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highdramas · 4 months ago

Note

in terms of your recent post, maybe abbot x professional athlete! reader — (volleyball/gymnastics/swim/soccer etc.) she comes in for a devastating ACL tear or something of the like and he’s the one who treats her? maybe jack recognizes her because robby & him would catch your teams games every now and he’s caught off guard seeing you up close, and afterwards reader stops by a couple days later to drop by some tickets to the next match and perhaps her phone number…

spinning out | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!figure skater!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), almost certain medical inaccuracies because i have no idea what i'm talking about but i researched and did my best <3 word count: 3.4k summary: you are pittsburgh's sweetheart, the ice princess, the hometown hero. when you come into the emergency room on the worst day of your life, jack is the one who meets his match. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i once again took some liberties with this request, but i hope that you enjoy it! i decided to make reader a figure skater! one of my many favorite fixations! not proofread so apologies for errors <3

the screaming that comes from chairs is enough to get the attention of any tuned-in physician or nurse. but it especially gets jack’s attention– because it’s not just screams that indicate pain, or fear. there’s just… general commotion. and that can be a lot more dangerous than anything else.

everyone in the chairs is on their feet– if they can be. jack and dana barrel out, trying to parse out what exactly it is that’s happening. but the second that he lays his eyes on you, he knows why.

you’re the face known all around pittsburgh. your face is on many billboards, definitely in the newspaper, and regularly on the local news. and it’s been this way since jack moved to pittsburgh, back in 2015. at the time, he remembers you looking so fresh faced– only twenty, and you were on track to be one of the best figure skaters in the world. call it morbid curiosity, but jack had kept up with your career, loosely, in the way that most people who lived in pittsburgh is. that's what he told himself, anyway.

“alright, alright, everyone sit the fuck down and stop crowding around her,” jack calls, approaching you and the gaggle of people who surround you. you still wear a dazzling outfit, catching every single light and refracting it back out. your feet are socked but there are no skates to be found, and two people on either side of you helping hold you up right-- barely. you look abysmal, when you finally make eye contact with him– mascara trails down your cheeks, hairs are out of place, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen an expression so… hardened. “come on, we’ll help you. dana– get a wheelchair.”

jack helps the people he learns are your coaches transfer you to the wheelchair. you still haven’t uttered a word– you just look down at your hands, pick the skin around your cuticles. “we think it’s an acl tear,” your coach says to jack. “happened during a competition. a smaller one, thankfully. we don’t need that kind of scrutiny.” this makes jack’s face screw up slightly, but he continues to listen. “we just– we’ve gotta have her back on the ice next week.”

“dana, go ahead and wheel her back to south-9, i’ll be right in.” jack turns his attention to your coach. a stark woman, small eyes, full lips, very obviously tanned. “alright,” he claps his hands together. “you all are going to have to stay out here. we’re very packed in the er, so i can’t have you back. we’ll come out and grab you when we have an update. okay?”

he can tell that this doesn’t please her, but he doesn’t really care. because while she’s bemoaning the possibility of more people bearing witness to what is likely one of the worst moments of your life– not for your sake, but for the sake of image… jack knows himself. he won’t be able to work effectively with that type of squawking in his ear.

when he goes to central, he points at dana. “don’t let coach and company in. feel me?”

“i feel you, boss,” she says without looking up from her computer. “donnie’s in there right now, but she’s ready for you.” she looks up at jack, plucking her readers off. “never a dull moment, huh? we got celebrities now!”

he tries to find it amusing, but then he remembers the look on your face, and he can’t find the humor within the situation. he simply squeezes dana’s shoulder, turns around, and takes a deep breath before he enters south-9.

–

the door opens. click shuts. you hardly hear it– all you hear is the blood in your ears. all you feel is the throbbing in your knee. all you know is that it’s over.

you took pride in what you do. you love ice skating– as an art form, as a way that you have honed your body over many, many years. you’re proud of all of the regional, national, world competitions you’ve won– you’re proud of all of that. and really, you only wanted one more thing. you knew it was a stretch, you knew it was a strain on your body, you knew, at 30, some think you’re too old for your sport… but it didn’t matter.

you just wanted to win gold. once in your life.

you’ve had silver, and bronze, you’ve gotten close to gold the last two olympics– neck and neck with your competitor, who ultimately, worked harder. was better than you. that’s what you tell yourself. that’s what your coaches have told you, to push you. your family doesn’t say it, but you feel it radiating off of them.

you don’t need the doctor to tell you that it’s over. you felt it the second that you landed wrong and crumpled to the ice, a glittering pile of dreams that will never be realized. you cried, not from the pain– you know pain intimately, have walked side by side with pain your entire life. you cried because it was all for nothing.

“hi. i’m dr. abbot.”

you don’t respond.

he sits in one of those spinny stools that all doctors use. you finally glance at him. “you don’t have to say it,” you wipe at your cheeks. “6-8 weeks until i can get back on the ice after an ACL tear. this isn’t my first tear, so i’ll likely need grafting surgery. so who knows how much further that would set me back.”

“wow. you want my job?” he tries to crack the tension but it’s no use. not really.

you’re approaching catatonic.

but it’s like a nail pops a balloon, and suddenly, all that you are is a heaving, sobbing mess.

the doctor– dr. abbot– sits with you. at one point, he offers you a tissue. then, the trash bin to throw it. and then, his hand.

you don’t think twice before you take it. you take it and you squeeze and you use it to tether yourself because everything feels like it’s floating away from you– a career, a dream, a desire.

but other things, too.

pain. being talked down upon. only being useful for one thing.

he doesn’t leave. he doesn’t even move a muscle. others try to come in and swap out and at one point you swear he says, “shen, fuck off, i’m busy.”

you don’t know how long you cry. you’re exhausted after. and itchy, because this stupid outfit clings in every spot that hurts and it feels like a humiliation ritual more than anything else, at this point.

“can i–” your throat is scratchy, and jack hands you a water bottle. you chug at it, greedy. “can i get a gown? and–” you look around, as if scared that they might be there behind you. “tell my coaches to fuck off and go home?”

a small smile creeps onto jack’s features. “yes, i can do that.” he hesitates before he stands up. “we’re gonna get you all checked out. see what we can do for you, and what orthopedic surgery is going to need to do. and we’ll be able to determine how long until you can skate again. alright?”

you nod your head. he finds your eyes. “we got you. alright?” tears are still brimming, hanging off your eyelashes like the saddest dew drops known to man.

–

it doesn’t look good. your assessment of your injury was largely accurate, jack found, when he began his examination of your knee with a delicate touch– being as intune with your body as you are, jack isn’t surprised. he comes back with x-rays and brings in ellis to observe. “you’re smart, i’ll give you that,” he says as he enters the room, and he’s proud of himself when you smile. you’re changed, and he thinks that someone must have given you a makeup wipe, because your face is fresh and beautiful and he has to clear his throat before he continues with his diagnosis and what he’d recommend for treatment.

“you’re looking at, maybe 16 weeks before you can get back out. and that’s entirely dependent on how you heal after the surgery. and even if you do start skating, you’re going to need to take it slow.” he finds your eyes. this is the kind of news that he hates delivering, and he thinks if he has to do it, he can at least look someone in the eye while doing it. they’re beautiful– and they have a depth to them that he doesn’t find in most. you’re not scared off by his eye contact. you maintain it with little effort. “i’m sorry.”

the chuckle that you let out causes a shiver to run down his spine. it’s so humorless, that it creates a chasm inside of him that wants nothing more than to make it better. “yeah, of course it is.” you lean your head back. “the press will be here soon.”

jack and ellis share a glance. “your team is talking to them outside, we believe,” ellis says with a wince.

you smirk. “ah. of course.” you look back to abbot. “thank you for your help. i’m sorry i’m wretched. just…” you shrug. “what a shitty fucking day.”

“yeah, i don’t doubt it.” he chews on his lip. “can we arrange to have someone else pick you up once you’re cleared?”

“there’s no one else,” you say seamlessly. “i’ll call an uber.”

it’s odd, he thinks to himself. seeing you up close and personal, real. he would’ve thought you were entirely delicate, a beautiful flower kept in a box, plucked out, and put onto the ice to entrance everyone who watches you. but you’re so human and alive and he can sense this way that you’ve been treated, and when you say there’s no one else except these people who look at you as a product, a brand, a liability… something snaps.

“we’ll arrange to have someone take you home. it’s a risk to have you take any sort of public transportation where someone can’t assist you into your home.”

you look between the two physicians. your eyes land on jack and he thinks that you might fight it– but then, you concede, and give a meek nod of your head, and he feels that tightening in his chest that he keeps experiencing. he wants to wrap you up and hide you away– far away from those people taking advantage of you.

he’s just starstruck. that's what he decides to chalk it up to.

–

dr. jack abbot does ensure you’re driven home by someone. he is very professional, and polite, as he instructs you on when to return to the hospital for a pre-op appointment, and how to manage your pain in the meantime.

eventually, you do have surgery. eventually, you’re back in PTMC, and your eyes trail on the emergency department as you go past it, wondering if you might be able to sneak a glimpse of him.

you fire your coaches. you tell your team to fuck off. your publicist can hardly get ahold of you, and, naturally, everyone wants a statement. it makes you laugh to think about it. yeah, you’d like a statement too, you think. bitter. always so bitter in those first weeks after.

once you start recovering from surgery, the bitterness dissipates, but you certainly don’t sweeten to what has happened to you. you watch with bloodshot eyes, the footage of it happening. you’re rapt with it, and it’s a little sadistic, you think to yourself– but you can see the exact moment of the tear. the exact moment everything shifts.

that night, you write find a therapist down on a to-do list.

your first session, as you recount the story to her, you get hung up on the portion in the emergency room. you explain it in great detail, and when it gets to your doctor… “i broke,” you admit with a shrug. “i broke in the emergency room. and the doctor, he stayed. you know– sonja, and marci, they were both out there. yes, he asked them to stay back, but it was because even the doctor could see it. that they didn’t care about me. they didn’t care if i was okay. they cared that i wasn’t functional anymore.” you stop yourself. steel yourself. “but he stayed with me. he held my hand when he cried. and i can’t…” you look down at your hands, pick at already raw cuticles. “i couldn’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me, just for the sake of being nice.”

your therapist suggests you go back, and thank dr. abbot. you think this is a good idea, but you’ve spent so much time being an ice skater, you don’t know if you really know how to be a human being anymore. how do you talk about anything that’s not a diet, choreography plans, workout regimine, or regional scores? do you know how to be earnest, and real, and honest?

you hobble towards the emergency room, the brace you wear restricting your mobility, but you’d finally gotten off the crutches, thank god. you hold a box of cookies that you had baked yourself– with all this newfound free time, and with the fact that you could actually eat, freely, in a way that was almost certainly healthier than whatever restrictive nonsense you were doing before, you’d picked up baking as a hobby. you weren’t great. but you weren’t horrible, either.

it felt so good to just be mediocre at something. to not care. to just enjoy it for the sake of enjoying it.

you approach the registration desk. she– lupe, her nametag says– recognizes you instantly, you can tell. you say hello, and introduce yourself by name anyway. “um– dr. abbot treated me here, about five weeks ago. i was wanting to say…” you attempt to slow you breathing, your nervousness. “i was wanting to see if i could say thank you.”

lupe gives you a warm smile. “oh, that’s sweet, honey. we all heard about what happened– i am so sorry.” your lips press into a line. the sentiment is kind– but it strikes you, anyway. “let me go see what i can do.”

–

it’s never good when lupe is coming back.

jack snatches the sterile gown, soaked in blood from a woman that he was unable to save, and shoves it into the proper disposal. he rubs sanitizer into his hands and he eyes lupe, trying to muster up a smile. “can i hold onto hope and a prayer that you’re about to tell me something good, and not bad?”

“yes, actually. for once, right?” lupe laughs and she begins to explain to him that you’re outside. when she says that, jack’s eyes go wide. “she wants to thank you. can i bring her to the family room?”

“uh– yeah. yes, please do.”

you go to central to finish up on a chart when robby approaches jack at his side. “i hear ice princess is back,” he says with a small smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

somehow, a rumor got around that you had cried in jack’s arms in south-9. that he had cradled you and held you and stroked your hair– he’s fairly certain it was princess and perlah. no, he knows it was princess and perlah. all good ER rumors start and end with him.

“don’t call her that,” jack says without looking up from the screen. “not cool.”

“oh, my apologies.” robby’s eyes trail to the family room, where you’re limping in. “she’s walking on that knee.”

jack snorts. “that’s the least surprising thing i’ve ever heard.” after an interaction with you that barely went over an hour, he felt like he understood you. he understood that, of course you were walking. you were determined, and you were used to your body bending to your will– not the other way around. he looks over at the family room as the door shuts with a faint thwick.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” robby says and it makes jack scowl.

he’s a good, professional physician. he doesn’t have crushes on patients.

he opens the door. and you’re sitting there, beautiful, clear eyed– there’s still a storm cloud or two burrowed within you, he knows, but not the same as when he met you the first time.

you go to stand up, but he instantly shakes his head. “oh– no. in fact…” he looks at the couch and grabs a pillow. “elevate.”

you look at him incredulously. “my surgeon said i only needed to elevate for 3-7 days post-op.”

“it’s always good to elevate when resting. especially since you’re walking on it.”

you roll your eyes. “the crutches slowed me down,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“that’s kinda the point, sweetheart.”

–

sweetheart.

your lips curl into a smile and you raise your eyebrows at him. he looks at you like he would like to crawl under this couch, and die, probably. he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “i don’t know why i said that.”

“i do,” your smile is saccharine. “because i’m a sweetheart. obviously.”

“they called you pittsburgh’s sweetheart in the paper, once.”

“oh– so you knew who i was?”

“you can’t go anywhere in this city without seeing your face!” you’ve gotten him exasperated now, riled up, and you’re thoroughly happy with yourself. this is the most fun you’ve had in you don’t even know how long, to be perfectly honest. you’ve begun to recline on the arm of the small loveseat, and jack maneuvers the pillow beneath your knee. his hands are confident, his words are not. it’s a combination that you think you could watch all day.

he takes a seat across from you, once he’s gotten you settled to his liking. and there’s that stare, again– people always said that you had a staring problem, but they must not have met jack abbot before. that man had a staring problem.

you take it almost as a challenge. you maintain the eye contact and slowly slide the box of cookies to him.

he glances down. “what’s this?”

“cookies. i made them.” you run your tongue over your teeth. “to say thank you.”

he hangs his head. looks up just enough to peer at you through eyelashes– long, pretty eyelashes. “you don’t need to thank me. i just–”

“oh, no. i do.” you clear your throat. think over the little script that you had written in your journal, all of the vulnerable and real things that you wanted to say. “i don’t know what i needed, exactly, in that moment. and in don’t know if it would be possible for one person to be exactly what i needed. it was–” you feel that swell of emotion start to rise like a tide in your abdomen, but you push through. “it was the single worst night of my life. but not because of the injury. because i just… i realized how sad my life is. i don’t have friends. my family situation is dysfunctional in a way that is not healthy. my coaches and team and everyone around me just looked at me like a thing. an item. and you looked at me and cared for me like a human being. so.” you have to clear your throat again. “thank you.”

jack’s eyes didn’t leave you, one single time. and he only looks away not to close them, rub at them. when he opens them, they’re misty, and he chuckles. “fuck,” he drags the word out, and you feel it run through the center of you. you move to stand up but he stops you. “you are a human being,” he blurts out. “and fuck anyone who has ever treated you like anything else, or less– fuck. them. seriously.”

“yeah, i fired my team.”

“good.”

“yeah.”

a comfortable quiet takes over and you go back and forth in your mind as you stand up, for real this time. “i know you’re working. and i know this is probably unprofessional, but…” you take a piece of paper from your coat pocket and you hand it to him. “when i get back on the ice, i’d like to do it for myself. but, you know, could be good to have a medical professional there to make sure i’m not fucking myself up even more, so…” you suck in a breath. “that’s my phone number.”

he opens the piece of paper and stares at the string of numbers. looks back to you. “i’ll be there.”

“great.”

you sling your purse across your body. “that won’t be for awhile, but…” you brush past him, towards the door. “you know, i can still go out to dinner with a torn acl.”

jack smiles, dimples out. holds the door for you. “sounds like we’ve got a date.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #dr abbot x reader #my writing

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slut4megantheestallion · 5 months ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ jjk characters w/ a pornstar!reader (nsfw)

Warnings ⚠️: NSFW & 18+ Content, Degradation & Praise Kink, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Overstimulation & Edging, Choking & Hair Pulling, Aftercare Mentioned, Temperature Play, Public Teasing/Exhibitionism

→ pairings: satoru gojo, megumi fushiguro, sukuna, geto suguru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento, choso, yuta okkotsu, inumaki toge, yuji itadori, nobara kugisaki, shoko leiri, maki zenin, Urame.

☆Gojo

☆Oh, this man already knew who you were before you even met. He's your biggest fan and not ashamed about it.

●He brings up your work all the time, sometimes in public, just to watch you get flustered.

●"Babe, the things you do with that mouth.. Damn. Ever thought of giving me a private show?"

●Endless stamina. He will try to outlast you just to prove he can. You're a pornstar, but he's Gojo. His ego won't let him lose.

●He loves filming. He wants to make a "home video" but refuses to share it - "Exclusive content just for me."

●Loud as hell in bed. Moans, praises, obnoxious dirty talk - he wants you to know you're making him feel good.

●Has a corruption kink even though you're already filthy. "Damn, I could make you even worse, y'know?"

●Favorite position? He loves fucking you in front of a mirror so you can both watch.

☆Megumi

☆Embarrassed at first but secretly loves it. He acts unbothered, but he definitely checked out your work.

☆Jealous but in denial. He won’t stop you, but he hates knowing others see you like that.

☆Silent but deadly. He’ll act normal all day, then fuck you stupid when you get home. No words. Just action.

☆Loves hearing you beg. Since you’re a professional, he makes you work for it just to see you break.

☆Lowkey a freak. Loves degradation and rough sex. Will pin you down, grip your jaw, and fuck you until you cry.

☆Favorite position? Mating press. He wants to see your face when you fall apart.

☆Sukuna

☆Oh, you’re a pornstar? Cute. He thinks it’s adorable that humans worship you.

☆Possessive as hell. He doesn’t care about your career, but he makes it known who really owns you.

☆"They can watch, but they'll never have you like I do."

☆Fucks you raw, rough, and mean. Will pull your hair, bite you, and whisper filth in your ear.

☆Breeding kink unlocked. Doesn’t care if it’s possible or not—he just wants to ruin you completely.

☆Favorite position? Face down, ass up. He loves seeing you arch for him like a good little slut.

☆Geto

☆Pretends he’s unbothered, but lowkey brags about having you.

☆"They pay to see you. I get it for free." Smug bastard.

☆Slow, deep, and intense sex. He knows exactly how to break you down until you're crying his name.

☆Soft dom but dangerous. If you act bratty, he will edge you until you beg properly.

☆Loves pulling your hair and holding eye contact while he fucks you.

☆Favorite position? Cowgirl. He likes seeing you put in the work—but if you get lazy, he’ll grab your hips and take over.

☆Toji

☆Fucking loves it. He’ll even joke about becoming your co-star.

☆"Bet none of those guys make you cum like I do, huh?"

☆Size kink. He loves the fact that he’s bigger and thicker than anyone you've ever taken.

☆Messy sex. He’ll spit in your mouth, slap your ass, and fuck you so deep you feel it in your stomach.

☆Filthy dirty talk. "C’mon, pornstar, show me what you’re good at."

☆Favorite position? Full nelson. He loves how helpless you look when he has you folded up.

☆Nanami

☆At first, he acts like it’s none of his business, but deep down, he’s fascinated.

☆Won’t ever watch your work because he doesn’t like the idea of other people seeing you like that.

☆Possessive but polite about it. "You're mine. I don’t need an audience to know that."

☆Loves overstimulation. Will edge you until you’re shaking, then ruin you with his cock.

☆Doesn’t fuck—he makes love. Deep, slow, intentional thrusts that have you seeing stars.

☆Favorite position? Missionary. Not basic—he just loves watching your face twist in pleasure.

☆Choso

☆Surprised but supportive. He doesn’t understand human media well, but if it makes you happy, he’s fine with it.

☆However… if someone disrespects you, he will not hesitate to kill them.

☆Very gentle in bed. Unless you ask him to be rough, he’ll worship your body like a temple.

☆Loves body worship. He’ll kiss every inch of you, whispering how beautiful you are.

☆Big on aftercare. He’ll clean you up, cuddle you, and stroke your hair until you fall asleep.

☆Favorite position? Spooning. He likes holding you close while he fucks you.

☆Yuta

☆Embarrassed but obsessed. Will pretend he doesn’t know about your job, but he absolutely looked it up.

☆A switch but mostly submissive. If you dominate him, he’ll whimper and beg so sweetly.

☆Loves praise. Call him a good boy, and he’ll melt in your hands.

☆But if he takes control… He’s surprisingly rough. Can and will pin you down and fuck you breathless.

☆Favorite position? Against a wall. Loves watching your face as he fucks you hard.

☆Inumaki

☆Secretly turned on by your job, but will only speak in rice ball ingredients to hide it.

☆"Salmon roe." (Translation: "I love it when you moan like that.")

☆Loves giving oral. He’ll bury his face between your legs and not stop until you’re crying.

☆Very expressive in bed. Growls, grunts, and deep moans when he’s lost in pleasure.

☆Favorite position? Face-sitting. He wants you on top of his face, riding his tongue.

☆Yuji

☆Surprised but impressed. "Wait… YOU’RE that pornstar?!"

☆Biggest hype man. He genuinely thinks your work is amazing and doesn’t get jealous.

☆Eager to please. He wants to prove he’s better than anyone you’ve ever worked with.

☆"Tell me I’m the best, baby. I gotta know."

☆Soft dom but turns feral when turned on. One second, he’s sweet—the next, he’s fucking you dumb.

☆Favorite position? Lotus. He loves holding you close while bouncing you on his cock.

☆Nobara

☆Acts cocky but is actually kinda shy about it.

☆"Tch, whatever. It’s just sex. No big deal… Wait, YOU DID WHAT IN THAT SCENE?!"

☆Jealous as hell. "Ugh, why do those creeps get to see you like that?"

☆Takes out her jealousy in bed. She will ride you until you can’t think.

☆Loves being in control. She’ll pin your hands down, grind on you, and make you beg.

☆Favorite position? Cowgirl. She wants you at her mercy.

☆Shoko

☆Unbothered queen. "Nice. Wanna smoke after?"

☆Chill but secretly a freak. Will casually slap your ass in public.

☆Loves watching you fall apart. She’ll edge you with her fingers and laugh when you beg.

☆Filthy dirty talk. "C’mon, pornstar, show me how good you really are."

☆Favorite position? Lazy sex—spooning or against her desk after a long shift.

☆Maki

☆Pretends she doesn’t care but totally does.

☆"Hmph. Doesn’t matter to me." (Definitely looked up your videos.)

☆Dominant as hell. She will pin you down and take what she wants.

☆Loves making you beg.

☆"Thought you were a pro? Why’re you whining already?"

☆Favorite position? Full nelson. She loves how helpless you look beneath her.

☆Uraume

☆Does not care. At all.

☆"Hmph. Is that all?

☆"Surprisingly rough in bed. They will break you just to hear you cry.

☆Loves temperature play. Will lick ice along your body, then warm you up with their mouth.

☆Favorite position? Face-down, ass-up. They love watching you squirm.

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butterfly-wingss · 29 days ago

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Brother

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Jason had broken his phone when he was having ecto withdrawals, pit madness episode, whatever it was. it was usually destructive, he not cognisant of the world around him.

Jason woke up at the sound of a window opening. In a blink he had grabbed a gun from the night stand and jumped to the bedroom door.

He prowls through the apartment, sticking to the shadows. There’s a man in his kitchen.

“Show yourself or I put a bullet in your head.”

“Just me little wing.” Casually, looking through his cupboards for something.

“What do you want dick head, and this better be quick.” Pointedly keeping the gun trained on him.

“We’re worried about you-“

“Who’s this we?”

“Little wing,” dick pleads.

“No. Bruce is pissed at how I run the Alley. Well he can stay out of it. I control the Alley not him. If he wants to kick me out of his little child soldier club, if he wants to ban me from the mansion, from dinners, and the library, and seeing Alfie than fucking fine but he has to live with that himself!”

“He can’t just send one of you to fix all his problems. And he better be the one telling Alfie why I can’t come to dinner like I promised because its his fucking fault.”

Dick snaps. “I’m not trying to fix anything! You go off the rails again and kill someone in front of B then no one can contact you for three days?! I was worried.”

Three? It should have only been two, it’s dangerous when he loses time, he’ll have to go back through his security cams and make sure he didn’t leave the apartment.

“One, I’m fucking fine.” He spit out. “Two, I didn’t kill ‘some rando’ in front of B, a fucking five year old found me and asked me to stop her dad from touching her so I made sure he couldn’t touch anyone ever again! And three? I don’t need to be checked on, I don’t need a fucking babysitter, I don’t need to follow B’s rules.”

Jason’s breathing heavy, he wants to pace. Instead he puts all his focus into keeping his gun steady.

“So get the fuck out of my home!” Ice on the back of his neck. Danny’s hands. He’s training keeps him from flinching.

He must be invisible because Dick doesn’t look over Jason’s shoulder. “Why should I? You’re my brother and I’m worried about you!”

With his fire quelled by the kings ice so too is his anger. All that’s left is exhaustion. “Fuck off, just get the fuck out.”

“Are you sick?”

What? “No?”

“This isn’t how you react. To anything. You don’t do this little wing? Whats wrong?”

“I’m tired, dick. I’m fucking tired. If you want to help then leave, let me sleep.” Jason pleads.

“Go ahead, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“No. You will leave.” The only being more stubborn than a bat is another bat. They’re little staring contest could have gone on for five seconds or five minutes.

“Do you have someone over?” He dose his best to not show anything on his face.

“What are you talking about.”

“You have a tub neapolitan ice cream. You tell people you like it because everyone likes at least one flavour. By yourself you get strawberry.”

Dick continues his analysis. “If it was Roy he’d be out here by now. Any of the outlaws would.”

“I know other people.”

“So you admit someone is over?” stupid family full of stupid fucking detectives.

“There’s nothing to admit and there’s no one for you to meet. Now fuck off already before I start shooting.” More tired than mad.

Dick sighs and finally leaves his kitchen. “Fine. Have it your way. I’m not responsible for Tim or Damian coming over tomorrow though. If I tell them not to it’ll just make them show up faster.”

“Fine.” Jason kept his gun trained on dick until he left, through the front door this time. He waited a full five seconds to make sure his bother was gone before his knees gave out.

Danny caught him. He always does.

“Hey birdie,” soft as freshly fallen snow.

“Please just,” the way his voice warbles catches him off guard “Can we just go back to bed.”

He’s shaking and his tears are welling up in his eyes and he knows he must look pathetic but he can’t help it.

He needs Danny’s cooling touch. He needs his comfort. He needs to be by his kings side.

Danny must takes great pity on him. He picks Jason up in a princess hold and carries him to bed.

#fanfic #dead on main #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #red hood #jason todd x danny fenton

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littlegochu · 3 months ago

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night in mexico │ jjk 18+

"Told you I’d fly you somewhere you’d never forget. You like it, baby?"

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: young couple, drug dealer bf

rating: 18+ fluff tho, swearing, drugs

synopsis: jeon jungkook doesn’t do soft. not with strangers. not with threats. not even with himself. but with her? he rents out oceanfront villas, kisses her like she’s fragile, and acts like he’s not dangerously obsessed.

"you’re so beautiful."

his voice is quiet, almost lazy, wrapped in smoke and salt-heavy air. jungkook exhales slow, watching the stars like they’re saying something only he can understand. he doesn’t look at me when he says it. just lets the words slip out like he’s not used to giving them shape.

we’re curled together on the sunbed outside our suite, tucked beneath a thin blanket and the thick hush of the tulum night. the ocean hums somewhere below. the air is warm and soft and still, like the world’s finally holding its breath just for us.

he’s shirtless, his skin golden from the sun, tattoos inked across his chest like constellations of their own. the spliff in his fingers glows faintly, a soft orange flicker every time he drags it to his lips.

i shift against him, thigh grazing his. “you’re just saying that cause you're high.”

he scoffs under his breath, doesn’t even glance my way. “high or not, you're beautiful”

but his hand doesn’t stop moving—still brushing up and down my thigh, slow and lazy, like he needs the contact. like touching me keeps him grounded.

“you look happy,” he says after a beat. “i like that shit.”

i blink, surprised. he never says things like that, even when it’s obvious. jungkook doesn’t do soft. not out loud. but he’s been different these past few days. quieter. more still. like being here has peeled back a layer he doesn’t usually let anyone see.

“it’s nice out here,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sky. “no calls. no noise. no fucking problems. just... you.”

i tuck my face into his shoulder and breathe him in—smoke, sun, and that faint clean scent that’s just his. he says it so casually, but i know what he means. he doesn’t get peace often. he doesn’t let himself rest.

but here, with me, he lets his guard down.

“i wasn’t supposed to end up like this,” he says, barely above a whisper. “i was supposed to be in school. something boring. i don’t even remember what i wanted to be.”

i don’t say anything. he’s not looking for answers. he’s remembering things that hurt.

“i used to skip class. steal shit. told people college was a scam ‘cause i didn’t get in.” his voice drops lower.

i sit up, turning to straddle him. his hands come to rest on my waist, like they always do—automatic. like even when he doesn’t want to talk, he still wants to feel me.

his jaw ticks. “you never left me, and i still don’t get why.”

“maybe because i see what you don’t.”

he frowns. “what?”

“you’re not just the bad shit, kook. you’re also the guy who warms my feet under the blanket. who picks the seeds out of my fruit even when you’re pissed at me. who looks at me like i’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.”

his throat works as he swallows.

“you say you’re a mess,” i whisper, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “but you gave me a life i never dreamed of. not just the money. the safety. the love.”

he exhales like he doesn’t believe me. like he’s trying to.

“i used to laugh at couples like this,” he mutters. “villas and soft shit. matching swimsuits and late-night cuddles.” he looks away. “now all i wanna do is keep you wrapped up in it forever.”

“you say that like it’s easy.” i say.

he scoffs. “loving you is easy.”

he kisses me then. it’s not perfect. it’s soft and a little clumsy and tastes like the last drag of his spliff—but it feels like everything. like truth. like surrender.

when he pulls back, his forehead presses to mine. he whispers, “you ever think you settled?”

“no.”

“not even once?”

“not even close.”

his hands slide down to my thighs, holding me like i might vanish. “i don’t know how to be better.”

“you don’t have to be better. you just have to be you.”

we fall into silence again, my head resting against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my ear.

he tugs the blanket back over us and lets out a breath.

“you want anything?” he asks.

i shake my head. “i’ve got everything.”

his hand tightens on my leg. “good.”

then, quieter: “but if you ever want something—anything—just say it.”

and i know he means it. i know if i said i wanted the sky, he’d rip it down and hand it to me. and he wouldn’t even ask why.

he doesn’t say anything for a while.

just rests his head back against the cushion, one hand on my thigh, the other coming up to thread through my hair. slow. gentle. over and over again.

his fingers trail from my scalp down to the ends, then back up, curling slightly as he combs through. his breathing is steady. no tension in his jaw anymore. just quiet.

i melt against him, letting my eyes slip closed, cheek still pressed to his chest. it’s warm, and his skin smells like sun and something faintly minty, probably whatever lotion i left in the bathroom that he pretended not to use.

he keeps running his fingers through my hair, sometimes pushing it behind my ear, other times just letting it tangle in his hands.

then he leans down a little, just enough to press a kiss to the crown of my head.

soft. like a thank you. like an apology.

his lips linger there, and i can feel the breath he exhales against my scalp.

“you’re everything,” he murmurs. “you know that, right?”

i hum, barely awake, lips curling at the edges. “mm.”

“don’t leave me,” he says, quieter.

“nope,” i whisper.

and i mean it.

he presses another kiss to my hair, then one to my forehead, his mouth warm and steady against my skin.

“good.”

i feel myself drifting. the weight of the day, the warmth of his arms, the lull of the waves—it all pulls me under like a tide. like the safest kind of drowning.

he notices.

his hand leaves my hair, slips beneath my thighs. the blanket shifts as he scoops me up gently, like i weigh nothing.

i blink once, half-asleep. “i can walk,"

“shut up,” he mutters. “you’ll hurt your back out here.”

i want to say something smug in return, but i’m too far gone, too tired, too comfortable. i just nuzzle closer into his chest, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as he carries me inside.

i hear him smile.

his bare feet are quiet against the floorboards, the door creaking softly as he nudges it open with his shoulder. the room is dim, moonlight cutting across the floor, the sheets on our bed still rumpled from earlier.

he lays me down carefully, adjusting the blanket over me before sliding in beside me.

and then he pulls me close—no hesitation, no space between us.

one arm around my waist, the other tucked under the pillow, fingers brushing through my hair again.

his breath is slow, and when he thinks i’m fully asleep, he whispers it.

“i love you.”

i smile into the pillow, heart full, body warm, and fall asleep with his arm wrapped around me like a promise.

authors note: pls comment for suggestions and ur opinions on this story!

#jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts army #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #jungkook fluff

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val-kry · 11 days ago

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COD Men and their Love languages 💜

Warnings: None

Characters: Price, Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Graves, Konïg

A/N: None

John Price

Price shows his love by doing things for you. He’s not the type to wax poetic or indulge in PDA, but if you ever mention your favorite tea, he’ll quietly stock it in the cupboard without a word. He takes the car to get serviced without being asked. He checks in when you’re sick but does so by dropping off a bowl of soup and a blanket, mumbling something like, “Figured you could use this.” It’s these everyday gestures, small but intentional, that prove how much he cares. If you ever try to thank him, he’ll just wave it off, but his gaze will linger a little longer on you than usual.

He feels most valued when you return the favor. Letting him decompress in peace after a rough op, slipping a flask into his coat pocket before a mission, or cooking something warm when he’s been out in the cold; those moments settle into his bones and keep him grounded. He’s all about effort, consistency, and showing up, even in silence.

Soap

Soap is all energy and touch. It’s all about the playful shoulder bumps, grabbing your hand mid-story, leaning into you on the couch. His affection comes in waves, and he often can’t resist pulling you into a crushing hug when he sees you. If you’re upset, he’ll brush your cheek with his knuckles or hold your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. He has zero shame in nuzzling into your neck or wrapping an arm around your waist, even in front of the lads.

He reads a lot through physical cues too! He knows when your muscles are tense, when your hand fidgets in his, and how to ground you again with a firm squeeze or forehead-to-forehead contact. For him, touch is both comfort and clarity. You don’t even need to speak for him to understand you. He just needs to feel you close.

Gaz

Gaz is expressive and articulate, especially when it comes to you. He doesn’t shy away from compliments, dropping them casually and often: “You smashed that today,” or “No one’s sharper than you out there.” He’s especially good at recognizing the little things, like your discipline, the way you keep people calm under pressure, the quiet strength in your voice. He reminds you of your worth when you forget it, and never lets you walk into danger without a, “I believe in you.”

When you return the affirmations, even if clumsily, his whole demeanor shifts. Your single sincere, “I’m proud of you,” or “I feel safe with you,” lingers with him for days. For Gaz, language is armor and intimacy—he’s never short on encouragement or praise, and he thrives on the same in return.

Ghost

Ghost values presence, it’s all he needs. No flashy outings or fancy dinners, just the quiet, undisturbed hours where you’re truly with him. Sitting beside him while he sharpens his knife, walking together, or reading in silence while the fire crackles. those are the moments that count. He’s withdrawn by default, but when he finds someone he trusts, he wants their stillness. He notices when you’re distracted or not really there, and it stings in a way he doesn’t always articulate.

He’s incredibly attentive when you’re together, even if it’s just working out side by side. You’ll catch his gaze lingering when you laugh or stretch, like he’s memorizing the scene. Quality time is sacred to him, his rare smiles, softened voice, and candid thoughts only surface when he knows he has your full attention.

Philip Graves

Graves shows love through generosity, and giving. He’s the kind of guy who drops a new pair of boots in your locker because “yours were lookin’ busted.” He’s got an eye for what you like: gear, snacks, little upgrades. He’ll surprise you with them like it’s no big deal. But it is a big deal to him. Gifts are how he says he sees you. That you’re on his mind even when you’re not in the room.

And when you return the favor, maybe by giving him a personalized patch, or just bringing his favorite drink after a long mission, he lights up, though he’ll try to play it cool. “Damn, sugar, didn’t know you noticed that.” His love is flashy but sincere. He wants you to feel spoiled, safe, and never overlooked.

Konïg

In the beginning, König shies away from touch. He’s massive, and conscious of it. He’s terrified he’ll hurt you or make you uncomfortable. But once that barrier breaks? He’s endlessly affectionate in private. He leans into every hug like he’s starved for it, rests his head against yours, and traces your fingertips like he’s learning Braille. Physical closeness becomes his lifeline. He holds your hand like it anchors him, hugs like they’re shields, and nestles into your lap or chest like a quiet child.

He also melts when you initiate touch. A hand on his back, brushing your fingers through his hair, or resting your head against him. Those little moments get tucked away deep in his mind. They become his courage when you’re not around. He doesn’t need words when he has you in his arms.

#call of duty #john price #soap cod #gaz cod #ghost cod #philip graves #konig cod #cod men #cod men x reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #x you #graves x reader #konig x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #cod mw2

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atrirose · 2 years ago

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⌅ HOT THINGS ENHA MEMBERS DO

bf!enha x f!r 샌 warning. none + fluff 🐰 seiu notes : and award for being the most inactive when i promised to be actives goes to seiu tada (revamping)

HEESEUNG : calls you good girl, this man he plays those dangerous games, he knows what that phase does to you, how red you get or how you words start to jumble up but does that stop him from not calling you this at least in public? no it doesn’t “have a bite” he said as he bought cake near your mouth “like it?” heeseung said as he wiped the excess cake from your lips, you nod not expecting what came next “good girl” RAGH STOP THIS MAN I WILL COME FROM HIM

JAY : leaning over to buckle your seat belt, here is the thing, his car, it’s expensive and the feeling you get after sitting in a clean expensive car with a hot man that is supposedly your boyfriend (if he was my boyfriend i would have a crush on him even whilst dating him) so when leans in to buckle your belt which you on purpose didn’t buckle, he smiles and the chic perfume hit your nose as he spoke in a low octave “ready to go?”

JAKE : zipping your jacket, the poor boy cares about you and he genuinely thinks you can’t zip it on your own like before you go out he needs to check if you have your phone with you, your wallet (he is paying of course, yours is for show), house keys and OH the most important, your jacket, will zip it and then hug you like a big polar bear “let’s go! this time i will drive” jake unlocked the car “you drove last time too jake” he said smiling “yeah? i don’t remember”

SUNGHOON : very evident that he loves your hair, he loves to try new hairstyles on you but most importantly he brushes your hair off your face when he is listening to like a love sick boy, nods and hums, most of the time sings as he try to braid your hair, most of the time it’s not so great and if you went out with it people might thing you just got out of a fight but hey it’s the thought that count, poor baby tries his best :( “i think it’s good this time” sunghoon said as you opened your eyes, it wasn’t the best hairstyle ever but for you it was special.

SUNOO : sunshine loves to tie your shoes for you, but he acts like he is 50 and bending to tie the shoe is like breaking his hips “yn you are so lazy ugh” sunoo says as he bends down for the 5th today to tie your shoes, he loves it okay don’t let him fool you, he even untie it on purpose and doesn’t let you do it because ‘apparently you don’t know how to and would break your face after falling’.

JUNGWON : holding your hands while crossing the road or pulls you so he is at the outer side while walking. looks left and right, subconsciously always reaches out for your arms so he can pull you just in case a truck hits you. “yn follow me closely” he tugs on your sleeves as you cross the road with him “yeah yeah wonie”.

NIKI : lifting chin or moving it to talk to him or opening your drinks for you. he could be talking to anyone or just watching TV but it’s his job as self proclaimed man of the relationship to open you can or any drink you have in your hand, and WHEN I TELL YOU this man makes you face him when you guys are talking?!, he would literally grab your chin and make you look at him or look up to him because you know how tall he smh 😀. “i like it when you look at me when you talk” loves eye contact with you and will smirk at how flustered you are “hmm you are bright red” he said as he lightly strokes your cheeks

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v00do-d0ll · 8 months ago

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Ok so I have this hc that I want other ppl besides me to see, and if anybody wanted to turn this into a fic; I would be yours because I can’t write for shit

(This also might trigger some people so please proceed with caution.)

(TW: SA )

…

Anyway, I’ve always liked the idea of Bruce protecting his kids as Bruce Wayne, so hear me out.

The batfam are at a gala minus Alfred because I see it being someone else’s gala that they have to attend. The POV would start with Tim and jump to Bruce later but I digress..

So Tim is forever 17 and has just come out as Bi and this is the first gala that he attends after that and some grown man comes up to him and starts hitting on him. The man is being very inappropriate with the things he’s saying and the way he’s touching Tim

And even though Tim is Red Robin; he freezes because he’s also Tim Drake and those ideologies are still ingrained into him to not make a scene. He’s extremely uncomfortable trying to get the man to leave him alone and telling him no.

But the man is not backing down continuing to say things like “ You’re bi, so I know you want it.”, “Don’t be shy. It can be just between you and me” and crowding his space.

And Tim is trying to find a way out. Darting his eyes around looking for his siblings but can’t seem to find them.

As he’s looking around, the man starts walking him back towards the hall. Hands trailing down his stomach getting closer to his inner thigh and he forcibly kisses him. Awareness of what this man is trying to do becomes completely apparent. He tries to push the man away but his body isn’t cooperating with him.

He’s scared.

But then he turns his head and see’s Bruce making his way over to him with the deadliest look he’s ever seen him have on his face but he’s grateful because that’s his dad.. not Brucie, but Bruce, his dad is coming to get him out of this situation.

Then it switches to Bruce’s POV

It starts with Bruce in the middle of the gala crowd talking it up as Brucie Wyane and he decides to look around just to check on his kids

He glances over at Dick and Damien together by the food table

Jason and Steph look like their about to do something they shouldn’t

Dukes talking to another attendant of the gala

Cass is beside him but he’s missing one..

He can’t find Tim..

Alarm bells start ringing in his head and he starts to look for Tim more obviously, turning his head left and right. Cass picking up on his distress but not knowing why

Bruce turns his whole body to the back of the gala room and that’s where he finds Tim being crowded by a member of the gala. His immediate instinct is to go to him but stops himself because he’s trying to learn how to give his kids more freedom, and he knows Tim can handle himself. So he stops for a second and takes in the situation.

But the longer he looks he sees that Tim, his son, is completely frozen. A look on his face that says he needs help but can’t get out the words to ask for it. His eyes are darting around frantically like he’s looking for someone. As he’s about to take a step to go help Tim he freezes because the man is walking him back towards the hall way with his hands inching further and further down his stomach dangerously close to places his hands don’t need to be and forcibly kisses him.

He sees Tim squirming trying to push the man away.

and Bruce realizes this man’s intentions.

Tim, his son, is about to be assaulted. The same thing that happened to himself that he couldn’t get out of.. is about to happen to Tim. And he sees the moment Tim recognizes it to in his eyes.

Bruce wastes no more time, he completely ignores the people he was once in a conversation with as they ask him where he’s going. He’s walking quickly towards his son when they make eye contact, he sees the relief wash over his body.

He reaches the man and grabs him. The man turns his head looking like he’s about to say something but blanches from seeing who it is. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything because as soon as he faces Bruce, He gets punched so hard he falls over. The rest of the gala has frozen because Brucie Wyane is punching some random man for seemingly no reason.

And Bruce keeps going, because for once he was there in time to protect one of his kids. The rest of the batfam comes over trying to forcibly pull Bruce off the man. None of them knowing why Bruce started punching the man but knowing one thing..

There is a reason.

When they finally get Bruce off the man. Bruce instantly turns to Tim hugging his son, holding him. Tim is in shock as Bruce keeps asking him if he’s alright. Tim not responding but looks directly into Bruce’s eyes. The man’s blood on Bruce’s knuckles. The complete look of worry written on Bruce’s face as he holds Tim’s in his hands.

And Tim just.. sinks into his arms and holds on so tight to Bruce because his fathers here. His father saved him. He’s okay, He’ll be okay.

The police get called and the man is taken away and they all go home early. That night though, Bruce goes to Tim’s room to check up on him and talk.

He makes sure Tim is okay and finds Tim blaming himself for not being able to get away.

“I’m Red Robin! I have fought worse people than him and won. But all that was going through my head at the time was Jack and Janet “Don’t make a scene” and I froze. I couldn’t get away, I tried but my body wouldn’t listen. I wanted to call out but my voice closed up and I was looking around to- ”

Bruce interrupts him

“ It’s not your fault, you did what you could. This is not your fault Tim, It’s his fault for forcing himself on you. I’ve been there, I know how you feel. it’ll be okay. I promise, I’m right here.”

Tim looks at Bruce because he didn’t know that

“You’ve been.. who?”

Bruce just looks at him. He’s doesn’t need to say anything because he knows Tim will understand anyway. He’s smart like that.

“oh.. Does that mean- ”

Bruce cuts him off again

“Yes, but it was a long time ago, you don’t need to know because I’m okay now. And I want you to know I understand. But can we just keep this between us? No one else needs to know about that, especially Damien.”

“Yea B. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Me too, but at least I got Damien from it, and I love him just as much as I love you. You are both my children and I would do anything to try to protect you.”

“Thanks B.” He leans in to hug Bruce and they just hold onto each other for a little longer.

“I’ll let you go to sleep chum. Good night Tim” he says as he kisses Tim’s head and ruffles his hair. He heads to the door and turns to look back at Tim

“Goodnight dad.” He says with a small smile

Bruce freezes for a second and sighs with a slight smile on his face. He looks at Tim one last time for the night with all his love for him shining in his eyes and closes the door to go to his room.

By the end of there talk Tim and Bruce are closer than ever because he not only learned something new about Bruce. He now feels more secure in his place in the manor, in the family, as Bruce’s son.

#batman #tim drake #bruce wyane #bruce wayne is a good dad #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #cassandra cain #duke thomas #stephanie brown #good dad bruce wayne #brucie wayne #bruce and tim #batfam #gotham #Bruce wyane is a good father and his kids love him! Fight me

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sukiwrites · 13 days ago

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Fandom: DC Comics / Batfam Pairing: Ex-Boyfriend!Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Unresolved Feelings

Warnings: Swearing, emotional vulnerability Word Count: 985 words Notes: Just a little something about that messy, magnetic energy between exes who never quite stopped wanting each other.

Jason sees you in a restaurant after a long stretch of no contact since your breakup. The moment your eyes land on him, you instinctively sink into your seat. “Don’t look,” you whisper sharply to your work friends, “but my ex is here.” Naturally, they immediately turn to gawk. “That is your ex?” one of them says, eyes wide. Another adds, “Why the hell would you leave that?” You sigh, eyes on your drink. “I didn’t. He left me.” There’s a beat of silence before you stand. “I’m sorry, guys. I just... I need some air.”

You step out the back of the restaurant, the cool night air greeting you with a quiet stillness. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, you try to collect yourself.

Not even a minute passes before you hear footsteps behind you. You turn, and it’s him.

Jason raises his hands like you're a cornered animal. “Relax, I didn’t come out here for you,” he says, reaching into his jacket to pull out a cigarette and lighter.

You exhale, easing slightly back into the wall. “You’re smoking again?” you ask, half question, half quiet observation.

He shrugs, lighting the cigarette. “It’s how I deal with... stuff.” You glance at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He takes a drag, speaking through the smoke. “Hey, I was just about to drink myself to death before you showed up. But now I’m very intrigued... Who’s the guy? He clearly wants to fuck you.”

You blink. “What?” “I’m here with my friends from work, asshole. And maybe you noticed the girl sitting next to me as well?” “Oh, I did,” he replies, tone smug. “She especially wants you. She was all over you. But I don’t blame her, you’re hot as hell.”

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing. “You’re so silly, Jason,” you say, still giggling. “I’m gonna go back inside, to my friends.”

You start to walk away, but he gently catches your hand. You stop. “You really do look beautiful,” he says softly.

You just stare at each other for a moment, caught in something too familiar, too dangerous. “Thanks,” you finally say, voice quieter. “You don’t look too bad yourself…Red.”

Later, as you’re saying goodbye to your friends, they can’t stop grinning. “Jason’s still outside, by the way,” one of them points out. “He’s literally been waiting for you the whole night,” another teases. “She’s so getting laid.” “No doubt about it.”

You roll your eyes. “Guys, seriously. He’s my ex. That’s not happening.” They squint at you like they know better.

As you go outside to book a cab, Jason is leaning against his bike, arms folded, helmet in hand. “I’ll take you home,” he says casually. You narrow your eyes. “Not on that death machine. I never got on it before, and I still won’t.” He smirks, already walking towards you. “It’ll be fun.” “Nope.” You shake your head, backing up. “Come on,” he says, handing you the spare helmet. “Trust me. I’ll keep you safe. Okay?” You hesitate, then slowly reach for the helmet. “Okay.”

The ride is nothing like you expected. It’s freeing, thrilling, your arms wrapped around his waist, the wind in your hair, his warmth steady in front of you. And when you get home, you're practically glowing. “That was the best thing ever,” you say, grinning as you unbuckle the helmet. “I told you!” he replies. You say, still grinning, “Why didn’t you ever make me try that before?” Jason laughs and replies, “I did! Remember? But you were screaming so loud, people thought I was kidnapping you.”

You both laugh, stumbling a bit as you reach your door. But when the laughter fades, so does the ease. You unlock your door, turn back to him. “Jason?” “Hm?” “Why are you here?”

He says nothing at first, just stares at you. And it’s not the usual stare. It’s the kind that looks too deep, the kind that carries weight. “Here,” you repeat, “now, in my doorway, making me laugh, smile... Why?” His voice is low, raw. “Because I miss you.” He winces, like even saying it hurts. “I know I shouldn’t, but I—” “I miss you too,” you say quietly.

There’s silence between you. Then you sigh. “Come here. "My feet are killing me.” You pull him inside and lead him to the sofa.

After a while, you say, “I’m gonna get into something more comfortable.” You disappear into your room. Jason stays on the couch, calling out after a few seconds, “Can I be completely honest?” “Mhm,” you reply from behind the door. “I’m so extremely horny right now.” You burst out laughing. “Jason?? Jeez, have some composure!” “I’m just saying,” he continues, “it doesn’t leave much to the imagination knowing you’re changing next door.” “Oh really?” you say teasingly. “Wanna see instead?”

You step out, wearing nothing but a pyjama shirt and shorts. Jason’s head snaps toward you. His eyes scan every inch. “You look... a bit disappointed,” you say with a smirk. “Would’ve preferred you naked,” he shrugs, “but you’re always hot.” You blush and sit next to him again on the sofa. He stares at you. First your eyes, then your lips. You raise a brow. “You’re doing that thing.” “What thing?” he asks. “That thing you do when you reallyyy want to kiss me.” “I do,” he says plainly. “Then?” He hesitates. “I don’t want to make you feel—” “I won’t,” you cut him off gently. “I won’t feel or get attached or anything like that. I know we’re done.” Jason looks at you, uncertain. “Are you sure?” He brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. You smile. “Yes. I’m also horny, you know. I’m just more composed than you.” He smirks. “How about I fuck the composure out of you?”

And with that, he crashes his lips into yours, leaving no room for witty remarks.

161 notes · View notes

crazykinkiwi · 13 days ago

Text

Doomed | LADS Trial

You’re not allowed to leave.

Not without him. Not without clearance.

Not even to breathe fresh air.

At first, it was subtle. Caleb called it precautionary. He said Skyhaven’s upper district was too dangerous now, too unstable with rising tensions between Ever Group and the Farspace Fleet. “Just for a few days,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his voice too gentle to argue with.

That was three weeks ago.

Now, every door in the apartment needs his biometric ID to open. The windows are locked. Your comms device mysteriously malfunctions every time you try to contact someone outside. And when you ask him—when you beg him—to let you out, to trust you, his eyes just cloud over.

You remember your last attempt clearly.

“Please,” you whispered one night, curled up on the sofa, your voice low so he wouldn’t hear the crack in it. “I just want to go to the bazaar. Just for an hour. I’ll be careful.”

Caleb didn’t even look up from cleaning the plasma casing of his sidearm. “It’s not safe, pipsqueak.”

You moved closer, sitting on your knees beside him. “I’m not a child. You can’t keep me locked up like some fragile thing in a tower.”

That made him pause. His violet-gold eyes flicked toward you, unreadable.

“No,” he said, slowly. “I can’t. But I will.”

You should’ve known arguing wouldn’t work. He was gentle, but unmovable—like a wall of gravity in human form. So you waited. Watched his patterns. Memorized his schedule.

And today… you slipped out.

Just a few blocks. Just some air. Just freedom.

But Skyhaven isn’t kind anymore.

The moment the lockdown sirens blared through the district, people scattered like startled birds. And in the chaos, you fell—your knee scraping against a jagged edge of broken steel paneling. Blood welled up quickly, staining the street beneath you. But the pain wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the way your comm buzzed.

A soft chime.

Incoming call: Caleb.

You didn’t answer.

He found you anyway.

---

He doesn’t say anything as he carries you home, one arm around your back, the other beneath your legs—metal, cold, humming faintly with internal power. You feel it through your clothes, the cybernetics in his rebuilt arm—alien and unfamiliar. He holds you close, possessive, like you’ll dissolve if he doesn’t anchor you.

By the time you cross the threshold of his apartment, the air inside feels heavier than the gravity he controls.

He sets you down on the sofa like you’re made of glass, crouching in front of you with a med kit. You try to speak, to explain, but his expression stops you. Tight jaw. Furrowed brows. The slight tremble in his hands as he opens a bottle of antiseptic.

“You could’ve died,” he says flatly, not looking at you.

You wince. “It was just a cut—”

“It could’ve been worse.” His voice sharpens. “There are people out there who’d slit your throat for your DNA. You think I don’t know what Ever is planning? You think they forgot about you?”

You shift uncomfortably. “I can explain...—”

His hand stops mid-motion.

He lifts his eyes to yours—dull, hollow, and simmering. "Those are excuses."

"But—"

“Y/N... Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home? Back when we were kids,” he murmurs, kneeling in front of you with a med kit. “We kept it in the backyard. But that cat always kept trying to run away before it fully recovered.”

You blinked. "Uhm.. yes.."

“Do you want to know what I did in response?” he asks. The question has bite to it, a sharp point he punctuates with the heat of his glare. “I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat. That way, it couldn’t escape without being noisy.”

"Tell me pipsqueak..." He trails off as his fingers curl around your ankle. He tugs, bringing you closer to the edge of the sofa, leveling you with his eyes.

“Do I need to get you one too?"

A/N: Now if this one gets good engagement— I'll turn it into a series.

138 notes · View notes

yuechihua · 18 days ago

Text

your blood resting in my veins.

summary: There are a few things that've changed about Jason since you knew him as a child: one, he's now a vampire, and two, he only visits you every other night. You help him where you can.

notes: 4.1k words, author's notes, suggestive, vampire au, childhood friends au, thigh biting/sucking, ambiguous relationship

He only comes in the middle of the night.

You think you’ve gotten used to his presence at this point, all the little noises that signal his appearance: the scrape of boots against your window frame, the creak in your old floorboards as he steps lightly down, the rustle of clothing and a soft breath he doesn’t even need to take.

You know Jason is more than capable of being silent when he wants to be, so you can’t help but think these signs are akin to the bell on a cat’s collar, a way to alert you to his presence and set you at ease.

“Welcome back,” you announce from where you’re lounging on your bed, looking down at the intruder who’s still crouched on your floor. Your apartment might be a shabby little studio that wouldn’t impress a single guest, set in the shadows of Gotham’s neon signs and perpetually lit skyscrapers, but it’s yours. In this city, you take what small victories you can get, and keep it close to you.

“You left the window unlocked,” Jason says.

“For you.”

“It’s dangerous to leave your window unlocked in this city.”

“Yeah, but no regular human can break into a place on the sixth floor. And if someone nonhuman was capable of doing so and wanted to hurt me, a lock isn’t going to stop them.”

Jason regards you silently, head tilted like he’s trying to make sense of your words. “It’s better to be careful. You’re going to invite trouble in.”

“The only trouble I’m trying to invite is you,” you tease.

You pat the bedspread, a silent invitation for him to sit. Jason slowly unfurls himself until he’s standing, a towering, shadowy figure in your apartment. He never takes your invitation, but that’s fine. When he opens his mouth, moonlight glints off his fangs. You’ve always wondered if the reason he smiles so little now, outside of his surly demeanor, is to hide his teeth.

Vampires aren’t the most welcome creature in Gotham, but it’s a little different when you’ve known this one since you were children, back when he was still human. Though, from the way he talks, no one would ever think that. You knew Jason Todd when the two of you were practically in diapers, just another pair of little kids running around Crime Alley and trying to make ends meet in families that were always down on their luck.

He was sweet, back then. The sort of friend who would stand up for you against any tougher kid trying to knock the two of you down, who had his own unwavering sense of justice, and seemed happy just to follow you around and crack jokes.

Now, you don’t know much about his life. In the years in which Jason was adopted, got out, and left you behind, the two of you slowly lost contact. You were upset at the time; he stopped responding to your letters, and never seemed to have time for you anymore. But then he died, and it was hard to stay mad at a dead child, forever frozen as a teen, while you grew up and left your childhood behind.

But he didn’t stay dead. Somehow, he crawled back from the grave, a little different, a little colder, and with the unmistakable scent of blood clinging to his leather jacket. You didn’t realize this until years later, on a rainy evening when you found what you thought was a corpse, curled up in the alley outside your apartment. You would have called it luck or fate if you believed in either of those things, but people made their own destinies here in Gotham.

You still remember what it was like: the rain-slicked tarmac, oil spills shimmering like warped rainbows and puddles reflecting the flash of your phone. You were more than ready to just call an ambulance and leave the bloodied heap to some other virtuous person. This was more than you wanted, especially after a long shift at the office.

But then the body had shifted. Whoever it was was still alive.

“Hello?” you said softly.

You’re more than familiar with the creatures that prowl Gotham’s night, both the mundane and the supernatural. Thieves scare you just as much as vampires do, especially when you had no official training or supernatural powers, just the knowledge of any average citizen.

Still, you didn’t expect the corpse to suddenly leap at you. You screamed as you crashed to the pavement, phone skittering away from you. All you remembered was your flailing limbs and the heavy, cold weight of something inhuman pressing down on you, the scrape of cold fangs near the rapid pulse in your neck.

You gained just enough leverage to push at the thing, and if it wasn’t already weakened from its injuries, you might not have made any impression whatsoever. As it was, it tumbled backwards, and you could finally see its face.

A flash of bright green eyes that used to be a vivid blue. Black hair with a streak of white, shorn ragged and short that once used to curl around your fingers. Scars cutting a face that had been chubby with baby fat, years ago.

Even with adrenaline burning a trail in your veins and the rain softening the world around you, you recognized your childhood friend. It didn’t matter how many years passed; you knew his face as easily as you knew your own. And he was covered in blood, weak, eyes dull with only animal impulse.

It was stupid what you did next. But if in Gotham, to survive, you kept your head down and minded your own business, leaving vampires to the hunters, then you also took care of your own.

You pulled the sleeve of your dirty blazer up to your elbow, bared the smooth skin of your wrist to Jason Todd, and whispered, “Drink.”

He looked at you with only the faintest bit of recognition. “You…?”

You pressed your wrist against his mouth. This wasn’t an offer. This was a demand. Jason groaned, and he bit down with so much force that you sunk your teeth into your own lip to muffle your own gasp, blood filling your mouth from the pressure.

He survived that night, of course, even if you were dizzy from blood loss as you brought him home, to crash on your couch. By the time morning rolled around, he was gone. You had thought he would never visit you again, but to your surprise, he had shown up the next night to apologize, knocking on the window of your apartment and almost giving you a heart attack.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said. “I wasn’t fully conscious, but I almost hurt you.”

You eyed him in amusement. “Well, hello to you too, old friend, and you’re welcome for saving your life.”

His eyes lingered on the bandages wrapped around your wrist, hiding the reddened skin and puncture wounds. Your arm was still sore, but that’s not something you were going to let him know. “It won’t happen again. I’m… sorry.”

“Jason.” You reached and deliberately grabbed his arm with your injured one. He didn’t pull away, and for a few seconds, the two of you only stood in silence, nothing but the sound of your breathing filling the air. “If you ever need blood, come right here. I’ll help you.”

And he does, time and time again, though Jason always keeps such a measured distance with you. He never talks about his past, and you never question him. The second you push too hard, he might run off and leave you for good this time.

It’s easy to see he’s haunted by something. He’s less open and more terse than he was as a child, keeping his words clipped and sharp. He only visits on occasion, and he’s always jumping at unexpected noises or keeping watch outside the window, eyes narrowed. If he comes in with blood on his jacket, then you only remind him not to get it on your furniture.

He’s ashamed, too. You can tell without him even voicing it, just from how his eyes will drift to your healed wrist, as if he can still see the imprints of his fangs marked there. But you don’t regret your decision, and you would do it all over again if you had to make that same choice.

Jason is a dead man walking. But he’s yours, regardless, and if this is the only way you can have him, then you will coax your stray dog with bits and pieces of your affection so he doesn’t run away.

It’ll save you from having to chase him down, too, because there is no way in hell you’re letting him get away again. Perhaps growing up in Gotham has given you the tendency to jealously hold the things you care about, because the city will snatch it from your hands if you’re not careful enough.

“Hungry?” you ask. Jason is still standing over you, and his eyes drop to your thighs.

There are marks scattered all over them, faded bruises and puncture wounds from the remnants of past nights together. It doesn’t help that Jason has the habit of biting into the same places when they’re mostly healed, renewing their presence on you.

Biting your thighs is a more recent development. It used to be that Jason would drink from the wrist he didn’t bite on your first meeting, or nip at your neck, as if afraid to come any closer. But, as you convinced him, thighs have more surface area and it’s easier to cover up any markings on them during the day. Besides, you could see how Jason’s eyes constantly flit to and away from your legs. Once you offer to let him drink from them, he doesn’t touch anywhere else.

Jason has never been anything but gentle when he touches you, but it’s hard not to notice the intensity in his eyes as he brushes calloused fingers across his past work. His touch is possessive and deceptively light, as if he’s purposefully holding himself back from pressing too hard.

It’s not that he treats you like you’re made of glass, but rather that you’re something he needs to handle with care; as he’s never held anything so tenderly before, he’s still unsure of the right amount of pressure he needs to use.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” His voice is a low rumble as he finally kneels in front of you, thumb stroking slow circles in the soft skin of your inner thigh. It’s hard to deny the fact that seeing Jason like this sends a thrill through you; he looks tame like this, pliant to your every direction and touch.

You try to keep your breathing even, but you can’t help the way your breath hitches. You think Jason notices, too, if the way his eyes dart to your throat is any indication. Mercifully, he doesn’t tease you for it this time. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t let you in my place at all if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“You can change your mind,” Jason presses, “at any time.”

“Are you trying to convince me of that?” you ask. “Or yourself?”

“It’s just a reminder. Letting a vampire drink from you is risky. Not a lot of people do it willingly.”

He lowers his head, and you can’t see his eyes from this angle. All you can see is his shock of dark hair, and the single white streak of his bangs. You stroke his hair lightly, letting your fingers run through the mess of rough curls. You trail your hand through his hair and down to his face, skating along the skin of his cheek until you cup it and draw his head up to look at you.

Tension ripples through him at your touch, his entire body stiff. You wonder if he’s battling the urge to pull away; Jason has always acted like a stray animal whenever you reach out to him, flinching and skittish, resisting the urge to bear teeth and bite. Or, perhaps he’s fighting the urge to lean closer to you and rest his cheek in your palm, searching for warmth.

If he’s not used to holding anything gently, then he’s not used to being held, either.

“You can’t get rid of me even if you want to,” you reproach him, keeping your tone playful. “We’ve done this enough times that if I hated it, I would have turned you away by now. Besides, who else is going to let you sneak inside at two in the morning?”

“You make it sound so…”

“I make it sound like what?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Is there something about you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night and putting your hands all over my thighs, that seems wrong to you? I only have innocent intentions.”

“Shut up,” Jason grumbles, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth now.

Carefully, you slide your hand until it rests along the back of his head, your fingers twining with his soft hair as you guide him back to your thighs. His mouth is so close that if he was still alive, you could feel his breath against your skin. Instead of human warmth, you can feel the chill from his lips, and it makes you shiver.

“Come on,” you murmur.

His hair tickles your legs as Jason rests his head against your thigh. There’s the ticklish sensation of his lips pressing against the sensitive inner skin, lingering for just a beat longer than they need to. Then, finally, the subtle sting of teeth breaking through flesh and piercing the meat of your leg.

The sting is gone as quickly as it arrives, replaced by pleasure: the feeling of Jason drinking your blood deeply, restrained in a way a desperate man shouldn’t be, and the soft, wet lap of his tongue as he intermittently soothes his own puncture wounds, as if in apology.

Jason is a fever you can’t ignore, burning you up from the inside out, and you can’t untangle whether it’s his bite, or the act of drinking, or if it’s the man himself that makes you feel so good.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he pulls back. Your blood is spilling down your thigh in thin rivers, droplets soaking into your bedsheet, and he sounds abashed. He’s messier than he usually is; Jason typically has an unusual amount of control and precision when it comes to drinking, knowing just the right amount of force to bite without hurting. It’s the sort of control that only comes from preying from a great number of people.

But that isn’t your concern. What is is the way his voice dips in tone, how he can’t meet your eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” you whisper. “Clean it up.”

Jason’s eyes meet yours before dropping to your chest, right above the spot where your heart is, his gaze suddenly predatory. Your heart is pounding in overdrive, a rapid, fluttering beat, and you know that he knows. You can’t hide how your body reacts to him, not from someone with senses that have been pretenaturally sharpened.

“Whatever you want,” he says, and his tone turns teasing. Without breaking eye contact, he licks slow trails along your leg as he chases every inch of the blood that he spilled, his pace indulgent. How can his mouth feel so hot when his body temperature is so low? It feels nice, pleasant, and when he pulls away, you almost reach to press him right against you again.

Jason has a smug little smile on his mouth, and it feels like he’s just pulled one over you. He’s annoying, and it’s annoying that this endears him to you even more.

You splay one hand on your thigh, your fingers grazing along all his old marks, various shades of purple. You wonder if Jason will ever let them fade away fully. It’s a little point of connection, between the two of you, that no one else will know exists. Perhaps he’s just like you, trying desperately to cling to a tether that will link you two together.

Still, no matter your musings, you can’t let him think he can get away from teasing you. You pat your thigh, and his attention is drawn to the movement, like a dog catching a sweet scent in the air. “Aren’t you still thirsty? Drink some more.”

Jason licks his lips, a small, tentative motion, as if he’s still trying to chase the lingering taste of your blood. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Just one nibble, and you’re good? Don’t be so considerate.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” he grumbles. “I’ve never heard of anyone trying to offer so much of their blood to a vampire.”

“Well, you’re not just anyone. I trust you,” you say, and it’s always been as simple as that.

His voice hitches, cool indifference only a thin, ineffectual barrier to the emotion roiling underneath. “I’m not human.”

“So? That doesn’t matter to me.”

“Just… I don’t understand it. You don’t get anything out of this. Why?”

“There’s nothing to understand,” you say. “I care about you, no matter who you are or what you’ve done. It doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.” Jason is still keeling in front of you, moonlight filtering through the gaps in your crooked blinds. He looks like he’s about to ask you for forgiveness or get up and walk away and never come back again. Even though scars litter his face and body, and he’s gotten jaded in the years that have passed, he still looks unbearably young at times, like the ghost of the twelve year old boy you once knew is peeking up at you.

“No, because I don’t think you’ve ever wanted to tell me,” you say. “But even if it’s worse than the petty theft we used to do, I still don’t mind. You’re Jason. That’s all I ever need to know.”

“It’s not that simple. I’m not the boy you knew. I’m never going to be that boy again. I’ve killed people,” he says, teeth gritted. “More than you can count. I’ve left the corpses of every vampire and hunter that gets in my way to rot in the streets, and you still want to let someone like that into your home?”

You cup his face. His skin is ghostly cool beneath your hands. Perhaps Jason wants to warn you, or push you away, or make you understand how wrong he is. Maybe there’s something wrong with you, too, for not feeling the proper amount of horror at his confession. But that’s what it means to grow up in Gotham: no one can ever survive without becoming a little twisted. “Then I’m glad it’s them rotting, and not you.”

One second you’re sitting on your bed. The next second, you’re on your back. Jason has pulled one of your legs up to his face, the force of which has sent you tumbling backwards. You prop yourself up on your elbows. You can just make out Jason’s face from this angle.

“Changed my mind. I think you’re right. I still am a little hungry,” he says. He presses a soft, open-mouth kiss against the tender skin of your inner thigh, his mouth roving a little higher than it did before. He kisses your thigh again, the heat of which sets every nerve ending alight, every aching part of you aware of his touch.

He takes his time. There’s no urgency, no desperation, just languid kisses placed with reverence along every inch of skin he can reach. It’s enough to make you squirm. “I thought you said you were hungry.”

“I’m enjoying my meal,” he says unrepentantly. It’s the sort of blithe line that if anyone else had said it, you would consider it coy. But because it’s Jason, there’s nothing but boyish honesty in his tone.

“Well, I think you’d enjoy it a lot more if you actually just bit me,” you grumble.

“Getting impatient?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, if you want it so bad, I guess I have to oblige.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but Jason presses the flat of his tongue against your leg, a gentle lick, letting the cool edge of his fangs rest against your skin. A warning, or a promise. Then, he bites. It’s enough for you to bite your tongue, to prevent whatever strangled noise you might have made, and that would have given Jason enough ammunition to tease you for the next several weeks.

There really isn’t any more eloquent way to put the simple truth: his bite makes you feel pleasure in a way you’ve never experienced it before. The sensation of his mouth on your leg, intense heat radiating out everywhere he touches, the way he tilts your leg so he can have greater access to your skin, the knowledge that it’s your blood flowing in his veins right now, allowing him to stay alive.

Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he’ll have a piece of you within him. Your blood in his heart. Your taste in his lips. Your words in his head.

Instead of his usual gentleness, he’s a bit more playful. You let your head fall back, and Jason nips at your thigh lightly, a teasing warning to keep your attention on him. Though he’s the one drinking, you can’t help but feel liquid fire rushing through your own veins, as if he’s giving as much as he’s taking.

In a few more seconds, Jason pulls away, but he doesn’t waste a single drop as he does. He lazily licks your thigh clean, catching any stray bit of blood, so slow in his movements you feel ticklish.

You push yourself back up to survey his work, and he lets your leg fall from his grasp. As always, Jason has renewed his marks on your skin, bites and bruises blossoming a fresh purple. When you try to press your thighs together, you wince, your flesh still tender and sore. You don’t miss the way Jason’s eyes rove over your legs, his eyes darkening at the noise you’ve just made.

“Are you going to stay this time?” you ask.

“What?”

“You normally just go when you’re done. I think you should stay a little longer.”

Jason stands, then flops onto your bed next to you, the force of which sends your mattress’s old springs creaking in protest and causes you to bounce a few inches up in the air. Your bed is small, so there really isn’t any choice but to curl closer to him if you want to share the space. You pull his arm around your shoulders, letting your head rest against the hard muscle of his chest.

He’s letting you touch him, but he doesn’t touch you back. It’s always amusing to see the ways Jason acts shy. Biting your thighs? Not a problem. Cuddling you back? Suddenly the most difficult task in the world.

It really makes it so easy to tease him.

You pull both of your legs flush together, your bare legs pressed against the stiff fabric of his pants. The more you bring your bodies close together, the more rigid Jason gets.

“Is there something wrong, Jason?” you ask, all light and innocence. “You seem a little uncomfortable.”

“You’re the most annoying person I know.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t know anyone else.”

“You’re proving my point,” he mutters.

You don’t entertain any ideas that Jason might stay with you for the entire night. He’s enmeshed in a violent world that feels leagues away from your crummy apartment, even though it lurks right outside your door. But it’s still nice to have him to yourself whenever you can.

“I’ll see you next week?” you ask, eyes falling closed. Donating your blood to a vampire is always exhausting. Not to mention the fact your legs are sore, and you have work in the morning.

“Next week,” he affirms.

Something falls across your waist and lands on your hip. It’s Jason, trying to put his arm around you in the most awkward manner possible. His touch is hesitant and ephemeral, like a butterfly that will fly off at the next disturbance. But it’s a step, a tenderness that you know does not come easily to him.

“Good night, Jason,” you say.

“Good night.”

Maybe, one day, Jason will open up to you a bit more and let you into his world. But despite what he says, knowing him will never be a mistake. Because no matter how much he’s changed or what unspeakable things he’s done, when he’s by your side, he’s yours.

#liya.writes #chara.jason #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc comics x reader #x reader #dc x reader

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c4shm0neyxxx · 3 months ago

Note

I love your whc fics so much!! and I love baekjin 🤗 could i request a baekjin x reader headcanon like you did with seonje?

Yessss!!!! And thank you for requesting!!!!

Na Baek Jin Headcanons

——————-

🌸 Sweet & Soft Na Baek-jin Headcanons

1. Quiet protector energy.

He’s not loud about how much he cares, but he’s always watching from a distance. You’ll find him leaning against a wall nearby, headphones on, eyes scanning for trouble. If someone even looks at you the wrong way, he narrows his eyes, and they back off fast.

2. The type to memorize your schedule.

He won’t admit it, but he knows exactly what time you have lunch, what route you take to class, and where you like to hang out when you need quiet. If you’re ever missing, he notices within five minutes.

3. Acts cold around others but melts when it’s just you.

Around his crew, he’s all blank expressions and sharp words. But with you? He softens. Pulls you into his hoodie. Tucks your hair behind your ear. Hums a tune while your head rests on his chest.

4. Gives you his jacket without a word.

You shiver once, and he shrugs off his jacket like it’s nothing, tossing it over your shoulders. No eye contact. Just a quiet: “Wear it.” His scent lingers on the collar and makes you dizzy in the best way.

5. Secretly writes music about you.

He has a locked folder in his phone with beats he made while thinking of you — sometimes dark and brooding, sometimes soft and slow. You have no idea, but he listens to them late at night when he misses you too much to sleep.

⸻

🖤 Obsessive/Intense Na Baek-jin Headcanons

1. He doesn’t trust people around you.

Even if they’re being friendly, he watches every interaction like a hawk. If anyone flirts with you, his hand clenches at his side. He won’t start a fight — not unless you’re hurt — but he’ll remember. And he’ll handle it later.

2. Needs to know where you are — always.

He doesn’t blow up your phone, but he expects you to text when you get home. If you don’t, he shows up. Calm, serious, standing outside your door like: “Why didn’t you tell me you were safe?” It’s not a question — it’s an accusation wrapped in worry.

3. Keeps little pieces of you.

That broken hair clip you threw away? He has it. Your old scarf? Still in his drawer. They’re like tokens — reminders that you’re real, that you’re his. He’d never tell you, but they matter more to him than his own stuff.

4. Gets possessive when you pull away.

If you try to create space — emotionally or physically — he goes still. Withdrawn. But the storm behind his eyes brews silently. He doesn’t beg, but he’ll back you into a corner emotionally with quiet intensity, whispering: “I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

5. Has a dangerous calm when he’s jealous.

He doesn’t explode. He waits. Observes. Then he finds quiet ways to isolate the person — pushes them out of your life with subtle pressure, until you only see him. And he’ll act like it’s coincidence.

#dark romance #weak hero class two #obbsessive #na baek jin x reader #weak hero class 1 x reader #possesive love #na baekjin

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yikes-aemond · 1 year ago

Text

I love you. It's ruining my life. (Part IV)

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears dresses and has long hair)

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, death

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood plan for the future. Things don’t quite go as planned.

word count: 5.1k

author note: Thank you all so much for your patience! I will not lie—this part was a struggle to write. I think I rewrote it at least three times, and I am still not sure if I’m absolutely satisfied. Fair warning, I’m putting our lovebirds through the ringer, but do not worry—I’m a girl who loves a happily ever after. Also, no smut in this part, but stick around for part five. Happy reading!

part i can be found here, part ii here, and part iii here.

“Have you lost your mind?”

You could not have heard him correctly. Surely Benjicot Blackwood had not just asked you to marry him, while you were half naked.

You hurried to adjust your dress and cover yourself in a desperate attempt to establish some sense of dignity and propriety in this moment. Had you not been overwhelmed by the day, had you not been so taken off guard, you might have responded a little more kindly to a proposal from your beloved.

Benjicot laughed as he watched you try to gather your wits about you. He followed your direction, adjusting his breaches so that everything was tucked back into its proper place.

Once you were both decent, Benjicot reiterated, “I am quite serious. We should marry this evening.”

You shook your head, mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he was saying, what he was asking. For years, you had watched Benjicot from afar. Watched the way he grew into a man, into someone that people feared and respected in equal measure. Being with Benjicot was always your dream. The one you had tucked away in your heart for years, never to see the light of day should you dare to do the most dangerous thing in all of Westeros—hope.

And now he was asking you to marry him. You felt unbalanced, unsteady. Your head and your heart were at war.

You managed to get off the bed. Needing a moment to collect yourself, you put some distance between you and Benjicot and moved back across the room to the fireplace.

When you turned back to Benjicot, you saw that he had not moved. His eyes were fixed on you, that predatory gaze locked onto your form, waiting for your response.

That look in his eyes never failed to make you squirm. The weight of that stare made you think he could hear every thought in your head, all your secrets and dreams.

You sighed, breaking eye contact and said, “You know that our families will never allow it.”

Benjicot stood then, and slowly stalked toward you. With each step, you felt your heartbeat pound louder against your chest. You had thought that the longer you spent in his presence, the more you would become used to him. But you could not deny the effect Benjicot had on you, on your body.

Benjicot took your hands in his, and pulled you against him. Placing your hands on his chest, he rubbed his thumbs over the scrapes you had gotten earlier in the woods. Had that only been this morning? Time seemed to hold no meaning in this room. A prison that now felt like a sanctuary.

“That is why we must marry tonight.” Benjicot smiled, and then placed a kiss on your brow. “By the time they find out, it will be too late.”

You pulled back, just enough so that you could look at his face. “And do your really expect your father and Black Aly to welcome me into the family with open arms?”

Benjicot was still smiling, still so sure of his plan. “They will once they see how happy we are. How much we love each other.” He shrugged before continuing, “And we would not be the first Blackwoods and Brackens to marry. Others have done it in the name of peace.”

“But our families do not seek peace now!” You practically shouted, frustration coloring your tone. “We are on the brink of war, and our families stand on opposite sides.”

You tried pulling away, but Benjicot tightened his arms around you, stilling your struggle. Whatever good humor Benjicot had was slowly leaching from his features. “You know as well as I do that Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.“Of course I agree with you, but that does not change the fact that my father will disown me if we do this. I will never be able to return home.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered against your skin,“Would that be such an awful thing?”

You felt your heart jerk at his question. The idea of never seeing your family again, of never being welcomed home, of never eating your cook’s fruit pies or riding through the moorlands outside of Stone Hedge on a misty morning, or gods never visiting your mother’s gravestone, was enough to send a wave of nausea through you.

You hid your face against his chest. “My father was not always the most loving, but he is my father. For all the faults you may find with him, he has never been cruel to me.”

Benjicot felt the shift in your mood, could practically feel the sadness and desperation radiate from the points where you touched. He knew the sacrifice he was asking you to make was no small thing. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort the turmoil within you.

You could not stop the tears even if you wanted to. You did not wail, did not scream at the unfairness of your situation, did not rail against the old gods and the new for cursing your families and subjecting them to an endless blood feud. For what else could this ancient, hateful grudge between the Blackwoods and Brackens be except for a curse?

Even if you could convince your father to bless a marriage between you and Benjicot, any children between you would be enlisted to the war. Generations of prejudice had proven that. It was no matter that the Bracken or Blackwood on the other side would be a cousin. No matter that no one could remember how the hatred between your two families even began. No matter how senseless the bloodshed would be.

This was your and Benjicot’s world. You could not run from the truth of your situation, could not hide from your fates. Not if you wanted your love to withstand.

And even though the thought of never going back to Stone Hedge was devastating, the thought of never seeing Benjicot again was unthinkable. Never hearing his voice or his laugh. Never seeing his smiles. Never having him hold you in his arms. You could not bear the separation, not after having a taste of what your life could be like together.

Your tears slowed and your breathing evened out. Whatever doubts that had plagued your mind were banished. Resolution steeled your spine. You took a fortifying breath and lifted your head from Benjicot’s chest. With a watery smile on your face, you said, “I accept your proposal, Benjicot Blackwood.”

Benjicot’s joy was infectious. Smiling wide and bright, he lifted you into his arms and kissed you with such a reverence that left your breathless. Gods, you loved this man. Wanted him again and could not imagine ever being parted from him. The very thought of being separated was enough to send a panic through you.

You wrapped your arms around Benjicot’s neck and tangled your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. You felt his joy in that kiss. And you let that joy into your heart. Let it fill and warm you. In this moment, you allowed yourself to be happy.

The impossible dream was becoming a reality.

When Benjicot had proposed, he did not have an actual plan. He did not have any rings or a marriage cloak. As a Blackwood, he preferred to have a ceremony before the old gods in front of the ancient, colossal weirwood tree in the godswood.

Because there were no clergy associated with the old gods, the current Lord Blackwood usually performed marriage ceremonies at Raventree Hall. But seeing as his father would likely oppose the marriage, that left Benjicot with few options. With a little convincing, or in Benjicot’s case, a little threat of bodily harm, the maester finally agreed to perform the ceremony.

You could not stop smiling as Benjicot snuck you out of your rooms. With each passing hallway and corridor, you felt your excitement grow. You could barely contain your glee as you clung to each other, arms linked and hands intertwined, as you made your way into the godswood.

The maester stood before the weirwood tree, with only the moonlight and a few lanterns to light the way. Hundreds of ravens were to be your witnesses. On any other night, feeling the weight of all those eyes watching you might have felt unsettling. But nothing could spoil this moment, nothing could come between you and Benjicot—

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

Every muscle in your body tensed. Panic settled in your chest, and you felt your stomach drop.

Black Aly stood at the edge of the godswood, her bow and arrow knocked and poised to strike.

You felt the world shift. One moment you were standing beside Benjicot, and the next, Benjicot stood in between you and Aly, putting himself in the way of the arrow that had been aimed at your chest.

“Lower the bow, Aly.” Benjicot’s voice was hard and low. You watched as he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger, ready to draw the blade at any moment.

Even from a distance, you could see Aly roll her eyes at Benjicot’s actions, but she did not lower her bow. “Do not overwork yourself, nephew.”

You grabbed the back of Benjicot’s cloak, pulling slightly as if to hold him back. You glanced wearily back and forth between the Blackwoods. Two warriors preparing to battle. The last thing you wanted was for there to be violence. For surely a duel between Bloody Ben and Black Aly would be a fight for the ages.

Benjicot’s body was tense as yours. He did not truly believe that Aly would hurt you. Aly was tough but fair, and underneath her brash attitude and hostility, she had a gentle heart. But he would not risk you. Would not allow anyone to threaten or harm you. Not when he had the ability to protect you.

Benjicot pulled out his dagger. “Put the bow away, Aly. I will not ask again.”

You wanted to step in between them like you had done in the fight with Aeron. But this situation was different. This was two Blackwood who were taking the measure of each other, testing how far the other was willing to go. You could not intervene, even if the sight of an arrow pointed at Benjicot was enough to send your blood running cold.

After what felt like hours, Aly lowered her bow. Sighing, she returned the arrow to her quiver. Only then did Benjicot sheath his dagger.

“You sure have a flare for the dramatics, nephew.”

Now it was Benjicot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Says the woman who had an arrow aimed at my betrothed.”

Your heart fluttered at the word.

Aly huffed out a laugh. “Is that what she is to you? Your betrothed? I do not recall your father agreeing to any such arrangement.”

Benjicot remained in front of you, a barrier between you and Aly. “I asked for her hand, and she accepted.”

Aly stood with her hands on her hips, eyes directed toward the heavens. She looked as if she were searching for patience amongst the stars. When she cut her gaze back to Benjicot, you could not miss the look of pity that flashed across her face.

“Benji, you know that you cannot marry her.”

You reached for Benjicot’s hand, needing his touch and warmth to ground you in this moment. Whatever happiness you had felt, whatever joy that you had shared, was now slowly falling through your grasp.

Black Aly would never allow you two to marry. Not like this.

But Benjicot’s stubbornness was no light thing. “I love her, Aly. I will marry her, and you cannot stop me.”

Just as Aly was about to respond, you saw her face pale and expression grow uneasy. And when you heard the voice behind you, you understood why.

“You would be wise to reconsider that position, son.”

If you had thought you felt panic before, that was nothing to the sickening feeling that plagued you now.

Because standing on the opposite side of the godswood, directly across from Aly, was Lord Samwell Blackwood. Benjicot’s father, and your own father’s sworn enemy. And with him stood a dozen Blackwood guards, each looking between you and Benjicot with expressions that ranged from disbelief to disgust.

You had never been formally introduced to Lord Blackwood. He was a rather tall man, with hair as black as a raven’s wing. His close-cropped beard was the same. Like Benjicot, his gaze was enough to send a lesser man cowering. And right now that gaze was cold and enraged and fixed on you and Benjicot.

If Benjicot had not been holding your hand, you would have been trembling. The two of you were trapped.

“Are you so eager to start a war, Benjicot?” Lord Blackwood asked, his tone was like ice. “For some Bracken wench?”

You felt Benjicot’s hand tighten around yours, almost to the point of pain. One glance at Benjicot told you that he was furious. His glare held that feral edge, and he was close to snarling. Bloody Ben was backed into a corner, and he looked itching for a fight. Even if that fight was against his own father.

“You will mind how you speak about my lady, father.” Had you not been so fearful for your life and his, you would have thought that declaration rather romantic.

Lord Blackwood did not look impressed. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you and your lady have brought to our door, Benjicot?”

“We wish to marry, father.” Benjicot glanced at you as he said, “We love each other.”

A long suffering sigh escaped from Lord Blackwood as he motioned for his men to stand down. “That does not change the fact that she is a Bracken. You cannot simply marry her without expecting there to be consequences.”

“I am prepared to accept any consequence if it means we can be together.” The surety in Benjicot’s tone was enough to ease the fear that had gripped you since you had been discovered. You could help but give him a small smile.

A smile that Lord Blackwood did not miss. “And you, Lady Bracken?” Lord Blackwood sneered. “Are you prepared to face the consequences of this marriage? Your father will seek retribution for this little act of rebellion. Are you prepared to have blood on your hands?”

Now you were the one who squeezed Benjicot’s hand. Lord Blackwood terrified you, and so did his words. You did not wish to be the cause of another fight between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, did not want to send anyone to their death because you fell in love with someone who was never meant to be yours.

Benjicot nudged his shoulder against yours, offering you what strength he could. With him standing at your side, you found the courage to meet Lord Blackwood’s gaze. “Whatever trials and tribulations may come our way, Lord Blackwood, I am prepared to meet them with Benjicot as my lord husband.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Benjicot’s eyes on you as you held your own against his father. Could feel how proud he was of you for defending your future together.

Taking another breathe, you could not help but add, “You speak of my hands becoming bloody, but I could not think of anything more fitting for a woman betrothed to Bloody Ben Blackwood.”

The silence in the godswood was deafening.

Every person and creature seemed to be holding their breath for Lord Blackwood’s response. You did not dare break eye contact with him, determined to hold your ground and prove yourself worthy of being Benjicot’s wife.

Lord Blackwood finally moved his gaze from you and back to Benjicot. “We will treat with Lord Bracken tomorrow. Offer him a parley. You will ask his permission to marry his daughter. You will accept his decision, no matter what he says.”

“Father! You know he will not—”

But Lord Blackwood had heard enough. Holding up his hand, he demanded silence. “Those are my terms, Benjicot. Be grateful I am allowing this much.”

A weariness had settled over Lord Blackwood’s features. Although he was still a man in his prime, in that moment, he looked aged and tired. As he turned to leave the godswood, he said, “We stand on the brink of war. The Targaryens are at each other’s throats since King Viserys passed. Soon House Blackwood will be asked to choose a side, and you have allowed your foolish heart to guide your choices.”

You could tell Benjicot wanted to protest, wanted to push back on his father’s orders. He knew as well as you did that convincing your father to allow the two of you to marry was going to take an act of the gods.

And even though Benjicot knew when to pick his battles, knew when he had lost a fight, he could not help but have the last word. “There are worse things to be guided by than one’s heart, father.”

Benjicot’s words gave Lord Blackwood pause. For a moment, you thought he might respond, might reprimand Benjicot for his lack of respect. Only when Lord Blackwood continued walking out of the godswood did you feel like you could breathe again.

The Blackwood guards followed their ledge lord, leaving you, Benjicot, and Aly in the presence of the ravens. You could have collapsed from exhaustion. You felt wrung out from the day. Too much had happened in such a short period of time, and your body was protesting.

Aly approached and stopped just short of you and Benjicot. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Benjicot rounded on Aly, and with animosity in his voice, he asked, “Why did you stop us?”

Aly stared at Benjicot like he had grown a second head. “We’re trying to prevent a war, Benji. Had the two of you married, Bracken would have shown up here with a thousand men seeking your head. You might love each other, but is that love really worth the lives of hundreds? Thousands?”

“You are overreacting—”

Aly shoved at Benjicot’s chest. “And you are being an idiot! Use your head, Benji. If you had married in secret, the Brackens would have stopped at nothing to avenge that insult. You know that, even if you are too blind to see it.”

With a softer tone, Aly continued, “Be grateful your father is supporting you in this. He could have just as easily returned her to Stone Hedge. You have a chance.”

Benjicot scoffed. “A chance? Do you really believe—”

“Enough.” You cut Benjicot off before he could say another word. You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “My father may hate Blackwoods, but he is not unreasonable. We will convince him.”

You could tell that Benjicot was struggling to control his temper. He was still running hot from the confrontation with Aly and his father. Bloody Ben was lingering too close to the surface. You pulled his face toward yours and pressed a kiss to his lips. Nothing more than a gentle peck, but enough to distract him.

When you pulled back, you could see that some of the edge had worn off. Benjicot’s face was calmer, less hostile. “I love you, Benjicot Blackwood. I do not plan to give you up without a fight.”

Benjicot smiled at your words, the soft smile he reserved just for you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. “My brave girl. I pity any man who would dare cross you.”

You held each other for a moment before Aly cleared her throat. “If you two are finished, I’m going to escort little Bracken back to her rooms.”

With a quick kiss to your head, Benjicot released you and said, “Sleep well, my lady.”

You did not want to leave Benjicot, but you knew there was no way Aly was going to let you stay with each other. As you followed her out of the godswood, you could not help but take one last look at Benjicot.

You nearly stumbled when you saw him. Beneath the ancient weirwood tree, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by ravens, stood Benjicot. His head bowed as if in prayer.

You did not have to guess what he was praying about. You only hoped that the old gods were listening.

The only neutral territory acceptable to both the Blackwoods and the Brackens were the boundary stones near the old windmill. The day was overcast and cold, with the wind tearing through the cloak Aly had lent you.

Aly had not left your side since collecting you from your rooms that morning. You and Benjicot had been kept separated for the entire journey. You had asked for him, begged Aly to allow you two a moment alone, but she had refused. Lord Blackwood was keeping both she and Benjicot on a tight leash until this matter was settled.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You had tossed and turned the entire night, too anxious to close your eyes for fear of what your dreams may hold. You might have been confident with Benjicot the night before, but in truth, you had no idea how to convince your father to allow you to marry.

The Brackens had arrived first.

A host of about fifty men had gathered on their side of the boundary stones. A sea of red and gold with a few horses scattered in the mix. You did not miss how all the men were armed with swords at the ready.

And in the front, seated atop his favorite war horse and adorned in battle leathers, was Amos Bracken. Your father.

Amos Bracken was not as tall or built as Samwell Blackwood, but you knew your father to be a proficient swordsmen and respected fighter in his own right. You had no doubt that should this come to blows, he would hold his own.

Aeron stood beside him. A united front against their perceived enemies. And while your father’s face was blank of all emotions, calm and controlled, Aeron’s disdain for the Blackwoods was clear for all to see.

The Blackwood host equalled that of the Brackens’. You had ridden to the neutral ground on the back of Aly’s horse. You had tried to spot Benjicot all morning, but there were too many men, too much chaos. The closer you got to the boundary stones, the more you felt Aly tense in front of you.

When you finally stopped, Aly directed you to the front of the vanguard. She had drawn her bow the moment your feet hit the ground.

Your first sight of Benjicot sent your heart thumping. His dark hair was mussed, as if he had run his hand through it multiple times. But that was the only sign that Benjicot felt uneasy. His posture was relaxed, and his mouth was fixed in a smirk, like this meeting was an every day occurrence. He showed no fear.

Aly stopped you slightly behind and to the right of Benjicot. You saw the moment when your father and Aeron spotted you. Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Aeron’s face twisted into a mix of shock and disbelief.

You swallowed down the fear and anxiety. Swallowed down the nausea that threatened to upend your breakfast. Swallowed down any uncertainty you felt. You had to present a strong front to your father and his men. Otherwise, they would pounce on any hesitation and demand that you be returned home.

Lord Blackwood broke the silence first. “Amos. A pleasure as always.”

“Cut the shit, Blackwood,” Lord Bracken snarled, “and return my daughter to me.”

The words were not unexpected. You tensed as Aeron shifted his hand to the sword at his side, stomach twisting as he gripped the hilt.

You exhaled a long breath and fixed your gaze on your father. “I am well, father. The Blackwoods have treated me kindly.”

Lord Bracken’s face darkened, and you instantly regretted speaking. “I do not want to hear a single word from you.”

Your cheeks flamed at the dismissal, but you refused to lower your eyes. Refused to cower before your family. “Then I am sorry to disappoint you, father.”

“You insubordinate, ungrateful—”

“Lord Bracken,” Benjicot interjected, stopping your father from insulting you further. “I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You did not so much as breathe as you waited for your father to respond.

And waited.

The longer you waited, the more panic seeped into your veins. But when your father finally responded, you wished that he had not.

With a sneer on his face, your father glared at Benjicot when he said, “I would sooner feed my daughter to one of those Targaryen dragons before marrying her to some Blackwood cunt.”

You had felt like someone had knocked the air from your lungs. You had never seen such hatred on your father’s face. Had never heard his voice sound so cold and cruel. You knew that he hated the Blackwoods, but to sentence you to death rather than let you marry?

You looked at your father like he was a stranger.

You heard angry shouts and curses behind you from the Blackwood host. Felt that the bloodlust in the air had upped a notch.

Lord Blackwood held up a hand to silence his men. “Careful, Bracken.”

“My daughter was taken by your son. Subjected to gods knows what. I will not be careful, Blackwood.”

“That’s not true, father!” You shouted, launching yourself to stand before your father. You had to find some way to convince him, some way to get him to listen. “Benjicot and I are in love. Please, just listen to us.”

Your father scoffed. “Love? Between a Bracken and a Blackwood? Do not make me laugh.”

The Bracken host jeered at your father’s word, laughing and snickering at the very idea of you and Benjicot being together. You even heard a man call out, “Blackwood whore!”

You did not see Benjicot move. Did not see him reach for the dagger at his hip. Did not see him launch the blade into the air.

But you could not miss the dagger embedding itself into the man’s throat. Could not miss the splattering of blood or the final wheeze of breath the man took before falling to the ground. Dead in the blink of an eye.

A scream tore from your throat. You whipped around to look at Benjicot and found Bloody Ben instead. His eyes held that crazed, feral look, but there was no smirk.

Every Blackwood and Bracken standing in that field un-sheathed their weapons.

“You may insult me all you wish, Bracken!” Benjicot called out, moving forward. “Call me a cunt. Call me craven. I do not care.” He stopped next to you and took your hand. "But I will cut down any man who dares to say such vile insults to my lady. Of that, I promise you.”

Your father did not look pleased by that declaration. If anything, he looked more enraged than before. “You violate the terms of this parley, Blackwood. You have spilled Bracken blood. I have the right to demand your head. But I will settle for the return of my daughter. Now.”

You were close to tears. Nothing you or Benjicot said moved your father. He was determined to hold onto his hatred, to see the Blackwoods in the worst possible light. But you could not give up—you had to try.

“Father, please,” your voice broke at the words, “I know that the feud between our families has lasted for a millennium. I know that the thought of a Blackwood and Bracken being together, of loving one another, is inconceivable to you. I know that this is not the life you wished for me. But I have lovedBenjicot since I was a girl.” You took a quick glance at Benjicot to give you strength. “And he loves me. I humbly ask you to grant our union.”

Your father refused to look at you. Refused to acknowledge your words or pleas. You clutched Benjicot’s hand tighter. For you knew what was coming. Knew that your father was about to crush whatever hope you still held onto.

Ignoring you and Benjicot as if you were insignificant, he directed his words to Lord Blackwood, “I do not give my blessing to this marriage. Return my daughter to me or we will have war.”

Your vision swam and your ears began ringing. Somewhere in the distance you heard Lord Blackwood sigh and give the command. Your hand was ripped from Benjicot’s, by whom you did not know. You felt as if the entire world had spun off its axis. How had everything gone so wrong?

One moment, you were standing next to Benjicot, his warm hand against yours, and then in the blink of an eye, you were on the other side of the boundary stones, with Aeron leading you away.

You felt as if you were disconnected from your body. Aeron’s arms were around you, guiding you. You were vaguely aware that he was trying to say something, speak to you about what had happened. But you felt nothing. Heard nothing. A numbness had settled over you.

Only when you heard Benjicot call out your name did you snap.

You shoved against Aeron, tried to run back across the boundary stones to Blackwood land, back to your love, but Aeron held firm. You struggled against him, screaming and hitting and kicking, but your strength was no match for his.

You looked across the field to see Benjicot being held back by three men. He was snarling and raging, but the men held firm and forced him to his knees. You watched as Aly tried to speak to him, tried to calm him down.

But there was no calming Bloody Ben. Not now. Not when his lady had been taken from him.

When Benjicot saw that you were watching him, saw that you were struggling against your own constraints, he stopped. His eyes were wild and fierce and held the promise of retribution. With laboring breaths Benjicot shouted across the field, “I will come you for you, my lady!” He vowed. “I will always come for you!”

You sobbed at his words. Sobbed for the happiness and hope that you had felt only hours before. Sobbed for the future you might have shared together.

For the second time, you were forced to leave Benjicot behind in this accursed field. Only this time, the heartbreak was so much worse. You had gotten a taste of the impossible dream, gotten so close to getting everything you wanted.

Your dream had become a nightmare.

final author note: I know! I know! We have to suffer before things get better. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Love you babes xx

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