," he protests, lips curling into a sneer.

"I care," you mumble, the fight draining out of you. You know that, in a way, he's right. There's no body. No Jason. No reward or salvation in your weekly visits. But you come anyway. It's just what you do. 

He stares at you for a moment more, you assume if you could see under the shadow of his ball cap he would be scowling. He doesn't say anything more, just turns and leaves you to a silent headstone and an empty grave. 

You don't mean to stay as long as you do, after he leaves. But you linger among the marble and granite gravestones for a long time, lost in your own thoughts, the feeling that, even in death, you find new ways to fail Jason Todd. It's not a feeling that makes sense, but grief rarely is. 

It's not until you realize you've missed your usual train home, that you finally find your bearings, that you force yourself to smile and wave to someone that's not there. Never there. Never will be there. 

The walk to the train station is fine, if not a bit windy. The train ride is normal, if a little quieter than normal. But the problem comes as you step off the stairs of the subway and onto the streets, and a low whistle breaks the strange silence that's been cast over the city just as the sun begins to set. 

"Come join us, sweet cheeks," a voice drawls, stumbling and slurred as he trips over his feet and words, "You look like you need the company." Four equally drunk men follow him, grins leering as they take you in and lewdly gesture for you to come closer.

Dread settles in your stomach, far worse than it did when the stranger approached you in the cemetery. Night is falling, and everyone knows that there's no solace in the shadows anymore, no watchful eye in the dark to save you. You drop your gaze and start walking, steady, but quick as you ignore their groans of annoyance and agitation. 

"Hey, hey, where are ya going," one of the men calls after you, and their pace quickens to match yours, "No need to be all shy. We just wanna be friends."

Another of them snickers, "Oh, yeah, close friends."

A gust of wind blows through your clothes, and you suppress a shiver, every nerve on edge as you focus on putting on foot in front of the other. 

The teasing tone in the air shifts, and a rough hand grabs your shoulder, turning you around– you hadn't realized just how close they'd gotten. 

"Would ya look at that? Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Yer one of the Bat's little friends. Why don't ya tell us what it was like cuddling up to old Brucie, " he leers, grin wide and menacing. 

"Back off," you snap, fed with strangers who think they have a right to your past.

"Don't be such a killjoy," He huffs, half playful, half a real, honest threat, "Just give us a chance to get to know ya. We only wanna have some fun, is all." His hand starts to drop along your shoulder blade, and his voice goes vicious, "It'll be a good time, baby, promise." 

Instinct takes over before you can think better on it, and you aim a hook right for his chin. It's one of your better punches, one that sends him stumbling back into the arms of his drunken friends. 

Everything freezes, their gazes dart between you and the reeling man pushing himself back to his feet. There's a snarl on his face, a manic look in his eyes, and all it takes is for him to open his mouth and start hissing cusses at you for you to turn on your heel and run. 

It takes less time than you'd hope for them to realize you're running, even less for them to start following you. 

You're going to die, is what runs through your head as you duck around corners and rush through the darkening streets. You're going to die and they're going to hide your body and no one is ever going to find you and you're going to rot at the bottom of Gotham Harbor and you'll just be another statistic in the never ending plague crime that always seems to win.

Laughs and jeers sound behind you as you run, the sound of heavy feet hitting concrete follows you down the twists and turns of Gotham's alleyways. They're close, too close. You don't know how a group of drunken catcallers could be so fast, but they are. 

"Come back here," They snap at you, practically breathing down your neck. You can feel fingers brushing against your back, hear their taunts in your ears. But you just need to keep running, if you can make it to your building– make it to other people– 

A hand catches your arm painfully, cutting your thoughts short and throwing you to the ground. "Caught you," the man sneers, grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you in an isolated alley. The other four men follow behind, panting and jostling each other as snide grins fill their faces.

You kick, claw at the hands pulling you into the alley, but it only makes them laugh harder as he hoists you up to slam you into a wall. You wince, head spinning as you push and shove at his arms, but he hardly seems to notice as his friends creep closer, eager and excited. 

"Shouldn't have done that, there ain't anyone here to save ya" he grumbles, the air rancid with the smell of alcohol as he grabs at your jacket, "We coulda had a good time, but ya had to go be difficult and run the fun for–"

The weight is ripped off you in an instant, you barely have time to process the relief that floods your senses when you're jarred to stillness by the blood red bat that meets your eyes. There's not supposed to be any bats left in Gotham, but your mind is quick to supply the faint recollection of whispers you've heard of a new vigilante. Rumors made fact by the truth in front of you, Red Hood.

"You're dead," he says, even and tight, even though the modulator. He says it not to you, but to them, the men backing up wearily and uneasily. "You're all dead," he repeats, voice dropping as they exchange glances, not knowing what to make of him. 

You don't quite know what to make of him either. His fists are clenched, his muscles are tense, but the set of his shoulders is confident, self assured that he can deliver on his threats. He's steady and shaking all at once, and you have the distinct feeling he's shaking out of sheer rage, of holding back from whatever he's planning on doing. 

The air is heavy, you're practically holding your breath as you press back against the wall, unable to look away. They're afraid. You can't help but be too. Red Hood– hero or not– is dangerous. You can feel his anger vibrating against your skin, taste his vow to kill them in the air.

One of the men laughs, "You can't take all of us–" he starts, and the tension snaps, Red Hood snaps.

You know you should run. You know you should turn away, but you can't. You watch every punch that meets flesh, every splatter of blood that hits the concrete, every limb that twists in a way that it shouldn't. You hear every plea for mercy, every sickening crunch of bone, every gasp and wheeze for air. 

You witness it all, every time his boot comes down onto mangled limbs, every time his gloved hands drags back a man that tries to flee. He doesn't stop, doesn't offer a hint of compassion until the alley is silent, save for his heaving of his chest beneath his armor. 

Only then does he turn back to you. You regret not running while you had the chance. But even as your knees shake and you curse your frozen state, you have the feeling he would have followed you if you had run. 

He walks closer, your mind goes blank in fear, and he gently brushes his fingers over your cheek, observing the wetness that soaks into his gloves when he pulls his hand away. You didn't even realize you were crying.  

"Did they… hurt you," he asks, words short and clipped and not at all comforting. 

It takes all of your strength to will yourself into shaking your head. You're scratched up from being dragged, your head hurts from when it hit the wall, but telling him any of that? You're afraid of giving him any excuse to stay.

He studies you, judges you, and you do the same. His helmet glows eerily in the dim light of the alley, as red as the crimson bat on his back. He's not shaking anymore, but he doesn't seem calm either. You imagine he's still feeling the same adrenaline that's coursing through your veins. But you doubt he feels the same urge to get as far away from the situation as possible.

The silence drags on for too long, and you feel like you have to break it, get him to stop staring at you. Especially when it feels like he's picking you apart, like he knows exactly what's going on in your head. "Thank you," you settle on, words careful and quiet as you do your best to wipe the tears from your face.

He straightens out, a huff of a laugh filling your ears like he can't believe what he's hearing, "You're thanking me for killing them?"

"I'm thanking you for saving me," you correct, focusing your gaze on a random brick of the alley, doing your best to avoid looking at the carnage he laid waste behind him, to ignore the unnatural silence save for you and him. 

He hunches back into himself, and you can't help but feel uneasy that he's still here, like he's waiting for something. "You shouldn't be out here," he tells you.

You think that's obvious enough and you almost want to roll your eyes, but your knees are still shaking, and you can't find the strength to push off the wall yet. So you nod instead, hoping he'll leave you to figure it out alone, to have a moment where you can let it all wash over you and just break down. 

"I can take you home," he says, after another long moment of silence, voice flat without a hint of emotion to betray his true feelings. 

That grabs your attention, pulling you out a spiral you didn't even realize you were in, "No, it's–" you start. 

"You're scared of me," he cuts you off, demanding.

You think that this is obvious too. "Anyone would be," you admit reluctantly, and you hate that you feel like you're answering wrong, like he expects something different from you. 

You watch as his fists clench than unclench, and his head ducks like he's lost in thought, "Fine. You're scared. Be scared," he lifts his head again, tone almost accusing, "It doesn't change that it's not safe for you to stay here, or that I'm taking you home."

"I can get myself back–" you begin, pushing yourself off the wall as your heart rate spikes. The last thing you want is for him to know where you live, for you to get involved in anymore people that wear the symbol of the bat. But your protests count for nothing when pain shoots up from your ankle, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

You wince, expecting to hit the cold concrete, but it's warm, leather covered arms that catch you instead, cradling you against sturdy armor. 

You freeze, you think he freezes too, until he exhales softly, tension draining from his body, "You said you weren't hurt."

"I didn't think I was," you mumble, almost embarrassed as you brace your hands unsurely against his arms trying to push yourself back up onto your uninjured foot. You roll your ankle slowly, wincing quietly at the pain that radiates when you move it. You must sprained it at some point, you realize.

Red Hood just holds you tighter when you try to move, silent as if he's weighing his options. "I'll carry you," he tells you, already maneuvering you to lift you into his arms.

It just makes you squirm, uneasy over this stranger, how easy this all seems to be for him, "I don't need to be carried."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a noise you can only hear because he's holding you so close, and says your name like he's trying to find all the patience in the world to deal with you, "You didn't used to mind being picked up."

Your world tilts on its axis and he lifts you into his arms like his words didn't change everything– like the fact that he knows you means nothing at all. You should be scared, should be terrified of him, but you just feel resigned. It was only a matter of time before the consequences of knowing Batman– knowing Robin– caught up to you. Really you're just surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But something about his words itches at your skin. It's not far-fetched for him to know your name. What is strange, what's wrong even, is that he thought you wouldn't mind being carried. Because you didn't used to.

"Why do you know that," you ask, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds.

He doesn't answer for a moment, just carries you through the dark twist and turns of Gotham's alleyways, "Lots of people know your name," he decides on telling you, once you start to squirm in his arms.

"That's not what I asked," you protest, but even as you press him for details, you're starting to get more concerned about where he's bringing you than why he knows your name.

"I keep track of all of Batman's associates," he says, voice more strained than truthful, even through the modulator of his helmet.

"Is that why you wear the bat," you prompt, curiosity making you speak before you can think on your words, "Did you know him?" Honestly, while you don't claim to know all of Bruce's vigilante friends, you'd like to think you would have known about someone like Red Hood. (and really you would feel safer if he was a friend of Bruce)

His grip shifts on you, the only indicator that he's uncomfortable with your line of questions, "It's a reminder."

You both ignore how he avoids your second question. Even if he saved you, you still haven't gotten comfortable with the vigilante that attacked those men with such ruthlessness and precision. You start to ask another question, torn between wanting to know what it's a reminder of and wanting to know where he's taking you, before he cuts you off.

"Do you always interrogate the people trying to help you," he sighs out, head tipping down as if he's trying to get a look at your face.

"Only when I don't know where they're taking me after," you snark out, with more bite than you probably should have. 

"I'm taking you home," he supplies, picking up his pace like he can't get rid of you fast enough.

"Whose home? My home? You know where I live," you rapid fire at him, throat tightening with panic.

He stumbles a little, a noise of alarm escapes the back of your throat, but he doesn't drop you.

"I– my home?" he tries, but you know it's a lie. He knows that you know he's lying, and his shoulders deflate a little when you start accusing him of it.

"You know where I live," you say slowly, voice sure and steady despite your fear.

"I know where lots of people live," he grumbles, and goes right back to his quickened walk, just shy of jogging and nearly jostling you in his arms.

"Is this some kind of revenge plot," you start, finality sinking into your bones, "Because if you're trying to get back at anyone– at Batman– I'm not gonna try to–"

He snorts, cutting off your words, and you note that it sounds unpracticed. His grip softness before he speaks again, "No, been there, done that. Didn't help. I really am just trying to get you home safe."

A part of you believes him, but a bigger part of you just wants to grab his helmet and rip it off his head. He's frustrating, and even as your apartment building comes into view, even as the ordeal comes towards an end, you find yourself wanting to know him. 

It's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain. He knows you. He knows– knew– Batman. And you want to know him, or at the least, how he's aware of all of it. 

"Who are you," you breathe out, the sound barely a whisper. It's the one question that's truly been plaguing you since he said you didn't used to mind being carried. You can count the people who knew that on one hand. And for him to say it so casually, to say it like he's experienced it first hand, you don't like what it implies. 

"Red Hood," he answers gruffly, voice clipped, "Do you think you can get up to your place by yourself?"

"No," you huff out, annoyance creeping into your face. In truth, you probably could limp your way up to your apartment, but you're not willing to let this go. Not when there's more to this– to him– than he's willing to share with you.

He stands still outside your building for a full thirty seconds before mumbling, "Fine," and carrying you inside. Neither of you try to start a conversation. You don't dig for answers when he presses the correct number for your floor in the elevator. You don't even get angry when he walks right to your door without asking for directions.

He starts to put you down, but even with the clear unease and tension in his body, he's still careful.

"Wait," you say quickly, "I need help wrapping my ankle."

"You know how to do that," Red Hood sighs out, annoyance clear as day in his voice.

"I forgot how," you lie. You know you're being stubborn, you know inviting him in is dangerous, but every part of you feels like you need answers from him. That knowing will solve something. 

His silence is enough to pick up on that fact that he doesn't believe you in the slightest. But he doesn't try to pull away or leave when you lean into him and unlock your door. He doesn't even seem upset when you look up at him expectantly when the door swings open, he just loops an arm around your waist and guides you to the couch.

"Where's your kit," he asks once you've settled and seated.

"Bathroom," you supply easily, and he turns and walks in that direction without another word. It unnerves you that he knows where it is without you needing to guide him, but you can't say you're surprised. 

He comes back with the first aid kit quickly, and kneels in front of you to carefully take off your shoe. Red Hood observes your ankle for a moment before he tugs off his gloves and starts to dig through your first aid kit for bandages.

It gives you a chance to observe him. His armor looks strong enough, but his jacket is full of rips and tears. His hood hides most of his helmet, but what you can see seems more technologically advanced than you expected. There's guns and knives strapped to his thighs and you think you see a grenade hooked to his waist. It all radiates danger.

You turn your attention to the rest of him. Even with the hunch in his shoulders, he's big. You think he might be as tall Bruce is– was. You get the distinct, strange feeling that you would like the color of his eyes. 

His voice breaks the silence as he starts to wrap your ankle with calloused, warm hands.

"What," you ask dumbly, so lost in studying him, in the feel of his steady hands ghosting over your skin, you've missed what his words were. 

"You should keep ice on it, about thirty minutes at a time. And elevate it until the swelling goes down," He repeats, movements practiced as he finishes tending to your injury, "You got that?"

You remember that well enough, Jason had more than his fair share of sprained ankles when you were growing up, but there's no point in sharing that when you're meant to be playing dumb. "Got it," you say confidently.

"Good," he murmurs, standing up faster than you expected, like he can't wait to get as far away from you as possible.

"Wait," you startle, grabbing his wrist, "You still never told me who you are."

"I never said I would," he half-growls at you, but he doesn't tear his arm away from your hold.

"What if I need to contact you," you counter, fingers tightening into the fabric of his jacket.

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for the first time he seems genuinely annoyed. Red Hood levels you with a glare you can feel even through his helmet and grits out, "Why would you need to contact me."

You almost drop your grip on him, feeling as uneasy as you did watching him beat your attackers, "Well– those men went after me– they knew who I was. That I knew Batman, I mean, Bruce. And if they can figure it out–"

"You don't have to worry about that," he tells you, voice softening at the nervousness you don't quite mean to show him, "I took care of it already."

That does get you to drop his wrist, "But there's more people out there than them. What if Two-Face decides I'm an easy target? Or Penguin gets out of jail. Or–"

He says name sternly, cutting off your rambling, "I took care of it already."

"You– what" you question, confusion and surprise spreading across your face.

"I took care of it," he repeats again, nothing but fierce, decisive truth in his voice, "Anyone who thought they could get to you. Anyone who wanted to use you because of your connection to– to them. I took care of it."

It stuns you, and half expect him to leave you to your shock. But he stands there waiting, patient as if he's ready and willing to face your fury or your understanding. "Why," is all you manage to ask.

"I owe you," he murmurs, like it's his greatest secret, "If it wasn't for me… If I hadn't– If we didn't–" he cuts himself off with a pained groan, "It doesn't matter. It's too dangerous for you to be involved in this."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm already involved," you breathe out, feeling like you're at the edge of the abyss, "I might as well have a bat branded on me, you know."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you feel like with just one push, everything will change. You need to know. You need to know why he's gone out of his way to keep you safe, why he's offered you so much help, why his fingers lingered over your skin while he wrapped your ankle. 

His shoulders slump, defeated and drained, "I know. It'd be better if you just got out of the city."

"There's nowhere to go, even if there was, Batman has enemies everywhere," you say gently, shifting forward on the couch. "Please? I'm just– so tired of being in the dark." And it's the truth. You're exhausted by the radio silence from Dick and Tim and Barbara. You're sick of jumping at shadows, and you know it's not wrong to reach for something real– a raft in a storm. 

His head snaps up at your plea, and he lets out a low, almost inaudible curse, "You won't like the answer, sweetheart. They say ignorance is bliss."

"Ignorance is a curse," you counter, eyes meeting the blank red of his helmet in quiet defiance. 

"Just– don't freak out," he mumbles after a strained, heavy moment. You nod, and it takes a long, long minute for him to finally move. He reaches up, and the air disappears from your lungs. You expected him to tell you how he knew Batman, why he feels like he owes you, what he's been through to even want to care about your safety– not to reveal his identity. (Even if you had asked for it)

He removes his helmet, letting it hang loosely in his grip. And suddenly everything makes sense. Desperate, clear blue eyes stare right back at you. Red Hood– Jason Todd– clenches and unclenches his fists gaze unwavering as he waits for your judgement. When you offer none but silence, he speaks, "Do you understand now? Do you get why I took care of it? Why I'll keep taking care of it?"

"Jason," you finally manage to choke out, not bothering to hide the way your vision blurs with tears, "They said– I thought– I thought you were dead."

He cringes slightly, a pained look that scrunches his nose the exact same way it did when you were kids, "Yeah."

"You're not dead," you gasp and you don't mean to cry in front of him again, but your tears spill freely as the entire night, every awful thing that's happened since you've lost him, crashes over you, "You're not dead."

That breaks something in him, and he's back on his knees before you, cradling your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs without you even really registering that he's moving, "Yeah," he repeats, like it's the only word he can find in his vocabulary to say.

You press your palms to the back of his hands, distraught and frantic to keep him there, "I missed you."

A myriad of emotions flick over his face, disbelief, hurt, guilt, and a few you don't quite catch before he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters your name with such pain you want to scream, "I'm not– what you remember. I'm not good. You saw first hand what I'm capable of."

"I don't care," you stumble out quickly, "If you hadn't been there– if you didn't save me they would have–"

Your voice trails off when his finger tighten for the briefest second against your face, and his eyes open, flashing with a darkness you don't recognize, "I wouldn't have let them. It won't happen." His voice is hard, firm with certainty, and if the rage simmering under his voice was directed at you, you think you would have run.

But it's Jason, and the anger disappears as quickly as it comes once he starts drying your tears again. You exhale shakily and lean into his touch, relief outweighing any nerves settling in your stomach, "I'm glad you're here."

His fingers still over your skin for a moment before his fingers continue their soothing pattern against your cheeks and under your eyes, "Me too," he says softly, like admitting it too loudly will break something. His gaze darts to the window, and your heart drops in your chest. 

"I don't want you to go," you plead, and before you think better of it, you push off the couch to bury your face in his throat, arms hooking around his neck like they're your last life line.

He stiffens, and you freeze. You messed up, you messed up and now he's going to hate you and he's going to leave and never come back and you're an awful person for even thinking he'd want to hug you and– and his arms come up to hug you back, crushing you to his chest. 

He runs his hand up and down your spine, soothing you the same way he used to, "I'm not going anywhere, unless you want me to. Okay?"

You nod into his shoulder, the tension draining from your body. He's warm. You have no idea how you didn't catch on to the fact that it was him sooner. He still smells the same– save the gun powder– and he's still as gentle as he's always been when he touches you. 

"I'm so sorry–" you choke out, pressing yourself as close as you can to him, wanting to hold him against you forever, to prove to yourself again and again that he really is alive.

"We don't have to do that," he murmurs, and you nearly melt when he presses a kiss to your temple, "We can save the apologies for later."

You find yourself nodding again, wanting to savor him, the moment, the feeling that for the first time in longer than you can remember, something like hope is blossoming in your chest. You giggle a little when an absurd thought crosses your mind, unable to stifle it.

"What is it," He– Jason– asks quietly. 

"I need something new to do on Sundays now," you say into his shoulder, a smile forming on your face, "I used to– it's not funny– but I'd visit your grave then and now you're not dead and now I–"

"Don't have to," he finishes for you, gentle and almost fond. 

You hum in agreement, even if it wasn't what you were going to say.

"We can do something," he offers, tucking you closer. 

The suggestion makes you feel like you're floating on air, and longing wells in your throat, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoes, and this time you do melt when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, "We'll make a tradition of it."

"I'd like that," you admit, shy to reveal how much that means to you.

Jason squeezes your waist in answer, voice as tender as yours, "Me too." 

Your smile grows wider despite yourself. You still have more questions that you can form right now, but Jason is rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. So, Red Hood can wait. Gotham can wait. Everything else can wait until you both start to stitch yourself back together in each other's arms. 

[dameronology]

matt murdock headcanons

i have about 4000 words to write for my thesis so instead i am writing these. enjoy xx

matt takes his coffee black. nothing else added, literally just black. anything else overwhelms his senses. for the first six months of your relationship, you kept accidentally leaving little coffee grounds floating in the bottom that made him want to die, but he loves you so he did not say anything.

actually, matt is the king of "i love you so i won't say anything." if you burn dinner or wear that one scratchy jumper that overwhelms him or flood the bathroom so it's a gosh darn slip and slide, he won't say anything. why would he? he loves you as you are.

matt doesn't need you to guide him in public but he will hold your arm or hand just because he wants too. he especially likes when your hands are loosely intertwined and he can feel your pulse against his skin. it's calming for him.

sometimes he forgets that you weren't always in his life. he'll tell a story from college as though you were because it just doesn't feel right to have lived a life where you weren't in it.

matt rarely calls you by your name. it's always sweetheart, and sometimes baby.

although one time foggy heard him call you the latter and then called matt baby girl and babycakes for a week until karen threatened to beat them both up

on the subject of foggy & karen -- they both love you!! they'd always been protective of their little trio but you fit in perfectly.

those two quickly become your best friends.

josie's for drinks after work on a friday is standard. matt will always have an arm looped around your waist, or a hand on your thigh, or just any form of physical contact really. mostly because he's over protective.

matt doesn't get hungover and it's really fucking annoying. you've seen him pound back pint after pint, just to wake up feeling fresh as a daisy the next day.

the good news?? he's vision impaired so he won't open the curtains when you're hanging out your absolute arse !!

he's the best at looking after you when you're hanging, though. he'll make you a smoothy and a greasy breakfast.

actually, matt is just the best in the mornings anyways. you'll always have a cup of coffee made before you're awake, with breakfast on the counter.

living with matt is domestic bliss tbh

that's not to say you don't argue -- you're both human and in his line of work, both day job and night job, it comes with its bad days and times when he keeps shit bottled up

so you prod and you poke until he explodes and finally, you argue and it's cathartic as hell

matty is very overprotective too, which has lead to tension

it was a little over the top at first, but you settle for having life 360 on both your phones and letting him know when you arrive places safely

even when you have really bad arguments, you always find your back to each other

one time you joked "i'll send you a text if wilson fisk murders me" and he didn't find it funny

actually he almost cried

the be all and end all though is that against the back drop of new york city, and even though you're in the arse, you are everything that's pure in matt's world.