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the-halloween-jack · 1 day ago

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Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human.

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge.

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable.

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there.

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last.

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection.

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night.

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question.

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind?

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception.

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation.

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added.

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself.

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work.

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady.

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open.

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch.

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #dc comics #jason todd angst #x reader #gotham #detective comics #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #dc universe #dc #the-halloween-jack #domestic jason todd #fluff #hurt/comfort

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jinwoosbabyboo · 5 months ago

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𝙸𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢?

You're an actor and you finally got your big role in a hit TV show. Unfortunately your character only made it to Season 2 before they killed you off. This is how I imagine the lads men react to watching that scene [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calm cool and collected on the outside; whole time he's really having an internal breakdown

grips your hand a little tighter in his as the scene progresses

“are you dying? is this a tragedy?”

is very aware that it’s just a show, but can’t stop his heart from pounding at the thought of losing you

rubs his eyes to keep himself from tearing up

stares at you after the episode ends “What?” “The thought of losing you has always terrified me; watching you perform that scene does not help” “it’s my job Zayne besides im right here”

finds himself staring at you more often just trying to commit every feature of yours to memory

never willingly watches that episode again

skips over that part every time or just turns the show off “You still can’t watch it?” “No”

praises you for the phenomenal performance although he claims it was a little too realistic

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

is great at slipping in and out of character so he was the one helping you with your acting skills

sits up straight when he realizes what's happening “is this the scene you've been keeping secret?”

falls out immediately in your lap

bawling his eyes out goes as far to curl up in your lap

would be so proud of not only you, but himself as well for helping you perfect your craft

“Do I get credit as the acting coach?” “Yes would you like a reward?” “You know I do”

Although he’s proud of you he can’t bring himself to watch the episode again also doesn't continue watching the show in general "they killed off my favorite character how can I continue watching it now?"

keeps pushing you to work on crying on command so if you need to cry for your next roll it’s even better

acted out the scene with you at home for fun once and had a mental breakdown

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

Fell asleep in the middle of the show and missed it

“just watch it when you get a chance” “no replay it”

immediately turns the show off in the middle of the scene

“im not watching this” “Xav…” “No”

drills you with questions about why you didn’t tell him you were dying in that episode

“I can’t watch that don’t make me watch it” "You're being a little dramatic don't you think?"

pouts, pouts, and pouts some more

won’t watch it no matter how much you beg

although he never finished watching the whole scene he holds your hand tighter now these days

asks for a warning next time so he can prepare himself …… to fast forward

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

watches quietly giving away nothing

“You even shed a few tears for your own scene?” teases you for crying at your own death scene “it looks different after the editing okay!”

won't admit it, but one time was enough

“it made you sad didn’t it?” “Well I don’t take pleasure in watching you die onscreen sweetie” “im alive though” “Let's keep it that way”

weasels his way out of watching the scene again

his voice slightly wavers whenever you bring it up

avoids eye contact when you tease him about it

held you tighter at night for at least a month

Bonus: the twins bawled their eyes out and tackled you to the ground with a bone crushing hug

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads sylus #lnds rafayel #lnds xavier #lnds zayne #lnds #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #nikaaaaimagine

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kathryn-maraudersversion · 28 days ago

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Serpents and Stars Pt 6

Summary: It’s been four days since you destroyed them. Four days of silence of pretending you don’t care. And then James Potter storms into your life like a hurricane and demands the truth. And this time, you can’t run from it.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders (James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin) x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Warnings: More hurt so much hurt but I promise there will be comfort in the next part. Please forgive me guys

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt11

You should have known he wouldn’t let it go. You had convinced yourself that it was over. That James, Sirius, and Remus had finally gotten the message. That they had given up on you. You should have known better.

Because James Potter never quits.

So, when he stormed into the empty Transfiguration classroom, slammed the door behind him, and turned to face you with fire in his eyes, you knew you were screwed.

James stood in front of the door, arms crossed, blocking your only exit.

“You’re going to talk to me,” he said, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “Right. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending your heart wasn’t pounding. “Get out of my way, Potter.”

“No.”

Your jaw clenched. “Move.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he stepped closer. Too close.

“Four days,” he said. “Four days, and I let you have your space. I let you pretend like you didn’t just rip us apart. But I’m done waiting, sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His laugh was humourless. “Bullshit.”

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. “What do you want me to say, James? That I regret it? That I miss you?” You forced a smirk. “Sorry, but I don’t.”

Something flickered in his hazel eyes. He took another step forward, and before you could react, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

Your breath caught because his touch wasn’t rough or angry. It was gentle. Firm, but careful, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Your stomach dropped and the way he was looking at you, you knew something bad was coming.

James’ voice was quiet now.

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever wanted to ruin something good before it could ruin you, Sirius and his family for example and don't even get me started on things with moony?”

Your throat tightened. “James-”

“No,” he said, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you don’t care, like you don’t feel this-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because I know you do. I know it, and you know it, so stop lying to me.”

Your entire body felt like it was on fire.

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do,” James cut you off. “Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have tried so damn hard to push us away.”

Your breath was coming too fast now.

He took one more step forward, and suddenly, you were trapped between him and the desk.

And Merlin, he was so close.

Close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

You wanted to lean in. You wanted to give in. But if you did, there would be no turning back.

So, you did the only thing you could.

You shoved him away.

James stumbled back a step, his eyes widening at the force of it.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

He stilled.

“Why?” His voice was quiet. Almost desperate.

You shook your head.

“Because you’ll break me.”

Silence. James exhaled slowly.

And when he spoke, his voice was steady. Sure.

“We won’t sweetheart, I’d rather die.”

Authors Note: Gang this is insane also not me spoiling yall with two updates in one day

Taglist: @amatoanima @flaviaandbooks @nymanas @bridkesby @yvessentials @maraudersgirlsposts @treefairy-28 @navs-bhat @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @zoleea-exultant @hermionelove @starmaniii @kitcat912 @hopperbopper @forgottenandfree

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milliumizoomi · 11 months ago

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Hello, I was thinking Armando Aretas x Reader. Where Reader was sleeping, and she felt the bed dip and noticed that Armando was on top her with his head on her chest and he was slightly crying because he had nightmare and Reader comforts him because he deserves the whole world. She also kisses his head and playing with his hair.

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

☆彡SUMMARY.; In which the night is unforgiving to Armando, so you do everything in your power to help him.

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x FEM! READER

☆彡TROPE.; ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

☆彡FORMAT.; ONE SHOT

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + ANGST + HURT ➪ COMFORT

☆彡WARNINGS.; mentions of nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of anxiety, mature language, actions of crying and vulnerability, fear of being left behind, google translated spanish, and slight bad boys for life spoilers.

☆彡NOTES.; oooo babes this requestttt omg I love it🥹🥹,, the vulnerability of him is something that I’ve always liked so I’m soooo happy to write this. Tysm for this request and I hope I’ll be able to portray it good. I hope you all enjoy!!💕💕

[P.S.] HE USES THE TERM MAMA AS A FORM OF ENDEARMENT, its holds the same weight as the terms babe or baby would.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED😉.

🎧FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE, YOU CAN LISTEN TO RIGHT MY WRONGS by BRYSON TILLER��

The rain beat down on the glass windows of your apartment. It was currently 2:33 am and you were sound asleep, softly breathing in the tranquil of deep slumber.

Between the pitter patter of the rain hitting the windows, and the soft and gentle vrring of the air conditioning, you couldn’t help the calming sounds that kept you in a deep state of sleep.

However, the man beside you couldn’t fare the same.

Armando had been tossing and turning all night.

At one point he woke up in a cold sweat. He looked over at your sleeping form, softly snoring away and he didn’t want to bother you because he’s hates the feeling of vulnerability in any situation. So he sucked it up and tried to go back to sleep.

By now another 2 hours have passed and it’s by now you’re beginning to stir in bed. You felt the bed dip beside you but thought nothing of it, thinking Armando was just doing something, or simply sitting up in bed so you tried shifting in bed and going back to sleep.

That was until you felt a sudden dip in the bed right next to you, and then a sudden weight on your body. Your eyes shot open and you look down to see a little mop of hair in your face. It wasn’t the weight of his body on top of yours that startled you, it was the fact that your shirt was dampening as he was hiding is face in your chest.

He was crying. And he never cries.

Immediately you began to worry and sat up as he was holding onto you, following your body up. He was holding onto you so tightly that his grip was threatening to pull you back down.

“Baby..? Are you okay?” You caress his head softly as the worry in your voice was evident. He didn’t answer, opting to hold onto you tighter. “Baby please talk to me.. what’s wrong?” You scrape your fingers through his hair gently in order to calm him down.

Finally he looks up at you and you see his red watery eyes and dried tears in his cheeks, with more tears threatening to spill down them. Immediately your hands shoot up to his face and caresses his cheeks.

“Dime qué pasa bebé. Estoy aquí y te escucho.”

Finally he looks at you and holds onto you tighter. You feel his body slightly shaking and your worry continues to grow.

“..had a dream you got shot.. took a bullet for me and i just kinda.. stood there and let it happen… I didn’t react fast enough and you just dropped and I..—“ he starts and then chokes up.

“Shh baby I’m here.. I’m here with you.. I didn’t go anywhere, I didn’t die”

You caress his head and pulls him impossibly closer to you, comforting him the best you can by reassuring words and kisses, littering them all over his face. He just surrenders to your actions, wanting nothing more than just being close to you in this moment.

“Did the nightmare just happen?” You ask him. Wordlessly, he nods his head no and you can feel his body convulsing, as to hold back his tears. You gently rub his back, and proceeds to slide back down into a laying position with his head still on your chest.

Your heart ached seeing him like this.

“Should’ve woken me up babe.. you know I’d help you” you say softly into his hair, simultaneously kissing the top of his head.

“..didn’t wanna bother you” he says back.

You furrow your eyebrows at this. “You’ve never bothered me baby.. if it happens again, wake me up okay?”

He nods and hugs around your waist tighter.

This went on for a couple more minutes and you could tell it was extremely painful for him to talk about.

Everytime he’d try to explain in detail what happened in his dream, he’d get choked up again and you couldn’t stand to see him hurt so much anymore.

“You don’t have to say anything else okay? Nothing at all.. I won’t leave you by yourself.. I won’t die on you.. te prometo que” you say softly, pulling his head up from your chest with both of your hands then plants a kiss on his lips, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears escaping his eyes.

He leans into the kiss, closing his eyes and the furrowing his eyebrows, a tendency he has a lot. You pull away and he stares into your eyes.

“No puedes volver con eso mamà.. you promised”

You smile at him and then kiss him again. “I’m not going anywhere babe.. I promise.. hasta el fuego”

He finally cracks a small smile at your words, a little bit of peace comes with what you just said to him.

He rests his head back into your chest.. mimicking the same words back to you.

“Así es mamá.. hasta el fuego”

The rest of the night is filled with the same pitter pattering of the rain hitting the windows, and the gentle sound of the AC filling the space, except this time, the man you love so deeply is resting on your chest, the steady beating of your heart reassuring him that you are here, and still with him.

That you go won’t anywhere.

And you in turn use your fingers to comb through his hair, scratching his scalp gently and playing with his hair, occasionally kissing his head and caressing his body to soothe him back to sleep.

You had already made up your mind that you wouldn’t sleep until he fell asleep.

Between the beating of your heart, your touches and the rain outside, it didn’t take long for the man resting on your chest to drift away into slumber.

And you in turn smiled, happy that he can now get the rest he deserves, knowing that you won’t be going anywhere, unless it’s with him.

[GLOSSARY]

“Dime qué pasa bebé. Estoy aquí y te escucho.” — Tell me what's wrong baby.. i'm here and i'm listening

“..—te prometo que” — I promise you that

“No puedes volver con eso mamá..” — you can’t go back on that mama

“hasta el fuego” — to the fire or til we burn

“Así es mamá” — that’s right mama

ミ★

{TAGLIST} :: @loakswifesworld @ghettogirly @tinys0ftie @shurisgf || if you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know in comments or dms🤗💕

#🪸 :: 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 #armando aretas #armando armas #armando x reader #armando armas x reader #armando aretas x reader #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #jacob scipio

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arxiwon · 2 months ago

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What Vampire!Enhypen Would Do If They Caught Their Girlfriend Getting Her Neck Bitten by Another Vampire

🩸 Vampire!Enhypen Reaction to Seeing Their Lover Being Bitten by Another Vampire 🩸

— A dark and possessive take on their rage, jealousy, and thirst for revenge.

🦇 Heeseung – The air turns ice-cold as his fangs bare in a wicked snarl. He doesn’t give the other vampire a chance—within seconds, they’re nothing but a lifeless corpse at his feet. His hands grip your trembling body, his voice laced with both fury and concern. “You’re mine. No one else touches you.”

🩸 Jay – His eyes darken, lips curling in a silent, deadly promise. He doesn’t need to attack—the sheer force of his aura alone has the other vampire cowering in fear. But it’s not enough. Jay doesn’t stop until they’re suffering. Then, he turns to you, dragging a cold finger down the fresh wound. “You enjoyed this, didn’t you?”

🖤 Jake – He doesn’t think—just acts. In a flash, the other vampire is ripped away from you, their body crashing into the nearest wall. The way his voice trembles with rage is scarier than his violence. “Do you want to die? Because touching what’s mine is a death wish.” He pulls you into his arms, inhaling your scent to calm himself, but his fangs still ache to sink into your skin—to erase their mark and make you his again.

🌑 Sunghoon – He watches, silent and motionless, before speaking with eerie calm. “How bold of you.” That’s the only warning the other vampire gets before he attacks, swift and merciless. When it’s over, he turns to you, his fingers gripping your chin roughly. “You let them touch you? You let them drink from you?” His voice is soft, but his hunger is unmistakable as he leans in. “Then I guess I’ll have to remind you who you belong to.”

🔥 Sunoo – His usual warmth is gone—replaced by something terrifying. His eyes glow with a deadly gleam as he yanks the vampire away from you, his claws tearing into their skin. “How dare you.” The words are whispered, but they drip with venom. Once they’re dealt with, he pulls you against him, his fangs grazing your wounded neck. “You smell like them. I don’t like that.”

🕷️ Jungwon – His entire body stiffens before he lunges. He’s fast—too fast for the other vampire to react before they’re on their knees, barely clinging to life. “You’re still breathing? That’s disappointing.” Once he’s satisfied with their suffering, he finally turns to you. His grip on your wrist is punishing. “Explain. Now.” And if he doesn’t like your answer? You won’t be leaving his sight for a very, very long time.

🩶 Ni-ki – His lips curl into a wicked grin, but his eyes hold no humor. “You must have a death wish.” The next moment, the other vampire is writhing on the ground, begging for mercy they won’t get. But Ni-ki doesn’t stop there—he pulls you close, his lips brushing the bite wound. “Did you like it? Did it feel good?” His voice is mocking, but his grip is possessive. “Too bad. The only one who gets to bite you is me.”

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seiwas · 2 years ago

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₊˚⊹。and my body keeps saying (it's yours) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo thinks this is different, new, almost like it’s the first time for everything.

contains: f!reader in mind but no specifics are mentioned, 18+/mature/soft-slight n*ft/w, sex with feelings (it’s really just vanilla tho!), first time!, there’s an awkward bit but that’s intentional!, lots of nervous feelings! but also lots of intimacy!

a/n: for nonie.🫧 who asked about what it would be like for their first time! title is inspired by an emotional oranges song, devotion (which i used as music inspo for the entire fic too + troye sivan, what a heavenly way to die). this is also my first time writing anything close to n*fw so please be kind! idk if i’ll ever write one again; takes place between tell me about love (show me how) and so this is what it means to be in love!

collection masterlist: conversations on love 02. tell me about love (show me how) <- you are here -> +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

It’s a touch—

—fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw, trailing down his neck, lightly, delicately.

Gojo kisses you beneath the glow of your bathroom lights and he twitches, just a little bit.

“Sorry,” you stop, attempting to pull away from him immediately.

His neck is sensitive, always has been since Toji. The mark has faded over the years; what used to be a line running through the shadow of his jawline is now nothing, but you know the feeling lingers, still. You’ve tried to avoid the area as much as you could—while sparring, hugging, kissing; holding him in moments as intimate as this. But sometimes, your fingers slip, and he jolts, so you move away, apologetic—

And he wishes that you didn’t, wishes that he didn’t have to react that way when all he really wants is for you to hold him like this.

He stares at you now, lips puffed and kiss-bitten, and thinks, he shouldn’t even be here—

—at 2:00 a.m., in your apartment, fresh out of a three-day assignment he caught the last train for, just to see you.

He shouldn’t even be here, bone-tired in a black t-shirt and track pants he couldn’t be bothered with—there just wasn’t enough time to change out of it.

And he really shouldn't even be here, except, he cut the assignment two days short, rushed through it, restless, eager at the thought of getting back soon.

All because he missed you.

Gojo keeps you close, his fingers splayed on the base of your spine, warm and pressing. You can’t read him, his next move, but his eyes hold lightning crackling. He takes your hand and guides it back to where he’s weakest, underneath his jaw, on his neck—healed skin and tissue, his lifeline to you.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, eyes piercing.

He still twitches when you touch his skin, but it’s always been involuntary. You should know that it could never be because of you, your hands that hold every good thing his heart carries.

You lean in first, tiptoeing, nudging his nose with yours and your lips hovering. His pulse point rests beneath your fingertips—can you feel how fast it’s beating? Just from having you near him?

The tips of his hair tickle your forehead and he swallows, throat bobbing. It’s impossible to resist him when he’s this boyish, this charming, so you kiss his lips once, before pulling away, teasing. He bites his lips, red blooming against pink, and you don’t know exactly what you’re anticipating—

But he leans in.

When you kiss again, the feeling is familiar, a memory of trembling lips and shaky breaths by a bathroom door that isn’t yours. He doesn’t tremble anymore, isn’t as stiff when he has your lips memorized among many other things, but Gojo still flushes the same way your cheeks heat up and your breaths intermingle at the same rate your hearts race.

You follow where the lights have diffused into your hallway, this dance with him a push-and-pull you’ve done a few times before. He keeps his palm flat on your lower back, pushing you closer, while pulling you towards your bedroom door.

His hands slide to your waist, dipping you, grip tightening as you bite his lips, tugging. He moans softly, voice low when your hands rake through his hair, the vibrations rippling through your mouth. Your fingers grasp at the short strands of hair at the back of his head, sighing when his lips are released from yours.

There’s a moment where you catch his eyes, pupils blown a dangerous blue—a sky swallowing you whole before he begins trailing kisses down your neck, nips and licks evidence of just how greedy he is with you.

A heat builds within you, rooted deep in your belly as you stay pressed against the outline on his crotch.

It’s hard to imagine a time before all this, how he even struggled to hold your hand when he touches you now like this.

You stumble over his feet as he backs into your bedroom, steadied only by his hold on you. You chuckle, a small ‘oops’, so sweet, as your collarbone clashes with his teeth. He smiles, lips curled against your skin as he teases, “So clumsy,”

He’s kissed you this much before, has held you this tight, and touched you much more but this feeling between you now, he can tell—

Tonight is different.

You lead him this time, to the edge of your bed as you keep him closer, hands all over him. When you lie down, lower lip caught between your teeth, you smile shyly but your eyes burn sinfully, and Gojo wonders if you know that this is what he sees when he’s dreaming.

He moves closer, your mattress dipping as he hovers above you, arms caging the sides of your face. His head is spinning, eyes zeroing in on the skin exposed by the single button undone on your pajama top.

When you cup his cheeks, thumb running across his swollen lips—

He thinks he might go crazy.

You have no idea what you just did.

He takes a breath before pressing every bit of his longing onto your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, imprinting proof that he was here, with you. It’s red and blotchy, situated right underneath your ear and it’s one too many but still not enough—for him, never enough.

You gasp, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and it’s overwhelming, this feeling. As quickly as it escalated, Gojo freezes, as if you’ve burned him, as if he’s caught up to what could possibly be happening, and it’s—

It’s a lot.

He pulls away slowly, eyes wide and breath shaky. The air is thick, hot and heavy, and this—where this is going is something he’s never done before, not entirely.

You sit up, alarmed, hands cradling his face carefully. His eyes are frantic, nervous, blinking at a pace that only makes you worried.

“We can stop,” you mumble, lowering your hands to take his, gently.

He sees you, hair a mess, marked his, beautiful, and he just wants to make sure—that you’re okay with this, that you want this, with him. Truly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, a sky you could fall into, “Honestly.”

He breathes out, staring. You gulp before shaking your head. “Do you?”

And he doesn’t have to think much about it, really, because of course, he doesn’t want to stop.

How could he, when it’s you?

He shakes his head too and you smile.

You squeeze his hand, guiding it to the buttons of your top, “Okay—”

“We’ve never…” he hesitates, trailing off.

It’s weird because it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before; you’ve both done things at the very least, just never all the way. And now, with the knowledge that that very fact is going to change—it feels different, new, like it’s the first time for everything.

You nod, stroking his knuckles to reassure him, “You said you’re a fast learner, right?”

The nervous laugh you give is oddly comforting, and he remembers that first kiss and the single thought that if he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does?

So he takes it—

—unbuttons your top one-by-one, and he’s a bit shaky, hands clammy, but he gets it off eventually. Then goes his shirt, and your shorts, his pants, a struggle to get past his ankles until you’re both bare, cheeks hot while giggling, like first loves—and maybe it is.

Gojo sees you stripped down, uncovered, wholly you for the first time and thinks he could die.

It’s vulnerable and strange as he hovers over you this time, skin-to-skin, but you fit together this way, just right.

You giggle some more, unable to hide your nervousness. It’s a habit you have—laughing in inappropriate situations, but he thinks it’s cute, so he does it right back.

Your fingers trace his eyebrows, down to his nose and cheeks, then to his lips, still red and bitten, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. Not fair.”

He blushes, tips of his ears and neck flushing, “‘Course,” he kisses your nose, pulling away to get a good look at you.

“Have to be if I’m with you.”

It’s cheesy, and you roll your eyes, laughing full-on but he smiles wider and it feels good knowing that he’ll forever get to share this moment with you.

“I, uh,” he mumbles, trying to find the words, “have to prep.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” you move, hands reaching for him between you, but he catches your wrist before you touch him, stopping you.

“Don’t,” he says, firm, face red as he looks straight at you. “I might not…” he doesn’t continue but you know what he means, so you nod, pulling away.

His hand trails down your body, inching closer to where you need him to be, and it’s sweet you think, because he kisses your lips once before asking, “Can I?” as if he still has to.

You nod, before whispering, “Don’t ask next time.”

Next time, you said and it rings, echoes in his head as a promise for more—that this is just the beginning.

So he touches you, in every way he thinks you should be, in every way he knows you want to be.

There’s a gasp, then a moan as he leaves another mark on your neck, and you’re so close when he stops.

You whimper, but you know what’s next, and you see it in his eyes as he prepares himself, fingers discarding a square packet, “You’ll let me know?” he whispers, soft, concerned.

You’ll let me know if I hurt you? he means, and his eyes stare into yours, sincere.

You nod, brushing your lips against his, and when you feel it—it’s unusual, maybe a bit uncomfortable but he’s there kissing it away.

There’s an adjustment, a few awkward positions until he finds it, then he goes slow, rhythmic. Your sighs grow louder and he groans, withholding, then you say it—

“‘Toru,”

—by his ear, soft and breathy, and he’s gone, stilling and spilling, a part of him forever yours, irrevocably.

thank you notes: to nonie.🫧 for asking about this in the first place, and to niku (@stellamancer) for emotional support and for reading this first!! + for helping me go over it!! i love u niku 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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fandom-random-help · 13 days ago

Text

Part 1

Part 2 of Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military!Reader

As the days went on, the mission should've ended quicker than expected. Nothing prepared you for the ambush. It all happened so fast. One minute you and Soap are finishing up a stealth mission, quickly and efficiently gathering all the intel you needed to go home. The next? Getting shot at while you think you made it into the clear.

You and Soap kept running to get out of range, but they were following close behind. The woods you were both running in was rough terrain and with it being dark out made it difficult to navigate. Gunshots and yelling rang out from behind you as you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. That's when you spot it, a river to your left. You look at Soap, who is also on your left, and devise a plan. "You're gonna hate me for this Sudsy." You say as you tackle Soap until you both are rolling down the hill, off the beaten path, and into the river. The water felt cold as it hit your skin, cooling you down from the deadly marathon you just ran. Harsh breaths and running water was all you could hear as you slowly calmed your once rapid heart-rate. Soap turns to you and lets out a little laugh.

"Christ Bonnie, didn't think you were that tough." Was all he said as you begin sit up. You winced. You looked down and notice you've been shot on you right side. Not too critical, but bad enough it needed medical attention. Soap quickly got up to assess your state. He quickly grabbed for his radio to talk to anyone who would listen. He called for medical help and when asked what happened all he said was that you were shot. On the other end of the radio Price is worried, Gaz is keeping cool on the outside, and Ghost? He was internally panicking.

Why didn't he go with you? Why did he choose to stay with Price and Gaz? Why did he ignore your insistence on having him go with you? Why did he push you away?

All these thoughts were running through his mind as he wondered how bad it was.

Meanwhile, Soap was getting you to a safepoint. It started out easy, you were able to walk so nothing was a hassle. That was until the blood loss really hit and it was getting harder to stand, to see, to think. Soap noticed and caught you before you could hit the ground and carried you the rest of the way. He kept urging you to stay awake and think of "happy things" as he put it.

All you could think about was Simon. It's who you always thought about in times like this, but right now, it was anxiety-inducing.

How is he going to react? How is he going to look at you now? Will he leave you? Will he even tell you?

You were so caught up in the what ifs that you didn't realize you were crying. Your chest felt heavier than usual. Your breaths were short and quick. Soap reassured you that you were almost there and he wasn't lying. It felt like mere seconds had passed and then you were laying in a makeshift bed. The field medic slowly started removing your gear as Soap stood by, worried for you.

"I'm going to have to remove your mask. I can't have you hyperventilate." The medic said as she reached for the mask. You flinched away from her and asked if you could have privacy first. She nodded and turned to Soap telling him to leave. He wasn't about to let that happen. He watched you almost die on the way to the medic and he wanted to make sure you were okay. He was about to argue until you yelled, "Soap can I just have some goddamn peace! I don't want anyone to see me!" He was taken aback by your words until you whispered out. "My boyfriend is gonna kill me if he sees me like this." Before he could get any words out the medic ushered him out of the room.

Soap made it to the rest of the team when they started bombarding him with questions of what happened? and were you alright? He explained what happened on the mission to the guys while Ghost stood in the corner taking it all in. When Soap got to the end and said your boyfriend was going to kill you if he seen you injured. Everybody froze.

"Boyfriend? Since when did she have a boyfriend?" Gaz asked.

"She never said anything about a boyfriend the entire time she's been with us." Price stated.

"Maybe he's a prick." Ghost said, cutting everybody's attention towards him. He shruged and continued, "She never talks about him, she said he would kill her if she was injured, she's always quiet when we talk about our relationships. If I'd known any better I'd say he's a prick."

That's when the theories started rolling about what kind of boyfriend you had. Gaz thinks he's verbally abusive as you always seem a little stunned when you recieve compliments or praise for your work. Price thinks you were worried about him finding out about your job since you never brought him up until you were hurt. Soap thinks he probably has the ugliest mug anybody has ever laid eyes on and you stay with him out of pity even though he isn't right for you. Ghost doesn't say anything the whole time. He feels like he's said enough, but it makes him wonder how bad your life is outside of work must be if you never talk about it.

You, on the other hand, are in pain and calming down from the slight anxiety attack earlier. The medic bandaged you up, but said you needed to be treated back at base. Since you and Soap's mission was the finishing touch to the deployment it meant you would be back on base quicker than you thought. You left two days before the rest of the task force due to your injury. The ride on heli back to base was...silent. Not even your anxious thinking was loud. You missed the guys though, wondered how they were taking it.

You were whisked away to the infirmary as soon as you touched the ground. You got a proper physical exam, and was given the order to rest and recover. You told the nurses that you didn't want visitors. You were a private person, and having anyone see you hurt felt almost uncomfortable. After getting settled in your room you pulled out your phone. Numerous texts and phone calls raided your phone's notifications. All of them were from Simon. You almost got choked up knowing you've been ignoring, but not ignoring your boyfriend the entire month. You knew you couldn't keep doing this. You had to tell him whether you liked it or not. He had to know, for your sake and his.

The guys made it back two days later. As soon as they got on base they walked to the infirmary. Soap and Gaz were practically running to the front desk. After a long back and forth with the nurses, they were turned away defeated and disappointed. "I can't believe she doesn't want to see us? We're her friends." Soap says, almost heartbroken. "You think it has something to do with her boyfriend?" Gaz questioned. Ghost rolled his eyes as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He froze slightly, but kept walking with the guys. After a few seconds, he quietly separated from the group and went to his room. He closed the door and pulled out his phone. It was a text from you that read:

"Sorry Baby! I've been sooooo busy with work lately. I did want to let you know I might be a few days late coming home. Flight schedules are fucked. I love you so much and I hope you made it home safe <3"

He smiled a little. This meant he could suprise you when you actually come home. He replied back:

"It's alright love. Made it home just fine. You be safe coming back home. I love you."

Simon spent that night doing his paperwork and filing his action report. After he was done he took his papers and walked down the hall to Price's office. The light was still on in his office so Simon knocked on the door. "It's open." Price said plainly. Simon walks in and noticed that Price is staring at the phone on his desk. "Somethin' wrong Cap'n?" Simon asked. Price sighed, "I'm supposed to call Grasshopper's emergency contact, but I'm worried it might start something that she doesn't need right now." Simon huffed, "It's protocol Cap. Might as well do it. 'Sides if he causes a scene, we can take'em." Price looks up at Simon and gives a small nod. After Simon drops off his paperwork, he walks back to his room. Once he's back in his room he goes to lay down before his phone starts buzzing on his nightstand. He picks it up and looks at the caller ID.

Why is Price calling him?

Part 3

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty

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pukefactory · 2 months ago

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There's something I was constantly thinking about..Could I maybe ask for some Sprout x hurt!reader(Reader in some trouble with a twisted on the verge of death), it would be very dramatic 😭🥹

I originally intended this to be a short story but was unsatisfied with the result, so I scrapped it in favor of these headcanons instead. Hopefully, they do the job—happy reading, everyone!

*✧･ﾟ:* MISS YOU *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

➤ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring Sprout saving the reader from dying

➤ Character(s): Sprout Seedly (Dandy’s World)

➤ Genre: Headcanons, Angst, SFW

➤ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

➤ Image Credits: Qwelver

➸ The moment he sees you in danger, something inside him snaps. Sprout has always been protective, but watching you teeter on the edge of death? It awakens something raw and instinctive. His usual calculated approach shatters—there’s no time to think, only to act. Without hesitation, he throws himself between you and the Twisted, his scarf whipping behind him as he charges.

➸ He doesn’t care if he gets hurt. Claws rake his side, but he barely reacts. Pain doesn’t matter—not when you’re the one at risk. His only focus is keeping that thing from touching you again. He fights harder, faster, fueled by something deeper than fear. Even if he can barely stand when it’s over, he’d rather be the one bleeding than see you like this.

➸ But when he finally gets to you, he freezes. For all his usual pushiness, Sprout hesitates. His hands hover over your wounds, trembling. What if he makes it worse? He’s never been this scared—not even in his worst fights. He swallows hard, forcing himself to move. He has to do something.

➸ His usual sharp wit is gone, replaced with something tight and desperate. “You better stay awake. You hear me?” His voice is strained, barely holding together. No teasing. No smug remarks. Just raw panic. Kneeling beside you, he presses against your wounds, trying to slow the bleeding. His scarf slips from his shoulders as he leans over you. “You’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.”

➸ Without a second thought, he rips his own scarf—his favorite one, the one he’s had since he was but a little Toon—and wraps the fabric around your wounds with unsteady hands. He doesn’t care if it’s ruined. He doesn’t care about anything except keeping you here.

➸ Even when the battle is over, he refuses to leave your side. He crouches next to you, eyes locked on your chest, watching every shallow rise and fall. He doesn’t trust anyone else to look after you. If he lets his guard down for even a second, what if something happens? What if you stop breathing?

➸ The first time you speak, it nearly breaks him. Your voice is weak, barely a whisper, but the second he hears it, relief slams into him like a wave. His hands tighten into fists, and his whole body sags forward. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but you can see the way his leaves tremble.

➸ He’s never letting this happen again. The second you’re strong enough to move, expect a lecture. He’s furious—not at you, but at the fact that you got hurt, that he wasn’t fast enough. But beneath all the anger is something deeper. Fear. “Next time, you run,” he says, voice firm. “I don’t care what’s happening—you run, and you let me handle it.”

➸ That night, he doesn’t sleep. Even after you’re safe, he stays at your bedside, arms crossed, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. His scarf is still missing, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Every time you so much as shift, he’s instantly on edge. He won’t rest—not until he’s certain you’ll wake up. Not until he knows he didn’t lose you.

➸ He tries to act normal, but you see right through him. When you’re finally strong enough to sit up, you catch him staring. The moment your eyes meet, he quickly looks away, muttering something you can’t hear. But his usual grumpiness doesn’t mask the truth. He’s still shaken. And when you reach for his hand, he doesn’t pull away.

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httpskuzuu · 5 months ago

Note

L”m so happy your back! I would like a request a yandere! Pm Dazai (18 yrs old) with a darling who’s naïve and innocent (of course he kidnaps them) how would he react to a such pure person! Thank you for taking this request.

Yandere!PM!Dazai with a naive and innocent reader

This is the first time I write for PM!Dazai (and I do headcanons), don't kill me

Yandere!PM!Dazai x Reader

Idk english, I don't like english, let me

summary: the title :D

tw: kidnapping, corruption of innocence, stalking, death (not reader or Dazai), physical and psychological abuse, maybe something else but idk

Honestly, I don't know how you got into this situation.

I can only think of two options as to how you ended up getting his attention: Dazai was looking for someone like you or you just surprised him.

With the first option, I guess he wanted to get away momentarily from everything he had known in his life, get someone who wasn't as fucked up as he was.

Or you just came unexpectedly into his life, maybe you got involved in one of his missions without having any idea.

Either way, Dazai was dazzled by your innocence.

You are the opposite of him and he wants to keep it that way, he knows what this world is capable of doing to pure souls like yours and he is not going to allow that.

First he won your trust, it was easy, you trusted everyone too fast, you didn't even doubt him in spite of his strange attitude that didn't let you see beyond him.

You never realized the danger in front of your eyes and that only made Dazai adore you more.

He would know every little part of your life, the names of all your friends and the places you go to, he always has an eye on you.

He would keep your friends and family away from you, he's not afraid to kill, threaten or torture others for that purpose.

Deep down, all he wants to do is to corrupt you.

He wants to be the one to destroy your innocence, to show you the cruelty of the world, even if it is contradictory to his initial purpose.

Maybe that's the reason he kidnapped you.

And oh god, that's when the real fun begins.

He doesn't care about your opinion, not in the slightest, and punishments are just around the corner.

Forced affection would be a normal thing, he sees you as a kind of safe place where he can be a bit more vulnerable, just a bit 🤏

Still, I doubt he would ever let you see his true feelings.

That would only be way down the road in your relationship, when Dazai can have complete confidence that you'll never escape.

Yandere!Dazai is not easy, least of all if he's PM Dazai, but your attitude would make it somewhat more tolerable.

Being such a naive little thing, he can trust you more easily.

Plus you're terrified of him, so you don't even think about running away.

But if you were to try… Well, remember what I said about punishments being just around the corner? Then get ready for torture.

Breaking bones, beating you unconscious, isolating you for days, starving and thirsting you, etc.

Although he usually mistreats you as well, it's all more psychological.

He wants to make you see the evil, to see you break and cry.

Makes him have a mix between sadistic joy and regret.

He really feels very guilty for everything he does, for seeing you in such a broken state.

He would never tell you, the closest you get to that would be a strangely silent Dazai cuddling like a koala bear to you.

I hope you have enough mental stamina to endure your stay with Dazai

Oh, and if he sees that he's broken you until there's nothing left of the original you or that all your innocence is gone, maybe he'll kill you because he's bored 😀

The image of your friend would not leave your head. He was immobile, cold, dead.

It was the first time you saw a corpse in real life, it made your blood run cold. Especially because you saw him die and you couldn't do anything about it.

Dazai killed him, after many hours of torture, one shot in his head and his screams stopped. You saw the blood spill on the floor along with pieces of flesh. You did not vomit because of the absence of food in your stomach, but the nausea was there.

He wouldn't let you take your eyes off him, even when he was torturing him. When his fingernails were being pulled out and his skin was burning. You had to keep watching or the torture would transfer to you.

You couldn't save him. Your throat was torn from screaming, but he was still dead. Would his corpse still be in that dark warehouse? Would that be his grave? At least you would have liked to have been able to give him a proper funeral, not abandon him.

You didn't understand how someone could be as evil as Dazai was. Your friend did nothing, he just worried about your disappearance. Now, because of you, he too would become a missing person.

The tears were still wet when an extra weight was placed on the bed. You refused to move, afraid that he would take you back to continue seeing those horrible things, things you can't even describe without breaking down in tears.

He lies behind you and wraps his arms around you, his hands that caused so many murders gently holding your body.

You never thought before that the perpetrators of these acts could be ordinary people, people you would trust and befriend. But they could be, the proof of that was Dazai, someone too young to be killing.

You are conflicted by the situation, you empathize with Dazai. You want to understand him and know what led him to be the way he is today, try to justify him, but he killed your friend. The dilemma of whether he deserved a forgiveness eats at you inside. Could his actions be justified by his past? Maybe Dazai is just a victim like you.

Be that as it may, apparently you still have time to think because he doesn't plan to let you go anytime soon.

I am sleep deprived

#bsd x reader #bsd x you #yandere bsd #yandere #yandere dazai #pm dazai #bsd dazai #dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai

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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months ago

Text

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬…” {1/2}

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: How I would think the Primarchs would react to you saying “I’m getting too old for this.” Yandere Primarchs would be a different story…

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The “Primarchs” reacting to you saying “I’m too old for this.” Simple as that.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Slight Angst.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀ��3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Part 2}

The Emperor; “Revelation:”

He hears your words through your soul. He doesn’t need to be in front of you to hear you say you’re “too old” comment to yourself, and he feels… indifferent about it, in a way. Sure, you’re his counterpart, but he has always expected you to eventually fall to the hands of death before him. It was inevitable. He was a proclaimed god, and you? A simple human. A human that reminds him of too much true humanity itself despite his title…

Lion El’Johnson; “The First:”

Is also indifferent about it and expects it. He knows the consequences and prepares himself for it, or at least tries to. His face is voided of emotion, but his eyes stare and that means a lot than what many lead on. He won’t show it, act or even acknowledge it, and perhaps… he doesn’t want to.

Fulgrim; “The Phoenician:”

Gasps at you from like a 5-mile radius (maybe more) before coming to where you are leaning down to sweep you up in his arms. Kissing you on the cheek and forehead, and it’s very much to your confusion. Your hubby is being very affectionate with you randomly. Well, until he praises you on your age and how remarkable you look do you piece together what happened to get such lovin’.

Perturabo; “Lord of Iron:”

Pretends not to care, but he does give a very low hum of acknowledgement. Is somehow better than his first brother as he at least acknowledged your words. (From a far radius as well.) He’s a bit… hurt? At your words, but he knows it’s inevitable as well. Though, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t change something within his workplace to make you more comfortable and less eligible to say those words again.

Jaghatai Khan; “The Warhawk:”

Would pick you up, kiss you on the neck before giving you to the other wives of his sons. Requesting them to pamper you for the day, and if they can’t? He will, and he’s surprisingly good at it. It’s nothing much compared to the thought of your aging death, but he can at least make it more comfortable, right?

Leman Russ; “The Wolf King:”

Plays excited and happy, but is… gloomy on the inside. He doesn’t like your words, you should prosper, hunting with him and his sons forever. Yet he is not oblivious to the acts of death: slow and fast. Though, maybe hunting with his sons in the… afterlife would be more enjoyable? Lasting? He doesn’t like to think too much on it, but he’ll try and spend his time with you more often. (Not like he already does.)

Rogal Dorn; “Praetorian of Terra:”

Gives you a voided stare like his first brother too. Though, he also doesn’t really acknowledge it either, with words anyway. He may act though, doing the same thing his 4th brother does. Trying to provide you with a much more comfortable environment. Stop complaining about his quarters being enough. He must ensure structure.

Konrad Cruze; “Dark King:”

Stares at you too, but is like… worse than Lord Dorns stare. You think he’ll do anything for your uttered words? Thats right, he won’t. If he let himself die to the hands of an assassin? He’ll let you suffer your age. He feels indifferent about not killing you himself however… He may or may not offer extra human bones to you.

Sanguinius; “The Angel:”

Looks at you for a second: up and down before giving a low hum, and gracefully walking to your side. Inside, he doesn’t like your words and he knows his sons around him don’t like it either. It’s one of the many things they think they can’t live without: you. He’ll cover you with his wings as everything seems to get painfully quiet, but he’ll praise you as if nothing happened.

Ferrus Manus; “The Gorgon:”

His legion would simply not care, but him? He’s affected by it. Yes, he likes your humanity, but please. Don’t say those words. He doesn’t wish to think upon them. He doesn’t wish for you to… possibly be like his sons. He’ll keep you more close to him than usual after that, keeping a good eye on you. He won’t say anything, but he’s… there.

#personalized headcanons #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #primarch #the primarchs #the emperor of mankind #the emperor x reader #primarch x reader #lion el'jonson #fulgrim #perturabo #jaghatai khan #leman russ #rogal dorn #konrad curze #sanguinus #ferrus manus #tw: angst

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astarion-obsessions · 2 years ago

Text

Hold on, there is something I thought about. When Astarion approached Tav with "all his favourite lines" of flattery, leading to fake confessing his love to them, I was genuinely hurt to see that he would play with Tav's feelings like that, just for the sake of entertainment.

But now that their relationship progressed and Astarion actually confessed that he developed feelings for Tav, but still claims to not know how he would define their relationship, I get the feeling that he made the choice to fake confess beforehand for another reason than entertainment or seduction altogether. Hear me out.

Why does Astarion fake confess his love to Tav?

When I get a scene with Astarion, I always reload a thousand times to try out all the routes and see all his reactions, so what I'm about to break down will be no less than heartbreaking.

First let's take a look at what Astarion has to say. He starts the conversation with a clear goal in mind: he wants to seduce us again and he says so right away. He continues with very openly displaying his skills at charming people with honeyed words, seemingly enjoying himself while doing so. But what we have to keep in mind is that he's done that thousands and thousands of times already. I think it's safe to assume that he's perfected this mask of a smug, flirtatious man enjoying all this debauchery.

But after giving us one suggestive line after another, he does something that does not match the tone of the conversation so far: his fake love confession. I mean, just look at him.

He goes from completely exaggerated facial expressions and gestures:

When I'm with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again with you.

To this:

I love you

We get a closeup of his face and see that he gets serious all of a sudden despite the fact that the conversation has been all fun and flirty just a moment ago. He draws his brows together, tells Tav "I love you" and then just looks at us with this serious and almost sad expression. Completely different from before when he was just toying around.

And yes, I just said he's very practiced in playing pretend, but just the difference between shallow and cheesy lines about craving to die together and their perfect body whispering temptation in contrast to a simple "I love you" and then on top of that the difference on how he conveys it - for me it just doesn't fit together, this isn’t Astarion pretending. And furthermore he gains nothing from adding this confession. The flirty lines would have been enough to seduce Tav once again and therefore ensure their attachment to him, so that his protection is granted. And that is all he wants, at least in the beginning.

But then, why would he voice this fake confession in the first place? And that's where my theory sets in. I don't think he would risk the trouble of getting more feelings involved than necessary in his "nice simple plan" - seducing Tav, sleeping with them, manipulating their feelings. For doing so, he simply wouldn't need a love confession.

With saying "How about I say those little words. Everyone's favourite" he already suggests that he's said them to a lot of people already. And this surely is a way to charm and seduce people very fast, but with Tav he doesn't need to rush. They're tied together for an indefinite amount of time, he doesn't need to seduce them in a matter of hours or days before serving them to his master. And he's already seduced Tav successfully before, so my guess is this:

My explanation for the fake confession

The real confession scene, where he admits to having started to genuinely feel something for Tav, came a bit out of nowhere for me. (And don't get me started with our options to react to his real confession. I talked about that here.) I don’t think he would just willingly tell Tav that he's grown fond of them, when a few nights before he threw the fake confession their way without giving a damn about Tav's feelings - that just felt very out of character for him in my opinion.

But what if he started to fall in love with Tav even before the fake confession? Think about it, he has slept with Tav once - successfully seduced - so all he has to do is sustain this kind of relationship. Saying all his favourite lines at Tav and trying to get them to sleep with each other for a second time would have been just that - sustaining the relationship at present. But then he says "I love you". And I say he does so purposefully. It's a test. Having someone like you enough to sleep with you is one thing. Having deep and complex feelings like love involved is something else entirely. So he tests the waters with this confession. He hides behind all of these flirtatious lines and places the confession at their end to throw a veil over its real meaning.

It may be a lie either way - saying it just for entertainment or saying it to see if Tav is open for deeper feelings - but I think he exaggerates on purpose to trigger a reaction that speaks for itself. Does Tav care about these words? Is Tav hurt to see that Astarion is apparently willing to play with their feelings like this? Or do they not care about such vanities?

I want to emphasise the fact that Astarion hasn't had the luxury to allow himself anything resembling these kinds of feelings for at least two centuries. Naturally, he would not just come around and open up his heart to Tav when all he's done until then was charming them just for his plan. He would want to reassure himself that this wouldn't turn against him if he dares to show such great vulnerability in front of anyone. He says it himself when he properly confesses that it is intimidating for him to make decisions on his own again. And confessing his feelings is exactly one of those intimidating decisions.

Interpreting Astarion's reaction

To back up my take I want to take a closer look at Astarion's reaction when we reject him after the fake confession. After he laughs the confession off in one way or the other, he insists on having sex with you again. Here he sticks to exaggerated facial expressions and gestures, just like before with his honeyed words.

Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favourite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each others’ full portfolio of talents once again.

But if Tav then turns him down with saying “I don’t think I really want this”, this is his immediate reaction:

Well, well, excuse me while I die of a broken heart.

He takes a few seconds to process what Tav said, and then instantly responds with another exaggeration accompanied by fitting gesticulation, ending with a fake smile. After that he just looks at Tav for another few seconds and his demeanor changes again:

In all honesty, it's a shame. That time was special to me. I've gotten on my back ten thousand times or more, and forgotten half of them.

He loses his fake smile, averts his gaze and starts fumbling with his hands nervously. He can't hide his disappointment, but he tries to keep his face neutral - even if it doesn't work all too well. He tells us we were special before giving us a scrunched fake smile once again. It's really hard to watch…

But you… you I'll remember.

For usually being rather quick to react and respond, we can see how difficult it is for him to react to Tav in this case.

Have a fine evening, dear.

He pauses yet again, lifts his gaze to the sky and just looks so lost. Mere moments ago he was flirting and laughing, and now he seems so utterly desperate. And then, he can't even keep up his attempts of masking his sadness when his expression slips in the end and his face scrunches painfully for just a second before the whole scene ends. This really broke my heart.

Conclusion

This is definitely not the reaction of someone who was turned down for just another round of sex - even if this meant that Astarion's plan of assuring his safety didn't work out. Because then he could have just tried to get Tav to change their mind with another one of his favourite lines. Or he would have at least reacted like he does when you tell him to stay at the camp ("Oh darling, I'm hurt" which he obviously isn't). But he doesn't.

Because this is the reaction of someone who dared to get his hopes up. Someone who thought that maybe, just maybe, these unwanted, complicated feelings for Tav which had slowly crept up, nullifying his nice simple plan, could genuinely lead to a relationship he didn't know he needed so desperately. Someone who is so devastated by a rejection at this point, that he doesn't even question it. He just accepts that Tav isn't interested in sleeping with him, let alone having feelings beyond sexual desire. It's just as it always has been. It's not as if Astarion remembers anyone caring about him, so why should it be different this time…

And that's why I think this whole fake love confession was a way for Astarion to veil his growing feelings for Tav under the pretence of flirting, and had the purpose to find out if he could more or less safely confess his true feelings to Tav.

Gods, this is so heartbreaking. I need to pat Astarion's fluffy head in my dreams as a redemption.

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion romance #astarion romance spoilers #astarion meta #bg3 meta #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion analysis

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Make You Work

Sequel to Work It Out

Warnings: noncon, body insecurity, minimal editing.

Trainer!Clark Kent x short!chubby!reader; we didn't think this one was gonna happen, did we?

To those who read, I’d love a thot or two of what you think!

You press your back to the lockers. You can’t breath. Your skin speckles in a new sheen of sweat as you stare at the beast before you. The man with his damp curls and flushed cheeks, stone set in his jaw. The flames in his eyes scald you.

“Clark?” You croak, terrified.

He moves, too fast for you to react. You cry out, your feet tangling as you throat out your arm and drop your jeans onto the floor. He catches your arm and pulls you back, pinning you to the lockers as he snarls down at you. You brace yourself, whimpering as grabs your other wrist and forces your arms straight above you. You wriggle and flutter your lashes as tears sting in your eyes.

“Clark, please, what are you doing?” You puff breathlessly.

“I need you,” he growls as his humid breath fans over you.

“No--”

Your voice snags in your throat as his eyes drop down. He looks down at himself and you follow his gaze to the front of his shorts. You see the bulge beneath the dark fabric, twitching as you gasp. You tug on your wrists to no avail as he pushes them together, squeezing them tight as he wraps them in a single hand.

His other roams down to your shoulder and his fingertips brush up your neck. You squeak as traces the line of you chin and pushes his knuckle against your lips. You stare up at him through welling eyes. You might be flattered if you weren’t so damn scared.

He drags his hand back down, trailing down your throat and along your chest. His fingers rest over your ragged heartbeat and he tilts his hand to cup you through your bra. You shiver as he gropes you.

“Please,” you beg in a willowy whisper, a tear riveting down your cheek.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. There’s a tint to his eyes that makes you doubt he can. He slips his hand around the band of your bra and forces his between you and the metal doors. He pinches and swiftly unhooks the clasp. The fabric slacks and lifts as your tits drop out the bottom. It stays strung across your chest as your arms remain locked in his clutches.

He brings his touch back to your chest, jiggling each tit, rolling his thumb around your rigid nipples. He purrs and dips his head. You cry out as he takes a bud in his mouth abruptly, his warmth seeping in you. Your sneakers squeak on the floor as you shift helplessly.

He nips and you babble, more tears flowing as you shake your head. This isn’t happening. He can’t do this. He wouldn’t. Not to you. You’re not... good enough.

He flicks his tongue around and sends a thrill down your spine. His hand wanders down your stomach and you suck in, conscious of your extra cushion. He tickles along the top of your panties, the one’s he said were so cute only moments before. A compliment you took as a taunt.

He pushes his fingers flat against you and slips beneath the cotton. You tilt your head up and gnash your teeth, staring up at his grip still firm around your wrists. It isn’t as nice as you once fantasized. All those years when you thought you would die to have a man like him look your way. This just feels... suffocating.

He grazes along your glossy curls and you squirm. You squeeze your legs together against his touch and he growls against your skin. He teethes you as his breath stains your chest. He nuzzles between your tits as he pokes two fingers between your folds, curling them as he forces them against you.

Your knees buckles as your hip pangs suddenly. You whimper as the shock that zips up your leg, feet slipping apart as you try not to collapse. You don’t think you actually would, just dangle from his grasp like a puppet.

He pushes further, his hand lodging between your thighs as he feels along your cunt. He drags his fingertips back and forth, rubbing you as your insides coil. A slick layer coats your lips, smearing around as lifts his head higher, burying it in the crook of your neck as he prods around your entrance.

He drags his fingertips back and toys with your clit, flicking, swirling, swiping, teasing until your puffing wildly up at the ceiling. Your lip trembles as your chest burns. The sensations meld into a store of horror and delight.

He snarls and bites into the tendon of your neck, pinching as the tension builds inside of you. Your thighs strain shake as you arch your back. A whine rises from your throat as sparks scatter through you and orgasm rents right up your middle. Your stomach muscles knots and your eyes roll back.

It’s wrong, you know it is, but you can’t and won’t stop him.

He pants against you, in time with you, as if he could feel the same release. He unlatches his mouth from you and raises himself up. He looks down at you and jerks you forward away from the lockers. You yelp as pout helplessly. His eyes creep up and down your body as he slips his hand free of your panties.

He spins you suddenly, releasing your arms as you exclaim and flail towards the bench. You catch yourself on the metal, bent over and breathless as he closes you in from behind. He grabs your hips and you try to stand. He grips the back of your neck and holds you down, your ass up as he presses his crotch against you.

He rocks his hips, simulating his intent as he grunts. His fingers crawl around your waistline and he rips the elastic down your ass. You yipe and squirm as the fabric falls just above your knees. He kicks your feet further part as he squeezes your neck till it tweaks.

He feels along the front of his shorts and yanks them down. You fill him spring out against your ass, the rigid flesh rubbing between your cheeks. Your knees touch the bench and you lean forward, only for him to pinch your neck tighter. You relent as he guides his tip along the curve of your ass.

You close your eyes and grit your teeth. Your hang your head as he bends his knees. He rubs himself against your folds, pausing to push against your entrance, before repeating the motion. Down, up, down, up, then he stops, poking until you feel your cunt stretching around his tip.

He splits you in half slowly. That’s what it feels like. He rocks patiently, inch by inch, dipping deeper and deeper. The hot invasion has you moaning and mewling as your head lolls back and forth. His hand slides to your shoulder and his fingers curl into the muscle there.

He leans into you until you’re on your toes. You whine as his pelvis presses to your ass. He wiggles as he buries himself completely in your taut walls. He groans and holds himself there.

He exhales as he pulls back and your insides clench. As he slides back in you whimper. How do you feel even more full then before.

He grabs your hip and pulls your ass higher as he thrusts again. Still slow, still patient. His deep groans drone through the air.

His hand drifts down your back as his rhythm slowly builds. He brings it to your other hip, holding you in place as he rolls his hips against your ass. He growls and bucks harder, jolting you as you cry out. Your shoulders wrack as his nails dig into your flesh.

He snaps his pelvis again. You mewl and he lifts your feet off the ground, holding you just off it as your bodies clop together. He rams into you, harder, deeper, furiously battering you as he loses all control. You keep your hands on the bench, dangling helplessly as he uses you.

He slides his hand away from your hop and hooks his arm across your stomach. He pulls you up flush to him and your head falls against his shoulder. He clings to you, keeping you hovering as he ruts wildly, puffing over you as he bounces you against him.

“You’re so sexy,” he snarls, “can’t you feel it?”

He pounds harder and harder as your voice fizzles out and you reach back to latch onto his thick shoulder. His fucks you furiously as you bite down on your tongue, spasming. You cum again, even less ready for it than before.

He turns and pushes you against the lockers. He crushes you as he jerks his hips up, over and over, grunting and growl as his hand runs up to knead your chest. He presses the tip of his nose to your grown and groans as he quakes. You feel him cum inside of you, fucking it into you until he’s whimpering.

He stills, urging himself as deep as he can go. You gurgle and press a shaky hand to the metal. He lifts his head and kisses the top of your head. Slowly, he lowers you to the floor and slides out of you. A gush spills down your thigh as only your gasping breaths meet your ears.

You lean, trembling, on the lockers and stiffly roll to face him. Your panties droop to your ankles as he pulls his shorts up. He cracks his neck, one way then the other, and shakes out his arms. He blows out a sigh and pushes back his curls. He smirks at you as his blue eyes glint.

“Good work out,” he chuckles as he wipes his forehead, “don’t forget to stretch.”

He spins on his heel, whistling as he struts away. You stare after him, stunned, and slide slowly down to your ass as your knees finally give out. You bow your head and reach under you, feeling along your swollen lips as you flinch.

You feel empty and torn. You snatch your hand away and mop the tears from your damp cheeks. You didn’t even realise you were still crying. You fix your bra and reach back to hook it in place. Every muscle in your body hurts.

You put your hand down and lean forward, groaning as you lift yourself to hands and knees. You crawl to grab your jeans the shift towards the bench. You grab it and push, forcing your feet under you, one then the other.

You stand, swaying, and shake out your pants. It takes you several tries to step into them.

When you finally get them buttoned, you pull on your jersey shirt then the zip-up you wore over it. You zip up your gym bag with your phone inside and ball up your gym clothes. You care them to the bin by the door and waver at the threshold. You drop them into the garbage and make yourself leave.

You stumble through the gym, looking straight and no where else. Is he there? Is he watching? Will he follow you again?

You walk faster and faster, unsteady and clumsy as you rush towards the stairs. Your fear bubbles up with the humiliation. You don’t let it boil over it, fighting desperately to outpace it as you clamour down the flights.

You’re never going back. Never, never again. You tried working out. It’s not for you.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #personal trainer!clark kent #drabble #sequel #superman #dc #dcu #au

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lyrefromthesea · 7 months ago

Note

hi! just read your post about accidentally deleting your inbox jsjsjs so sorry that happened to you. i must've been a hassle to you. uhm just in case mine got deleted as well, i'll send it again if it's alright with you haha if i remember correctly, i think it was a muzan request + male hashiras where their s/o (or someone who has feelings for them) intervened with their respective fights and their actions were the deciding factors of the fight's outcome that led them to victory (you could have their s/o either perish or survive) thank you again and wish you a good day/evening! 🙆🏻‍♀️💙

Male Hashira + Muzan x Reader - Make it Count

author's note: i finally managed to finish this post. truthfully, only Rengoku's part was missing, but my motivation was completely gone after i broke my hand. i hope you enjoy my thoughts on this and sorry for keeping you waiting.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader, Muzan x reader

content warning: descriptions of blood, death (Obanai, Gyomei)

Tengen:

• in this life, he didn't lose a hand fighting Gyutaro and Daki. instead of Obanai, you were the person called for help. luckily, you arrived earlier, but it changed the outcome of the whole fight

• Tengen nearly threw up when instead of his hand being chopped off, you received a deep cut from Gyutaro, making blood spill over your uniform.

• the only thing keeping him going was that you immediately held onto the demon, forcing him to stay dangerously still. while the demon trashed, he couldn't free himself against your grip.

• luck was on your side when Tengen dashed forward beheaded the green-haired demon. and if it hadn't been for the younger slayer beheading Daki, it could've turned out much worse.

• relaxation fell short, Tengen caught your body and started sprinting towards help, losing consciousness a moment later. he would've never forgiven himself without you by his side.

• happiest time in years when he woke up in a hospital bed, finding you asleep in the bed on his right. you looked better than before. healthier.

Obanai:

• he's blaming himself, somehow this all was his fault. he didn't know what demon the two of you would encounter, nor did he know you'd join this mission with him, but it was his fault.

• trauma caught up with him when a giant snake demon appeared in front of him. his body got tense, blood running cold through his veins. she looked exactly like the demon he had seen ears ago, but she was dead. right?

• you had screamed at him, told him to attack or run - do something. anything. realizing there was no other way, you leap at the demon, pushing Obanai to the side and start to attack.

• he gets thrown to the ground, watching you jump high, sword aimed at the beast calling herself a demon. luck isn't on your side when she opens her mouth, jaw dislocating uncannily.

• her fangs sink deep into your torso a moment later, body feeling an immense pain running through it. Obanai reacts when he sees your shocked eyes.

• if it hadn't been for the weird angle of his attacks, he wouldn't have been able to behead her. if only he had reacted fast enough, your body falling several feet until he catches you in his arms, demon vanishing with a low hiss.

• "Oba- nai.." he couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it, but the purple tint crawling it's way over your skin spoke to him. you had been poisoned. severely.

• the skin around the bite marks was already fully purple, the color already consuming half your neck. "i don't.. want to die.."

• he wanted to say it wouldn't happen, he wanted to assure you, but instead he only held you in his arms, pressing you close to him.

• 1 minute and 26 seconds. your heart stopped beating right after. yet he only moved hours after you were long gone, the exact time having gone lost in a sea of misery.

Rengoku:

• he was so tired, not wanting to fight anymore, but having to push through. the demon was strong, stronger than any demon he had ever encountered. he can't remember when the fight started, but the sun would rise soon and while the demon kept fighting, his exhaustion was increasing.

• his eyes snapped towards you when he saw you dart towards the demon. he hadn't seen you until then, meaning you had probably come from behind the demon.

• the following part had been his fault, shouting your name in the heat of the moment. it didn't only alarm you, but the demon as well, making it turn around and slash at you.

• you blacked out right after, only hearing the sound of Rengoku's sharp sword gliding through the air.

• when you awoke, you were in an unknown room. your environment was completely white - no, not everything. the warm and bright colors next to you were the most recognizable thing you've ever seen.

• with a bit of pain, you combed your fingers through Rengoku's hair, making the man relax into your touch.

• "i'm sorry." his words were quiet, he didn't have the energy to sound happy this time around. instead he looked at you with soft eyes and a hope of receiving forgiveness.

Sanemi:

• he wouldn't let you die, he wouldn't even think of it. however, it was only normal for demon slayers to get hurt, right? he had multiple scars of his own, he knew he couldn't protect you from everything.

• he just thought he could at least protect you from major wounds. that's why he couldn't believe his eyes when he not only saw the demon slash you, but nearly cut you in half.

• you were lucky enough to safe yourself from a fatal wound on your stomach, but the excruciating pain you felt in your left arm was nearly worse.

• waking up, you didn't remember ever seeing the surroundings you now saw. before you could panic and search for help, you heard a shoji slide open.

• "you.. you're awake." you nodded, watching the man walk towards you. he sat down next your futon, a small plate in hand.

• "eat. you need energy." the gravel tone in his voice made you hesitate, but you still listened to your friend and mentor. however, when you reached towards the plate with your left hand, your eyes widened.

• you watched your yukata slide down your arm, revealing the missing limb. bandages and ointment had been applied, at least that's what the scent told you.

• yet you couldn't stop the tears from forming. what kind of demon slayer would fight with only one hand. you were on the verge of hyperventilating when Sanemi grabbed your arm.

• his touch was never this soft, almost as if he feared causing even more damage. the coldness in his gaze told you the same story. what happened has not only altered you, but also him.

• he didn't talk, the room being shrouded in a deafening silence. when he finally moved again, he only let his hand sink, still holding onto you.

• the pain his eyes displayed were unmistakable. you knew a talk about your last mission would follow, but the change in his demeanour scared you more than the lack of your hand.

Giyuu:

• your eyes snapped open in seconds, body tensing. you had wanted to jump into a defensive position when you felt a painful ache throughout your whole body.

• you hissed in pain, arching your back away from the soft mattress under you. where was the demon? you had been facing him moments prior!

• your heart leaped when you felt a strong hand grabbing onto your arm, gently yet forcefully pushing you back down into a resting position.

• "i couldn't protect you." his voice was quiet, almost shaky. he didn't dare meet your gaze, instead letting his eyes rest on your hand.

• "what..?" you couldn't grasp the situation at first, looking around the room, which you soon identified as part of the butterfly mansion.

• then you looked down at yourself, seeing numerous bandages hide different parts of your body. the aching pain in your back suddenly made sense, remembering the demon you fought.

• your eyes widened in realization, forcing yourself to sit up. Giyuu reminded you to stay in bed, but his resolve slipped when he felt your arms wrap around him.

• "you saved me." the words made him tense. yes, the demon had been strong with a weapon that dealt multiple hits at once, but you were hurt-

• "i think i would've died." you stated, your voice having dropped in volume. he recognized the tone, you always sounded that way when something negatve played in your mind.

• "i'm glad you're alive." he answered, his voice even more quiet than yours. not wanting you to feel down amymore, he carefully put his arms around you.

• he was sure he failed, but if it would make you feel better, he could play your savior for now.

Gyomei:

• he had never cursed his blindness. it had been his way of living, a small obstacle he needed to face every day.

• he didn't know it would become his greatest fear after years of peace. he had already gone to numerous missions with you, nothing had every stopped you from winning. sure, an open wound or broken bone but nothing too bad.

• so why could he not spot you with any of his senses. he had known your exact location a moment prior, but now it wasn't there anymore. the demon was dead, how could this be?

• a bad feeling bubbled deep in his gut when he felt warmth radiating near him. it was barely there, but he had felt it. he kneeled down, his large hand reaching towards the source.

• he immediately recognized the uniform you were wearing, even when it was soaked in blood and ripped apart. yet his focus was barely there.

• he was searching for something, anything. your breathing had stilled, your warmth had drastically decreased. not a single sound was coming from your body.

• the tears that fell onto your body right after spoke of utter despair. he knew you were scared of death, he wasn't there when you bled out on the ground.

• he carefully wiped the long fallen tears away from your cheeks, closing your eyes in the most tender way he could muster. "i'm sorry."

• he picked your body up, making sure to cradle you in his arms. it was time to go home.

Muzan:

• he knew keeping a human by his side was a miserable idea. he had wanted to turn you into a demon right from the start, but you just had to deny.

• and those reasons you had, so humane, he almost threw up. family. friends. aging. feeling. didn't you understand the superiority of his perfect being?

• nevermind, he could keep you around for a while longer, until you learned how much better demons were.

• how come you would die before you even got the chance to experience such superiority? hit. by a simple demon slayer.

• those pesky animals had annoyed him right from the start. the moment he saw your body fall, he had already gotten rid of the slayer. the incompetence to mistake another human for a demon was disgusting to him.

• his mind was immediately back on you, watching you slump against a nearby tree and sob in agony. he didn't hesitate, the needle forming on the flesh appendage protruding his back shooting towards you.

• those damn emotions would keep you from becoming a demon, wanting to die human. he didn't care, in this matter your opinion was irrelevant.

• the loud cry you let out wasn't anything he would've liked to hear, but it was necessary to keep you alive. just a bit more of his blood and you would never face these problems again.

• he walked to your unconscious body, the sound of a biwa filling the back of his mind. you would learn to like your new existence. he wouldn't give you another choice, you were too important.

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