#so empty and listless

[indiestsnake]

I think I hate myself tonight

[ragnafinite]

girl transphobia island strikes again

[skitskatdacat63]

misc lore drop day 19/?

Re: this post

Yesterday I said I'd go into more detail about how they'd react when they're flustered so! I've written a bit about it in regards to Fernando, particularly in the oneshot I wrote. Seb is a harder case because I think he needs to be extremely caught off guard, otherwise he's 100% winning the flirting, teasing game. Vettonso are obviously in a perpetual state of one upness. And as I've said before, I think Seb usually has the upper hand, because Fernando in this AU is sooooo concerned about how he's being perceived and is also not in his element, so he's not really playing around, he takes things way too seriously. So I think it's a big moment for him when he realizes how he can catch Seb unawares.

Fernando gets flustered quite easily in this au when they're in private, because all he's concerned about is having this perfect stoic image, so that image is really difficult to keep up when it's just them because there isn't a greater need. He's the type to get all sanctimonious about it, like, oh my goodness, Seb you truly are being a harlot. And the type to get all huffy, and walk off....concealing his erec- It's less that he's like some sort of puritan, more that he 1. Wants to win the idgaf war(he's not btw.) and 2. Will NOT fall victim to Seb's flirtations(he will btw.) He wants to appear as more morally upright, more serious, so he's so easy to break because Seb's not afraid of his desires and that's all he cares about.

So how does he get Seb back? As I said yesterday, through exhibitionism. The way they play with each other is to try and catch each other when their guards are down the most. Fernando is more suseptible in private because that's when he let's his image slip just a bit. Seb is more suseptible in public because he really has no interest in maintaining that stoic image but he HAS to, so he's very hyper focused on it and easy to tease in those moments. I imagine that Fernando first finds out about this vulnerability when he accidentally brushes Seb's bare wrist at or something at some public event, and Seb instantly turns bright red. Fernando, in the beginning, gives him affection very sparingly, so Seb is obviously not used to it, especially in a setting where he is never touched. Fernando LOVES to unsettle him in this way, it's like he's learned a cheat code, how to flap the unflappable, how to make the pervert blush, etc etc.

[cloudstrifing]

im both happy and saddened that on the rare occasions when i do have energy it's so natural for me to work on projects and do things i enjoy. happy bc it turns out maybe it wasn't just a discipline problem or laziness that kept me from my hobbies for so long, but saddened bc so much of my adult life has been swallowed up by inexplicable fatigue and the associated self hatred ahah :') because surely i couldn't really be that exhausted ALL the time, surely it was in my head , surely my attitude was the problem -- and then id get a flash of not being tired and its actually fucking groundbreaking how much i can get done (and enjoy doing) when I am not constantly an inch from crashing onto my desk

[harlequinlestat]

I’ve only been awake for two hours, and I’m already heading back to sleep because it’s a bad day.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.) 

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory. 

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes—you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages—you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window. 

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut. 

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down. 

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers. 

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes. 

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with. 

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are. 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” 

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two. 

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit. 

You need another hit. 

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus. 

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

You pick up your phone. 

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.” 

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely. 

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.” 

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character. 

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.” 

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth. 

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary—which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance. 

“So you could, like–hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?” 

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you—half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago. 

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal. 

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.) 

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows. 

He knows the question you’re about to ask—curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?” 

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.” 

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else. 

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?” 

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.” 

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!” 

“Move, then. Let me handle it.” 

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?” 

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC. 

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh? 

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.” 

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work. 

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate. 

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”  

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value? 

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway. 

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’   

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten? 

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices. 

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.) 

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway. 

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.  

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say. 

-

-

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.” 

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "... Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing. 

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it—brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando—when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh? 

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…” 

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten. 

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit—you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?” 

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure. 

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.  

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say. 

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph? 

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is. 

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus  

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately. 

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder. 

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.   

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie. 

"Um, hello—?" 

Your gaze snaps back to the–very real, very present–person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops. 

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice. 

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️ 

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK? 

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply. 

You: will do !:9 

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl. 

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?” 

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing. 

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue. 

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger. 

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.” 

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

 With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies—enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real—and you’re bored to tears. 

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.  

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards—no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups. 

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you—not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).   

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait. 

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?” 

-

-

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker. 

“... How are you so good at this??” 

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

 

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying. 

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.” 

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening. 

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll—if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!” 

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore. 

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen. 

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed. 

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation? 

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much–– 

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.” 

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours. 

I don’t care. I don’t. 

You take the first shot. 

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise. 

“Uhh—Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?” 

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.” 

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop. 

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio. 

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep. 

-

-

-

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact. 

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient. 

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.   

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk 

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3* 

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it. 

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum—the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.  

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection—something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade. 

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude—one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time—comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth. 

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore. 

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been. 

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

[slashmagpie]

Break Like an Artist

My fic for @hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event! I was paired up with the wonderful @eydilily to create something spooky, dramatic and contemplative featuring Gem and Pearl, and it's been an absolute blast putting this together. Please go check out Eydi's art for this AU, it's absolutely gorgeous. CWs: description of a corpse, dismemberment, loss of awareness, fire/flooding/destruction, and depiction of a panic attack. Wordcount: 5.8k

There is a plague sweeping Pearl's hometown.

One by one, she watches as her friends fall to the infection, the colour and life drained out of them and leaving hollow, apathetic husks behind. Even with the devastating loss of her friends, her village, and her regular life, the worst part of this situation is not the infection.

It's that Pearl knows that Gem is the one spreading it.

[Read on AO3]

It’s a grey day in the fishing village that Pearl calls her home. Not that it’s ever not a grey day, at least not anymore. She stares out of her window at the thick encompassing fog that’s claimed the bay, at the desaturated buildings that dot the shore, and she twirls her paintbrush in her fingers. 

The canvas is blank, of course. She doesn’t remember the last time she sat down to paint and didn’t end up with a blank canvas. It must have been—months ago, at least. Back when the last monster from the depths had attacked, and not a single person had had the heart to fight back. When Tango’s house had been shattered in two, and Tango with it.

(He seems to be dealing well with the loss of his arm, at least. Or, as well as you can deal with anything, when the only things inside of you are all-consuming numbness and apathy. Pearl feels it in her chest, the yawning emptiness, and thinks that if she were to lose her arm right here and now, she also wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to care.)

She’d painted after that, though. She remembers it vividly, waking from a nightmare and running to her studio to capture lashing tentacles and inky waters and splatters of crimson blood. It’s a frenzied piece, a disturbing piece, and the moment she’d finished it she’d been filled with so much dread that she’d turned it around to face the wall and refused to look at it since.

The dread’s gone now. Along with the anxiety, and the uncertainty, and the fear. It’s all gone, and Pearl’s left sitting here, paints drying on the palette as she stares at an empty canvas.

Across the house, she hears her front door swing open and closed. A familiar voice shouts, “Pearl? Pearl, where are you?”

“Studio,” Pearl calls back, her voice flat. She continues to twirl the paintbrush as she waits for Gem to trek her way across the house to find her.

“Studio,” Gem echoes as she pushes open the door. “Oh, Pearl, are you painting again? Oh, I’m so happy for—oh.” The joy in her voice vanishes as she takes in Pearl, sitting on her stool, paintbrush raised and canvas empty. “Oh, Pearl…” 

Sympathy. Pity. Concern. Pearl can pick apart the emotions in Gem’s voice, even if she can’t feel them herself. She stares back blankly, because she can’t find it in herself to care about either aspect of the situation, whether it be her own inability to paint or the way that Gem’s looking at her like she’s a wounded animal.

“Come on,” Gem says softly, crossing the room and gently prying the brush from Pearl’s fingers. Pearl lets her. She’s not really painting, anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we? A nap will do you some good.”

Pearl lets Gem help her up, lets Gem allow Pearl to lean on her for support as they make their way back to Pearl’s bedroom. It’s not like Pearl has any difficulty walking. She’s not sick, she’s not injured, she’s just…

Cold. Empty. Not quite lifeless, not in the way Mumbo had been when she’d last seen him, skin and eyes and hair all the same shade of grey-white-nothingness as he’d stared into the distance, completely unresponsive. Listless, maybe, is the better word. She’s halfway to a fate worse than death and she cannot find it in her to care at all.

She feels colder where Gem touches her. She looks down, and she’s not sure if it’s her eyes playing tricks on her, or if her skin is more desaturated where it brushes against Gem’s. She lets Gem help her into bed, lets Gem fluff the pillows and fuss around her, lets Gem sit next to her as she hands Pearl a bowl of soup (“Your favourite!”) and watches her to make sure she eats.

If Pearl were more herself, she would care about what Gem’s doing to her. Care enough to stop it, maybe. Care enough to—no, not to confront her. Every time she’d tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Because she’s known for a long time who’s been behind all of this, behind the corruption leeching all colour from their village, their home, their friends—

And she’d never said anything. Too worried about Gem’s feelings. Too worried about their friendship.

…Pearl realises, as Gem goes to take the empty bowl and brushes her hands against Pearl’s, that she’s not worried anymore.

She waits quietly as Gem washes the bowl in her kitchen, chattering to fill the silence as she does, updating Pearl on their friends’ conditions. Her tone is bright and optimistic, even as her words are dour. Scar seems to be doing the same. Grian’s getting worse. Joel’s down to communicating only in broken phrases—but he should be fine. It definitely won’t be like Mumbo, or Cub, or…

Gem returns to Pearl’s room, regarding her for a long moment before bending down to give her a hug. “Get better soon, okay?” she says into Pearl’s ear. “It’s not the same doing my rounds without you.”

Pearl knows that she’s not getting better. So does Gem, so Pearl doesn’t bother pointing it out. She just nods, lets Gem withdraw, lets Gem run one last hand through her hair.

“You should rest, Pearl,” Gem says, stepping away from Pearl’s bedside. “I’m going to go check on Impy now—”

Pearl’s moving before she’s even properly registered it, grabbing onto Gem’s wrist with force, holding her in place. Gem freezes. Pearl looks up at her through strands of greasy, greying hair.

“Gem,” she says, and it’s the first thing she’s said in days, and her voice is hoarse and her throat sore from the strain.

“...Pearl?” Gem replies, and she sounds almost scared.

“Gem,” Pearl repeats, getting used to the sound of her own voice in her mouth again. “I know.”

Gem laughs. It’s a nervous, tittering sound, the laugh Pearl remembers from when they’d gotten into trouble together as kids. “Know what?” she asks, voice strained. 

“That it’s you,” Pearl says flatly. 

Gem stares at her.

Pearl stares back.

Gem swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Pearl—”

“I know you’re the one doing this to us,” Pearl says, more specific this time, choosing her words carefully, and Gem—

Gem tries to pull away.

Pearl tightens her grip. 

“Pearl,” Gem whines, eyes wide, tugging. “Let me go—”

“Why?” Pearl croaks, and Gem snaps her mouth shut.

---

Pearl’s in the midst of mixing a particularly tricky shade of green when there’s a loud, frantic knock on her front door. She sighs, setting down her brush to rest, and gets to her feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” she calls as the knocks continue, echoing through the house.

She pulls the door open and Tango’s there, a nervous ball of energy, just about ready to bolt. “Pearl!” he calls. “Pearl, come on, we gotta go—” 

He grabs her by the arm and drags her off. Pearl just barely manages to close her front door behind her.

“Wha—? Where are we going? What’s going on?”

“Something washed up on shore,” Tango explains. “The whole town’s there, c’mon.”

Accepting that she’s not going to get an explanation out of him, and now deeply curious about this something, she lets Tango lead her down to the shore by the lighthouse. Sure enough, the whole town is there, a chattering crowd gathered around a spot on the shore that Pearl can’t quite see. Impulse is standing on the edge of the crowd and catches sight of them, raising his arm in a wave. Tango makes a beeline towards him, ducking under the crowd, and Pearl follows behind, apologising to False and Keralis as she bumps into them.

“Did you decide what to do with it yet?” Tango asks as he comes to a halt and finally lets Pearl go.

Impulse shakes his head. “We’ve decided it’s Gem’s call,” he says. “After all, she’s the—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the crowd suddenly goes silent and parts for Gem, her hair wild and eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She’s got her lab coat pulled on over her day clothes, clearly not prepared for this in the slightest. She reaches the front of the crowd and stops dead still, staring at the thing that has washed up on the shore.

Pearl follows her friend’s gaze, and sees it for the first time.

It’s a body. Of course it is. A corpse, taken by the sea and ravaged by the waves and washed ashore by the brutal bay currents. The body’s clothes are torn and sodden, the skin beneath so pale that it could practically be paper. Pearl is stricken, for a moment, with the mental image of her taking a brush to this canvas, filling it back in with colour, painting contours back into its skin, breathing life back into the body.

She shakes her head violently, banishing the thought. Where did that come from? This isn’t a canvas, it’s—

It’s a person. A person who was alive, and is now dead, washed up on the beach like a dead whale and just as much of a spectacle. His eyes are open but rolled back, only the whites showing, and his hair is white too, just as pale as his skin. It stands as sharp contrast against the dark fabric of his torn clothes, a mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

Pearl swallows hard and averts her gaze back to Gem, who looks just as disturbed by the body as Pearl feels. It takes Gem longer to pull her eyes away, to glance around the crowd. “I’ll—I’ll take it back to my lab,” she says. “Investigate, and—and give him a proper burial.”

The words reassure the crowd, a low chatter beginning up again. 

“Skizz, will you help me carry him?” Gem calls.

Skizz does, stepping forward from the crowd and helping Gem maneuver the bloated corpse. Pearl finds herself looking at it again, noticing dark striations in the skin, caught in glimpses between the tears in the clothing as it’s moved. 

She shakes her head again, forces herself to look away as the body is carried out and the crowd disperses. The image of the body lingers in her mind. Something settles uncomfortably in her stomach, and she wishes that she’d never opened the door.

---

Things go back to normal after that. Or, well, as normal as they get in the village, at least. False monitors the currents and warns of any incoming floods or monster attacks. Impulse and Tango work maintenance on the fishing boats that Grian and Skizz and Keralis take out into the bay. Mumbo runs the fish market. Cub and Scar come and go along the trading routes. Joel maintains security, or at least the illusion of it.

Gem hides away in her lab running experiments she never explains, and Pearl paints.

She tries to return to her usual fare, brightly-coloured landscapes with fantastical features, but something about her paintings rings hollow when she looks at them. She decides she needs a change, to switch things up and just relax, so she pulls out her paints and a blank canvas and begins with no intentions. Her movements are fluid and free and thoughtless and she falls into a flow state that lasts hours, until she blinks her eyes and awakes to find a portrait before her, a colourless face in full saturation.

The corpse’s visage, so alive she can’t believe it’s not breathing, stares back at her from her easel, and Pearl flinches like she’s been burned.

She hides that painting away, face turned towards the wall, and returns to painting landscapes. They come easier now, and for a time Pearl feels normal, as long as she ignores the canvas in the corner.

It’s Impulse who notices that there’s something wrong first. It’s not surprising that he’d be the first to pick up on it, really. Skizz is his best friend, after all. Of course he’d notice when Skizz stopped laughing, stopped joking, stopped drumming out tunes with his fingers on the side of his boat. And when Pearl sees him, she notices changes too—his skin paler, like he’s spent several weeks locked inside a basement instead of out in the summer sun, his eyes no longer their regular bright blue.

“Hey, Skizzly,” she greets brightly, trying to play at normal, throwing him a bone to grab onto.

Skizz just glances at her before responding with a flat, “Oh, hey Pearl.”

Pearl’s smile falters. “How are you feeling? Impulse told me you’re a little under the weather.”

Skizz shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Did you need something?”

Pearl swallows, something cold sinking in her guts. “No, no, just checking in on you.”

“Gem already checked on me,” Skizz says. “She said I’m not sick.”

“Gem’s not that type of doctor,” Pearl reminds him with a weak smile.

Skizz shrugs again. “She’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

Pearl tries her best not to let that unsettle her.

---

It’s not just Skizz.

It starts with him, but it doesn’t end there. Keralis is next, and then Grian. Mumbo gets sickest the quickest, going from his anxious, affable self to a nearly-unresponsive husk within a week. That scares them all, because even Skizz is still responding when spoken to, still moving when instructed to, even after nearly a month of being infected with… whatever it is that’s going around.

False gets sick without anyone noticing, sequestered away in her lighthouse until she comes into town for groceries looking like a photograph that’s been left in the sun for too long, and that’s when people really start to panic.

And that’s when Gem declares, with all the authority that being a doctor of anthropology afforded her in a tiny town with no real doctor, that she’s putting everyone into quarantine until they can determine the source of the illness. 

“I’m not sick,” Pearl tells Gem when her friend knocks on her door, dressed in full lab gear, her hair out of its usual ponytail and falling forward around her face. She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, having hyper-analysed the shade of blue in her eyes in the mirror every morning for the past month. 

“I know,” Gem says. “I want to—I need to—can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pearl says, stepping aside. “Of course.”

Gem enters, heading down the stairs into Pearl’s living space and staring at the paintings on the wall. Pearl watches her for a moment before stepping closer, resting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Gem snorts out a laugh at that. “I’m not a real doctor, Pearl,” she says.

“I know that.”

“They all need me to be a real doctor for them. I—” She breaks off, runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I can help,” she says. “I’m even less of a doctor than you are.”

“I know,” Gem says. “But you’re my friend, and I trust you, and I need—please?”

She stares at Pearl, bright green eyes magnified through thick glasses lenses. Pearl has never been able to say no to those eyes.

“Okay,” she agrees, letting out an uncertain breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do, Dr. Tay?”

Gem laughs again, high-pitched and anxious, and Pearl feels hot and cold all at once.

---

They do house calls. Once a day, Gem and Pearl, and sometimes Impulse, will make a round of the village, checking in on everyone. Gem brings some of her lab equipment and a notebook, where she scribbles down all the readings she takes from her instruments and any observations she makes. After the first week or so, Pearl also takes to bringing a sketchbook and a small travel painting kit, attempting to record the desaturation rate in her friends’ colours. 

It doesn’t matter which way they look at it—the situation is bad, and rapidly getting worse. Most of the town is infected now, and Skizz is approaching Mumbo’s level of deterioration. Cub fell ill two weeks ago, and Tango—

Well, he’s not quite grey yet, but he looks washed out where he sits at his table, especially next to Gem, all bright copper and ocean blue and forest green. His voice is flat, all of the emotion in it gone, and while he responds in full sentences to Gem’s questions as Pearl attempts to capture the moulded-straw colour of his hair, none of his words sound like him. 

Gem wraps up her check-in, and Pearl follows her out, paints packed away in her bag and sketchbook held carefully so as not to smudge the paint. Impulse is waiting for them outside, staring out into the bay, where a low-lying fog has been hanging for days. 

He glances over at them, voice shaking as he asks, “How is he?”

Gem hesitates. “About the same?” she offers. 

Pearl shakes her head. “Worse,” she says, offering her sketchbook to Impulse, pointing out the differences in values between the colours she’d sampled from Tango two days ago to the ones she’d taken today. 

Impulse’s hands are trembling as he hands the sketchbook back to her. “What do we do?” he asks. “They just keep getting worse—Gem, what do we do?”

Gem’s eyes are fixed somewhere out at sea. Her expression is so scarily blank that Pearl would worry she was infected if not for how bright and vibrant she looks against the backdrop of the village. (Are the houses getting greyer? Surely not—surely it’s just the fog, and the fact that the sky has been overcast for a fortnight now—surely—)

“We look after them best we can,” Gem says. “I’m trying—every night I’m working on a cure.”

“And do you think it’ll work?” Impulse pushes.

“I have to,” Gem replies. “It has to.” 

Pearl swallows, and does not voice what all three of them are thinking: what if it doesn’t?

---

Impulse turns up one morning a shade dimmer than he had been the day before. Pearl notices immediately, her stomach lurching at the sight of him. He offers her a smile that’s smaller than his usual ones, a greeting that’s a little flatter than it would usually be. Pearl’s not sure if Gem even notices.

But Pearl notices, and her eyes sting, and she throws herself at him in a way that catches all three of them off-guard.

“Uh, Pearl?” Impulse says, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Pearl mumbles against his ear.

“Pearl?” There’s a peak of distress in his voice but it’s not enough. Gem hears it, too.

“Oh no,” she breathes.

“Okay, guys, seriously,” Impulse says, pushing Pearl away. “What’s going on?”

They just stare at him.

Realisation dawns across Impulse’s face. “No.” 

“Maybe…” Gem sucks in a breath. She reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you should go home, Impy. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Impulse protests. “I’m…” His protest crumbles under their gazes. He slumps, and Pearl knows that he would normally never crumble like that. He’d protest and fight back and keep working until he passed out on the docks and had to be carried back to bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “I’ll help you home.”

Impulse doesn’t protest that either. He knows, as well as the two of them do, how this ends. He knows that there’s no fighting this.

Pearl, very valiantly, does not cry about it.

---

With everyone except the two of them infected, Pearl manages to convince Gem to split the rounds, with her taking half of the houses, and Gem taking the other half, swapping halves every couple of days. Gem is reluctant, but she has no good argument against Pearl’s that this is more practical, and so she agrees.

And that’s when Pearl notices.

She thinks she’s imagining it at first, but the colour swatches in her sketchbook back up her suspicions, damning evidence she can’t ignore.

When she visits her rounds, she finds that the people she’s visiting appear to have stabilised, at least for a couple days, no greyer today than they were when she saw them the day before. And then she swaps with Gem, and notices that Gem’s half of the rotation are far paler, far less responsive, than they had been the last time Pearl had seen them. They stabilise for a couple days, and then they switch, and Pearl’s original rotation have deteriorated massively in the several days since. 

There’s really only one conclusion she can draw from that, and she doesn’t want to draw it. She doesn’t want to believe that the one responsible for this is—

The fog is a permanent fixture of the village now, blanketing the bay in a thick blanket of quiet. Pearl finds it hard to sleep, even the familiar sound of waves muffled by the mist. Kept awake into the early hours of the morning, she finds herself in the studio, a brush in hand, letting the paint take her where it will.

And where it takes her is familiar: the village, desaturated and coated in fog, dark looming shapes in the mist beyond, rising out of the ocean. And there, in the midst of the painting, a bright spot in all the gloom, is Gem, so vibrant she practically lifts off the page.

Pearl stares at it for a long, long time, and then places it face against the wall and tries her best to forget about it.

---

In all the dread, they’d forgotten something important.

The sea isn’t safe. It never has been. Growing up in the bay you learn how to weather the storms, to predict the tides, to flee from floods. You learn how to build barriers, and you learn how to rebuild once the ocean drags them down. 

Pearl knows that her village can handle the sea: she’s seen them do it time and time again over the years. Together, they move as a well-oiled machine, responding to threats from the depths with weathered ease. That’s why she doesn’t expect it, she thinks. 

There’s never been a monster attack that False didn’t warn them about.

But False isn’t capable of doing much of anything at the moment.

And so when the tentacles rise from the waves, there isn’t a warning.

Just a deafening krk-crash that wakes Pearl from a dead sleep with a bolt of adrenaline that’s nearly nauseating. She scrambles from her blankets, still in her pajamas, and rushes up the stairs to throw on her boots. It’s edging towards winter now, the weather much milder than the summer months, and though it’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination the chill of the air still makes her shiver. She grits her teeth, racing from her front door to the village proper, and there—

There’s a sea monster, dark purple tentacles reaching out to the shore, destroying everything in its wake. The fish market is half gone, and it’s awful, but it’s a relief, in a way, because nobody lives there.

“Gem!” Pearl screams into the night.

“Pearl!” she hears echo back, followed by distant footsteps, growing ever-closer. 

Gem’s face is flushed, her hair wild, her eyes wide. She’s also in her pyjamas, her lab coat that’s been ever-present for months now gone, and Pearl finds her eyes drawn to dark striations in her skin. They look like—

“Pearl,” Gem says again. “We need to get everyone out, away from the shore, up to the research centre—”

Pearl nods. “Got it,” she says. She points towards the docks and says, “I’ll head over there.”

Gem nods. “Be safe,” she says, and then she’s off again, pelting in the direction of the lighthouse.

Pearl doesn’t bother knocking as she throws Impulse’s door open. He’s still lucid enough that he’s been startled awake by the noise, though it hasn’t driven him to do much more than put his shoes on and stare out of the window at the dark shapes rearing up out of the fog.

“Impulse!” Pearl cries.

“Pearl?” Impulse says, glancing at her with dull eyes.

“We need to get people out,” she says.

There’s an extended pause, then, “Okay.”

“Can you get Skizz?” she asks. “Tango, too, maybe? I need to go to the beach, help everyone down there.”

Another extended pause, then a nod. “I can do that,” Impulse says. He moves too slowly, not driven by the same panic flooding Pearl’s veins, but it’s good enough. It has to be. Pearl doesn’t have time to consider the alternative.

She goes racing off for the beach. She throws open Keralis’ door first, relieved that he is, at least, wearing underwear when she drags him from his bed and into the night. She leaves him there while she grabs Grian from his hut, and then takes them both by the wrists, pulling them along behind her while she races for the cliffside.

It feels like hours that she races back and forth, grabbing her friends from their homes and dragging them in various states of comprehension to the safety of the cliff before running back into the danger zone. Grian’s hut is gone, and so is a large portion of the road. The tentacles have taken a chunk out of the farms further up the coast. Gem’s been taking the people she rescues a different route up to the research facility, the path that Pearl’s taking cut off to her by debris.

Once she’s got everyone on her side of town, she collapses panting on the grass, her lungs aching with the strain. There’s a fire somewhere down on the shore, someone’s lantern knocked astray by swinging tentacles. Her eyes burn just from looking at it.

A voice says, “I got him.”

Pearl looks up.

It’s Impulse, manhandling a colourless, greyscale Skizz.

Pearl goes cold.

“Where’s Tango?” she asks.

Impulse blinks. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Pearl shakes her head, rocketed up to her feet by panic once again. “No, I’ll go,” she gasps. “You stay here.”

And then she’s off running again, beelining for Tango’s house, praying to any higher power that will listen that she’s not too late. Her lungs ache. Her legs burn. She can’t quite catch her breath. She’s shaking.

And then she’s knocking down Tango’s door, grabbing him from his bed against the far wall, dragging him away—

The roof coming down sounds like thunder, like the sky split open and gutted for parts. Pearl goes down hard, stars bursting behind her eyes, her breath coming out empty and then as a whine. She blinks, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, for her ears to stop ringing, and that’s when she hears it.

It’s—not a scream. More of a whimper, or a wail, stretched out and awful and pained and punctuated by short, desperate gasps. It goes straight to her stomach, straight to making her sick, and she doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to move.

But, god, she has to, doesn’t she?

She wiggles her fingers, her toes, and lets out a deep groan as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. The world has narrowed in on itself, the open air of Tango’s house reduced to a crawlspace, and she shuffles down it, rubble and debris tearing her skin open and leaving bloody red marks on desaturated wood. It is a far cry from the blood she finds, practically brown with how much colour has been leeched from it. 

“Oh, my god,” she chokes. “Tango…”

Tango just moans in response. She can’t tell if he’s pale from blood loss or pale from the infection, but either way it has the effect of making him look half dead. He’s half buried beneath the rubble, body jerking with what she can only assume is pain, barely felt beneath the weight of numb apathy.

“I gotta get you out of here.” The words taste acrid against her tongue. Or maybe that’s the smoke. She can’t tell. “I’ve got you.” She grabs Tango by his good arm and grimaces. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not a reassurance for him. Not really. Pearl’s familiar enough with his condition by now to know that he can’t really care about being okay at this point.

It’s more for her as she does her best to get leverage in the small space and pulls. 

When Tango screams, she knows it’s completely involuntary, an animal howl of agony that stops her short. Pearl gasps, tears on her cheeks, head spinning. “Please, no,” she begs, and she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or the higher power that’s been ignoring her for weeks. “No, no, I gotta—I—”

“Pearl?”

“Gem!” Pearl cries. “Gem, please, I need—it’s Tango—he’s—”

“I’ve got you,” says Gem’s voice, familiar and close as footsteps pound across rubble. There’s a series of grunts and clunks as rubble shifts, and then there’s light pouring into the crawlspace, which is no longer so much of a crawlspace. Gem stares at the two of them, Pearl in tears on her knees and Tango half buried and lying in his own dull blood. 

“Okay,” she gasps out, and she sounds terrified. “Okay,” she repeats, steadier this time. 

Pearl wants to be relieved, but she’s just on the other side of hysterical. Gem’s holding an axe, which she must have used to clear the rubble, and she steps forward with it held between white knuckles.

“Hold him still,” she tells Pearl.

Pearl swallows. “Gem?” she whispers.

“Please.”

Gem glances down at Pearl, and god, she never has been able to say no to that, has she?

She shuffles forward, puts her weight against Tango, holds him still. Squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t make it any better.

It doesn’t stop her from hearing the sick crunch of the axe cutting through bone or the blood-curdling scream Tango lets out.

It doesn’t stop her from feeling the sudden lack of resistance as she pulls Tango’s bleeding body away from the rubble, leaving his arm behind.

---

Pearl manages to hold it together until they’re able to get Tango safe and stable. Once the wound has been cauterised and disinfected and bandaged, and he’s left sitting with a mostly-unresponsive Skizz and an Impulse who’s just aware enough to be awkward about how little he feels for his friend, she walks away from the town’s refugees on the hillside until she can no longer hear them, and they can no longer hear her. She stands for a moment, surveying the damage below, the sun rising over the sea and the flooded streets and destroyed buildings, and she sucks in a breath that knocks her to her knees.

The panic attack comes in quick half-breaths and waterlogged wails, her hands gripping at her hair and pulling it hard enough to hurt. The world blurs around her as she chokes on saltwater and bile, her ears ringing with screams and funeral bells. When the hands settle on her shoulders she barely feels them—only feels them when they rise to her wrists and untangle her fingers from her hair.

“—earl? Pearl. Look at me. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Ge-em,” Pearl chokes out. “I can’t—I—”

“I’ve got you,” Gem soothes. She takes Pearl’s hands in hers, squeezes them tight, real and grounding. “See, come on, that’s it. Breathe with me.”

Pearl blinks tears from her eyes as she tries to time her breathing to Gem’s. She’s not very good at it, her heart too quick and Gem’s too slow, but it helps, dragging her down from the high of panic. 

“That’s it,” Gem breathes. She lets go of Pearl’s hand, reaching up to push the hair out of Pearl’s face, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “See? Nice and calm. Everything’s fine, see?”

“Yeah,” Pearl agrees, and the words feel hollow. Her panic feels hollow, somewhere above her body, her soul sunken to somewhere below her knees. She sucks in a breath, lets Gem wipe tears from her eyes with her thumbs.

Gem is so bright. A searchlight in a storm, a ray of rising sun through the dark. The world seems to grey around her. 

Pearl reaches out, splaying her hand against Gem’s cheek, a clumsy echo of Gem’s own reassuring, grounding touch. Gem is still so bright, vivid enough that Pearl doesn’t think any paint could capture it. 

And Pearl, held in comparison, is grey and dull. A shade, drained of life.

She swallows. Lets out a shaking breath. Looks up into Gem’s green eyes, sees the fear and regret in them, and can barely summon her own panic or hurt in return.

“Oh,” she says, and the word falls like a stone, plunging into the depths.

---

Pearl lets out a breath. “It was the body, wasn’t it?” she asks, loosening her grip. “The one that washed up. It did something to you.”

Gem swallows. She pulls away, holding onto her own wrist where Pearl had dropped it, clutching it to her chest. “I’m so hungry, Pearl,” she whispers. “I fade so fast now. I need… I need…”

“You’re going to kill us.” Gem flinches at the words. “You know that, don’t you, Gem? You’re going to kill us. You are killing us.”

“I just need your colours,” Gem replies, a whine in her voice. “I just…”

“What happens when we’re gone, Gem? What happens when you’ve taken all the colours? What happens then?”

Gem stares at her. There are tears in her eyes. They don’t quite fall, but Pearl can feel them drip into her hollow heart. There’s an ocean between them now and Pearl doesn’t have the wits to cross it. She doesn’t care enough to cross it, and she doesn’t feel enough to care about that. 

“I have to go and check on Impy,” Gem repeats, her voice thick. “I’ll see you later, Pearl.”

“You won’t,” Pearl calls after her as Gem hurries for the door.

Gem doesn’t reply, just slamming the door shut in response.

Pearl sits in bed for a long time, staring at the wall with hazy vision. Her thoughts are muffled under the thick fog that chokes the village, and so when she finally stands, she’s not entirely sure why. She lets her body carry her back to her studio, picks up a canvas from against the wall, and places it on her easel. She sits down in front of it and stares.

Gem’s face stares back at her, the only alive thing in a dead and colourless world.

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae could do a reader with Spencer (or any boy u want!) where she's feeling super nauseous and throwing up a lot and trying to hide it from him like may be it's early on and she feels embarassed? I went out to brunch with a friend and idk what happened but I think I got food poisoning I've already thrown up twice and still feel so so sick

Ugh food poisoning is the worst, but I hope you're over it now lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: vomitting, nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Part of you thinks you should cancel. You’re not a very good time right now, nauseated and shaking a little from the exertion of walking from your car to the host’s stand. Spencer deserves a date that doesn’t have to scope out bathrooms like escape routes the moment she enters the restaurant. But oh, he’d been so sweet in asking you. All soft eyes and gentle voice, and he’d sent you the menu to make sure you found something you liked before he made the reservation. You know it can’t have been easy to get, at a nice place like this on a Saturday night. Really, at the end of the day, there is simply no world where you cancel on Spencer. 

You paste on a smile for the hostess, wondering if she’d find it odd if you leaned on her stand for support just for a moment. “Hi,” you say. “Um, I’m meeting someone, I think he’s already…” 

A touch at your elbow prompts you to turn. 

“Hi,” Spencer says. 

You go a bit breathless at the sight of him. Spencer in a suit. His hair still messy as if he ran his hands through it after leaving home, the top button of his shirt open like he had it done up all the way and then felt too constricted. He looks handsome and endearing and nice. Your sundress and half sweated-through makeup feel suddenly, hopelessly inadequate. 

“Hi,” you say back. “Sorry, I thought you’d already be sitting down.” 

“I wanted to wait for you,” he replies simply. He turns to the hostess. “For Reid?” 

As she walks you to your table, it dawns on you what an idiot you are. Possibly the only thing you could do to Spencer that would be worse than cancelling on him would be to show up as you are now. Listless and unprepared for conversation. You’re going to have to order either the smallest thing on the menu or nothing at all, and he’s going to think you don’t want to be here with him. And for yourself, you want to experience this—a first date, with Spencer, and quite possibly your only date—with all the appropriate butterflies and nervousness. Instead, you just feel…tired. And sick. 

“This is really nice,” you say as you sit down. 

“Yeah?” Spencer reaches for the carafe in the center of the table, pouring water into your glass and then his own. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here once, but I thought it was good then, so. I hope you like the food.” 

He spills a little bit of water on the tablecloth, missing his glass. Winces as sharply as if he’d shattered it. Oh god; he’s nervous. You’re going to so disappoint him. 

“Sorry I was late.” You take your water, the cool glass against your hand a relief. “I was…” Well, you were vomiting in your bathroom. “I got a bit tied up on my way out.” 

“That’s okay,” he says easily. “You look really beautiful.” 

You wish you could tell yourself he was only a good liar. You feel clammy, and disgusting, and entirely undeserving of sitting across from him, but it’s all earnestness in Spencer’s puppy brown eyes. 

“Thank you.” Your voice has gone soft with sincerity. “You look very handsome, too. I’ve never…I don’t think I’ve seen you in a suit.”

Spencer smiles, bashful. “I should probably wear them more for work. Most of my team does.” 

“I like what you wear,” you say. “It suits you. Very professor-y.” 

Drinking water was a bad idea. You’ve been too greedy for the cool feel of it going down your torn-up throat; your glass is nearly empty already, and already it wants back up. 

“It would probably be more professional if I dressed like the others, though.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. Adorable. “I am a professor, but I’m also a profiler, so…” Spencer’s smile slips when you swallow against the nausea tightening your throat. “Are you okay?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think there’s anything unprofessional about your regular clothes. I like your cardigans.” 

“They’re not…they’re not unprofessional, I guess, but I…” You can see Spencer’s brain working, his eyes moving over your face as you struggle to appear attentive. “Sorry, are you sure you’re okay? You look uncomfortable.” 

You could almost laugh, if you weren’t feeling so awful. Trust Spencer to tell it like it is. 

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer looks troubled. Sad, puppy brown eyes. 

Oh, and there are the nerves you’d been missing. Malicious, evil butterflies turning your stomach into an inhospitable environment. 

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you say in a rush. “I’ll be right back.” 

You are not, unfortunately, able to keep that promise. You spend the next twenty minutes kneeling in a bathroom stall, trying to convince yourself they probably keep the floors very clean in a nice restaurant like this while your body rejects the water you had and then several phantom meals it suspects you might’ve had while it wasn’t paying attention. When you finally emerge, Spencer is waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. You’re wary of repeating your mistakes, but you take a small sip to appease him before simply giving in and pressing the cool glass to your temple. 

Spencer assesses you with his gaze. You resign to it, knowing he’ll have you figured out by now whether you make it easy for him or not. 

“How long have you been sick for?” he asks softly. 

“It’s not contagious,” you want him to know. “It’s food poisoning, I’m pretty sure.” 

“That’s not…what I’m worried about.” Spencer sounds almost hurt, but his touch is gentle as he brings his knuckles to your forehead. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. You’re too exhausted to pretend at being anything else anymore. “It was stupid. I didn’t want to bail on you, but instead I’m ruining it.” 

“You’re not ruining it.” His first knuckle moves almost imperceptibly, a tiny caress. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this another time. Did you drive here?” 

“Yeah,” you say meekly. 

Spencer frowns. “Can I take you home? You’re too hot to be driving yourself.” 

He flushes instantly, though you weren’t going to say anything. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“Here.” He guides you to a bench, his hand ever so gentle on your waist. “Wait here, okay? I’ll grab our stuff.” 

You’ve fully given into wretchedness. You have no shame about resting the side of your head against the wall, closing your eyes until Spencer returns with a touch to your shoulder. He’s carrying his jacket and your bag, and the sympathetic look the hostess shoots you says that he’s conveyed you’ll be abandoning your reservation. 

“You don’t have to drive me,” you say as Spencer leads you outside, one hand at your back like he’s afraid you’ll keel over. “I can get home alright. I don’t want to throw up on your nice suit.” 

“I thought you liked my cardigans best.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing you. “Anyway, the idea that you could be sick again this soon isn’t consistent with the idea that you could get home alright.”

It’s so him, the way he reasons this out, like he’s outlining an argument you’d never honestly expect to win. It reminds you that you’re on a date with Spencer Reid, and that makes you feel worse. 

You let him shepherd you to his car and sit you in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, looks over to see that yours is on, and his hand twitches as if it’s going to reach for yours before rerouting to the ignition. 

“Spence…” 

“Hm?” 

“Just, thank you. And I’m sorry, for making us leave.” 

“It’s okay.” He says it so easily, like a given. He does reach for your hand now, his fingers closing over yours to give the gentlest of squeezes. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask to be sick.” 

“I’m really sorry I ate that sketchy pasta last night.” 

Spencer laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to make you smile despite the roiling of your stomach. 

You say, in a softer voice, “I think it would have been a really nice date.” 

“We’ll find out,” he says surely. “Maybe next week, if you’re not doing anything. We could come back here, or go somewhere if seeing that bathroom again will make you uncomfortable. I know that for some people nausea can be a Pavlovian response. You spent…a long time in there.” 

You stifle a groan, leaning your head against the window and turning your face in humiliation. Spencer’s thumb stroking down the side of your hand makes it all worth it.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

inextricably bound - viktor, jayce

summary; stuck in a plane above all else but at least you're together

genre/extra tags; oneshot, fluff, bad jokes?, a dash of angst?, czech viktor, jayvik are canon fuck whatever christian linke was saying, just two bros being soulmates in every timeline and they're each others everything (but not in a gay way am i right chat /j), god forbid two dudes be canonically gay in every timeline, sorry im pissed off, im coping with jayvik being gone, OOC jayvik??, i dont know how to write for jayce well, jayvikreader poly sloppy toppy (jk), it's like implied that reader just got pulled in and doesn't know the dramatic moment they had n the astral plane before finally making up., headcanon that the astral plane is almost like being in limbo for death or reincarnation

[reader's gender not specified or mentioned]

word count; 808

a/n; can you tell im mad that there are jayvik non believers? like hate them all you want, but you can't just say that they were just bros and im glad most of the fandom can understand that. am i absolutely greedy for viktor? yes, but im not taking him away from his literal soulmate/twin flame/whatever the fuck gay shit they got going. also i feel like this isnt my best work but anyways enjoy :)

empty.

that's what being in the astral plane feels like. but it's calm. most of your body is engulfed the stars that you once looked up to. now you were part of that. not as a star but as a being. your face is illuminated a white gold shimmer.

"love?" a voice echoes and before you know it, two familiar faces are close to yours.

"vik? jayce?" your voice echoes in the listless space. and it's only then do you register how.. normal they look again.

despite the stars that cover their body and shimmering light of the ethereal, they look like themselves. it was the viktor and jayce you knew. your hands move, your body floating as you hold viktor's face.

"it's you. viktor.." the mentioned male looks at you, guilt and love in his eyes. jayce's hand rests on the small of his back, a silent encouragement for the shorter man. "it's you.." your voice trembles. viktor can't look you in the eye until jayce's hand gently nudges him, and it's only then that he sees the absolute love pouring from your eyes. "i should be more concerned that we're stuck here, but fuck.. i missed seeing you."

you can't exactly cry in the astral plane. your tears end up sparkling and twinkling away and become part of the galaxy you've been pulled into.

"miláček.." you don't even realize how much you've missed his normal voice until now. even if it did have that ethereal echo, it was still him. your viktor. your forehead presses against his for just a moment.

"you... i have a lot to say, but let me be happy for just a moment." viktor tenses at your words, but he relaxes in your touch. you pull away to give jayce the love you missed giving him.

"jayce.. you did so well. more than well. i don't know everything of what you experienced, but you never gave up. didn't know i could be more thankful for you." jayce smiles brightly at your words as you hold his face between his hands in appreciation.

he looks at you with that look he used to give you and viktor when things we once normal. that silly lovesick grin on his face, but you know he can't express how thankful he is for you and him. "i missed you so much, too. you have no idea." he said softly.

"now, with that out of the way, what exactly happened?" the two men look at each other before slowly explaining how everything started and ended with them. and they definitely ended it, seeing as they were taken here by the crystal that jayce held so dear to him. "but why am i here then? i mean, it makes sense for you two to be here. you're basically soulmates."

"don't say that, miláček. we love you too. whether you're in this timeline or not." viktor said gently, floating to you and holding you in his arms. "we won't allow you to think so lowly like that. especially when jayce is around. and especially because that line of thinking does not seem to do well for us. my insecurities blinded me to want to fix everything to a dangerous degree.." he confesses.

"you’re ours whether you like it or not. and it's not like we can find a way to leave here." jayce smiled softly, his large arms wrapped around yours and viktor's shoulders. he hugs you two close, not missing a moment to hold you both in his arms.

"i guess it was really meant to be when i said you're both stuck with me forever." you joked, kissing them on the cheek. "but we're really stuck here?"

after your kisses, viktor starts giving his share of kisses. "it would seem so. not that i'm complaining." jayce joins in on the sweet kissing session, making sure to give as much as he could before you or viktor start telling him to stop. echoing laughter rings out in the empty void. the cold of the astral plane could never make you shiver when you were with the men who did nothing but give you warmth.

"maybe we'll just reincarnate. do you believe in reincarnation?" you asked between kisses. they pause for a moment, contemplating your words.

"eh.. well, i'm sure it wouldn't be crazy to believe in reincarnation." viktor said with the slight tilt of his head, his look silently conveying his uncertainty but uncaring of it.

"if we do get reincarnated, i'll make sure to find you two before anything else." jayce whispered, his face firm with determination and love.

"that's so sweet. and sappy." you laughed lightheartedly.

the two men can't help but join in with their own laughter and just for a moment, the stars twinkle a little brighter as if joining in on the joy.

[thepagemistress]

Thinking half-thoughts but like... what if, in order to pull Cas out of the Empty, Jack had to leave the vessel behind? I've seen theories on getting Cas out by leaving the grace behind (which does make more sense lore-wise) but stick with me...

They can't get the vessel back or create a new one whilst it still exists (whatever, the logistics aren't the point) and obviously Claire is the only other bloodline vessel which isn't even worth entertaining. So essentially Cas is stuck in Heaven in his true form. And in the beginning, he did try and check in on Dean but it hurt too much to see him so listless and spiralling and not being able to do anything about it so he just went cold turkey and threw himself into helping Jack rebuild Heaven.

Until he feels a barrage of emotions so strongly that it would have brought him to his knees were he to still have any. Pain, regret, sadness, acceptance, hope... a cacophony of chaos and he knows the source immediately. And he knows the reason. Dean is dying. It's barely been the blink of his many eyes and Dean's already dying. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But he could at least be there for him, even if Dean can't see him or know he's there. So he flies down to some decrepit barn to find Dean and Sam. Immediately, he is overcome with the need to FIX-IT. Why should he accept this? Why are any of them just accepting this?? If only he could...

And then an awareness shakes him to his core. The vessel is willing. The vessel has given permission. And Cas doesn't give himself time to talk himself out of it. He'll beg forgiveness later, just as long as Dean is alive.

And so he possesses him. Sam's still cradling his face and crying when Cas speaks through Dean's voice. "Pull him down."

Sam sniffs. Blinks. Frowns. It takes him longer than it usually would to connect the dots. Too long. "Sam!"

Sam starts and makes a grab for a weapon he doesn't have. "Who are you?"

"It's me," Cas says, also not thinking too straight through his own panic and the sudden onslaught of Dean's emotions battering him from the inside. "I can't heal him with the rebar still in. Hurry!"

Sam isn't hurrying. "Cas?"

"Sam, please!"

In a display of trust that Cas will be grateful for later, Sam finally bursts into action, pulling Dean from the beam, marvelling at how Cas keeps him upright. Then he begins to heal him from the inside, pouring his renewed grace into the wound and the rest of his body just because why not when he's already there?

Blinking Dean's eyes open, he finds Sam waiting, anxious. A nod from Cas has Sam sucking in a breath and launching himself forward to hug Dean. Or Cas. Or both.

It's nice. He wishes he could stay but he's done what he needed to and it was time to leave them to it. Shrugging out of Sam's grip, he offers a sad smile as he says, "I'll be waiting for you both. Just take your time about it, please."

It's clear Sam wants to argue but he needs to leave, now. And so he does.

Or...doesn't?

With a frown, he tries again. But still he remains. And Sam is now arguing but Cas can't focus, he's too busy panicking. And Dean is hammering on the little door in his mind that Cas put up to dull the unpleasant feeling of being possessed and Cas tries sending him reassuring pulses that yes, he's trying, he'll be out soon. But strangely that just increases the pounding which take on an edge of desperation until Cas has no choice but to open the door and-

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME AGAIN."

Everything stops. The pounding in his head, the tether on his grace, the desire to flee. The only thing that remains is an overwhelming sense of anticipation. And Sam still rambling about something that is probably very heartfelt and that Cas absolutely could not give a shit about right now.

To test a theory, Cas tries again to exit the vessel, only to have what he now realises is Dean's soul clamp down on his grace, keeping it rooted, nestled inside him.

"You ain't going anywhere, sunshine," comes Dean's shaky voice from inside his head. "We got some shit to talk about, you and me."

And so talk they do. And when Cas says that he's without a vessel and that's why he hasn't been by, Dean tells him that now he does. Just like that. As if he hasn't spent the entire time Cas has known him trying to avoid being a meat suit for an angel. But Cas can hear the eye roll as Dean says that Cas has been the exception to that rule for awhile. He made his peace with that fact years ago. Which explained the open permission he seemed to have.

"So, listen. We'll try to figure out how to get your body back. But, if we can't? Don't be using that as an excuse to not visit, yeah?"

If Cas had the choice, he'd never leave.

A flash of warmth roll through him, reminding Cas that he's not alone with his thoughts right now.

"Well. That'd be OK with me, too."

Cas smiles with Dean's lips. But that's OK because Dean's smiling too.

"...Have you listened to anything I just said?" Sam asks.

[juletheghoul]

too close

a/n: Yeah. The trailer got me again. I can't help myself!!! Also - I didn't actually want to write feelings for these two but I have no say anymore. They have feelings, they are obsessed with each other and I can't just ignore it lol. Not beta’d and barely proofread- any mistakes or errors are my own. Hopefully you enjoy! (PS I did a little research on fruits in Roman times- they had no word for orange, so any shade of orange was just called red)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy and I don't CARE, giving him that gluckgluck3000, creampie, Marcus gets hurt (hurt comfort), hand stuff from him because he's my precious man and he likes to give his girl pleasure, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus (for now?👀), **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 5.1k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

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You frowned, despite your station, the confusion and slight worry breaking through the years of training your face to remain neutral. For a moment, you forgot your place.

“But-“ he turned, head tilted in curiosity instead of anger, thankfully, “I am to stay here? You do not wish me to accompany you Dominus? To pour and serve…?” You could not keep the slight hurt from your voice, much to your dismay. 

“No Girl, you will stay here, at the villa.” He saw the confusion, the unabashed anguish on your face and his expression softened, “peace Girl, it is not a matter of not desiring your presence or your service.” You listened to him with a lump in your throat, a wild fear seizing your heart that he might have grown tired of you. 

“I will not have the luxury of a tent, the rebellion is small enough that I can squash it and be back in less than a moon’s turn.” He came close, close enough to have your face tilt up to stare into his eyes. “I would not have you waiting for me in such a meagre camp, I would not have you sleeping in the dirt.” His hand settled on your arm, a soft offering, a reassurance but it did nothing to calm you. You have grown so accustomed to having him close, to ending up in his bed of a night more often than not before heading to your own, naked and pleasantly sore; to falling asleep with his seed trickling out of your puffy little cunt.

“I am comfortable wherever you are Dominus, I could still be of use, to light your fires-“ 

“I would have you here, and safe. That is my decision, and no amount of temptation will sway me from it.” He lifted your hand, pressing his lips to your fingers in silent, but firm apology. You knew there was nothing to be said, you had already pushed the matter far more than would be allowed on a normal day. 

“Your will, Dominus.” You bowed your head, despite the hurt and worry swirling around in your belly. “I will pray to the Gods for your swift victory, and safe return home.” 

He nodded, leaving shortly after. 

Time passed, and a feeling of restlessness took firm root in your being. The house felt empty, despite the attendants and sentinels left to guard them as well as the property. The days found you listless, moving through the motions of your chores and daily duties practically numb. The days were marks on the wall of your mind, praying to the Gods to send him back to you. 

Whispers travelled swiftly through the city, through the market stalls and through the villa itself, most of them rumours and it was difficult to keep your emotions in check. 

He has advanced

He has killed the leaders of the rebellion

He is victorious, already on his way home

He has been hurt

He is dead

He is victorious - Rome's favoured son has triumphed once more

The moon turned, once, and then twice, finally a third time before he was home. The all encompassing relief was short lived however, that wash of relief turned to ashes in your mouth at the sight of him. One of the rumours had been true after all. A sword wound to the side had laid him low late into the battle, it hadn’t killed him, thank the Gods, but it had slowed him down and made his journey home nothing short of agony. 

Your heart raced to see him weakened, every fibre of your being itched to run to him, to press your lips to skin but you refrained. You stood aside, dutifully, letting his trusted soldiers practically carry him to his bed. The older women got to work, bringing fortified wine with all manner of powders and potions to aid in his recovery while you stood next to him, the little half-moon marks in your palms from your nails barely felt like anything compared to the ache in the back of your throat. 

Your eyes would not leave his face. 

He looked so tired, mud and grime still marring his skin as he lay prone on his bed. To forfend the ugly thoughts swirling around in your mind, you focused on the tasks at hand. 

He needs to be cleansed, after he eats something I will boil some water and move gently, leave him to gather his strength. An offering must be made so the Gods will hasten his healing-

“Girl.” His voice was soft, and instantly you rushed to his side. 

“Yes Dominus, I am here.” You took his hand tentatively, your heart soared to feel him squeeze it. 

“Fetch me some broth, and help me to sit up–a few pillows behind me. I would sit upright.” 

You rushed to comply, happy to focus on his instructions. With soft touch, you did your best to prop him up, biting your lip to stop your eyes from welling up when he winced. Once satisfied, you set about fetching hot water and linens, as well as his broth. He sighed at the sight of it, and drank almost all of it within a few heartbeats. 

“Shall I help you cleanse now Dominus?” You brought the basin closer, showing him the steaming water and he nodded. 

Tentatively, you removed the soiled clothes he wore, ears pricked up for any sign of discomfort. He beared it with good grace, keeping the twinges of pain to himself, you imagined for your benefit, and you were grateful. It took time, but finally, you had divested him of everything, and he half sat, half laid on his bed, not an ounce of shame for his nakedness. It was secondary, to see him bare, more alarming was the soiled linens with the dark bloom of dried blood staining it on his side like some grotesque flower. 

He was pale, weak, his injury robbing him of his normal, ruddy health. He watched you, his expression somewhere between exhaustion, and a calm content. 

With gentle hands, you dipped the clean linen into the steaming water of the basin, and methodically cleaned the dirt, and dried blood from his skin. Eventually his eyes closed, soft sighs filled the air with every pass of the warm cloth across his shoulders, down the firm muscles of his thighs, his hands, until you reached the contours of his face. The lines were more defined, this battle had taken a toll on him. 

Your thumbs smoothed over his brows, wiping dust and worry away with a bone deep gratitude that he had come back. He melted into your touch, and you tried and failed to suppress the smile. 

“I must clean the wound, Dominus.” You reached for more clean dressings, giving him a chance to steel himself but he kept his eyes closed. You thought he might have fallen asleep, but he nodded, and so you did what needed to be done. 

To his great credit, he didn’t make a sound. Even as you cleaned at the angry, but healing edges of the wound. He said nothing when you packed it with the poultice one of the women had brought, when you covered it in a clean dressing, even as he drank down the no doubt foul tasting potion to help him sleep. Instead he settled back, and sighed, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. 

You gathered all of the soiled clothing and discarded bandages, and moved to leave him to rest but his hand snatched at your wrist. 

“Wait, Girl, stay. Stay with me–” His words were almost slurred, and he didn’t finish his thought, his hand loosened around your wrist but you stayed, taking great care to lie beside him on his bed, and watched him sleep. Your heart raced with something you couldn’t–wouldn't name, something that threaded through your ribcage like smoke, wreathing its way around your lungs and taking root in your heart. You pressed the back of your hand to his brow, thankful that no fever lurked there and once satisfied that he was indeed resting, you rested your head next to his. 

Sleep took you, swiftly and without warning. 

The world outside was dark when your eyes opened, and it took a moment for you to get your bearings. His warm skin pressed to your arm and you jolted with the memory of his injury. 

“Peace, girl, I am well.” His voice was quiet, but stronger than before, “You did well in changing my dressings.” His praise squeezed at something in your belly, robbing you of any words you might have had. “You must be hungry, go and fetch something to eat and bring it here, I will share the meal with you.” The concern in his voice brought a smile to your lips, his thoughts on you, despite the pain he must have been in. 

“Yes Dominus, shall I fetch more of the potion as well? You should rest-” He raised his hand softly to forestall you. 

“I have rested enough, I would have my wits about me just now. Go on, you may fetch whatever else you need, I would have you sleeping in my bed.” 

His words rung in your ears as you moved throughout the silent house. They shone through your eyes as you piled a serving tray with olives and cheese, with bread and ripe fruits. They camped in your belly as it rolled with something when they repeated over and over like a prayer in your mind as you filled a serving jug with the wine he favoured, they strengthened your grip as you carried it with the utmost care down the moonlit halls of the house, almost sharpening your eyesight to bring you swiftly back to him. 

You set it down between you on his bed, careful not to spill anything or jostle him too much and just in time too, the hunger rung out from your empty belly loud as thunder but you ignored it, your priority was to help him sit up.

“Eat Girl, you are starving. I will pick at my leisure.” He frowned, gesturing to the food and you were grateful beyond words. It was a quiet meal, but comfortable. He usually ate by himself, most of the time while in his study and with you, it was after chores and duties had been completed. Despite all of your trysts and time spent together, it was the first meal you’d ever shared. 

“You do not favour the olives.” He said it without judgement. You shook your head shyly, covering your mouth to speak through bites of bread and cheese. 

“My desire for them is unpredictable.” He tilted his head, “Sometimes, they are all I want. Other times, I cannot stand the sight of them.” You wrinkled your nose, confirming that this time, the latter statement was true.

He smiled, huffing out an amused laugh through his nose.

“What else do you like? I see you favour the fruit, which one do you like most of all?” It was strange to be asked about yourself, no one in your life had ever wondered about what you might of preferred, for anything.

“Figs, I think. Pomegranates too, although peeling them takes a lifetime.” He huffed again, wincing slightly, “Are you in pain? Shall I fetch–” He raised a hand. 

“I am well, continue. Why do you favour them if they are so troublesome to eat?” He shifted a tiny bit, with great effort, turning to face you better. The room was dark, save for the few candles burning and the moon shining in through his window, casting stark shadows across his lovely face. 

“They are worth the effort.” 

He smiled, and finally reaches over to help himself to the food. Something about the darkness, about the quiet seclusion made you bolder.

“What about you Dominus? Is there a fruit you favour?” Your heart raced, fear that you might have overstepped grabbing hold of you but it was for naught, he merely frowned in thought. 

“I prefer plums.” He said after a moment, “I like figs as well.” It was both exhilarating and strange to speak with him like that, in the quiet dark, almost comfortable. “Although–in my younger days we fought in Spain, and there I tasted a fruit I have never seen again, I do not know the name of it but I enjoyed it very much.” 

“What was it like?”

“It was round, a strange shade of red with a thick peel but underneath it had segments like a lemon.” He continued eating, and you were content to sit with him, only moving the tray once he had eaten his fill.

“It is good to be home.” The words came out as a sigh, “I missed it while I was away, more than any other time I must admit.” He shifted slightly and winced again, “Help me lay flat, my back aches from sitting.” He held out his hand and you rushed to oblige, moving pillows and positioning him flat on his back. “That is better, gratitude Girl, let us blow out the candles and settle in.” 

“Yes Dominus.”

“Have you something to sleep in? What is most comfortable for you?” 

“I am content in this, Dominus.” You gestured to your tunic as you made your way around the room, snuffing out the candlelight.

“That is not what I asked you.” There was no bite in his words, but the expectation of truth was plain as day. 

“Most nights I sleep in the nude, it is what is most comfortable for me.” You made your way back to the bed but he did not let you get in. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable, there is no expectation from me, much as I have missed the pleasures of your body. I would have you sleep how you are accustomed.” You nodded once, undressing down to your skin before slipping into bed with him. In the dark, in the quiet, it was peaceful and the sound of his steady breathing worked it spell on you quicker than you would have thought. 

“Gratitude Girl.” He said it soft, and with a full belly and heavy lids, you questioned him. 

“For what Dominus?” The words were almost slurred, as the heavy press of sleep pushed you into the deep pool of blackness. You thought you heard him say everything, but you could not be sure, sleep had claimed you. 

-

You woke with the sun, the first few rays sliding across your skin like water and it was hard to move from your place. In the night, your body had brought you close to him, seeking out the warmth of him. He was still asleep, but his legs had tangled up with yours and it was strange to lay with him like this, both of you nude as the day you were born, yet incredibly comforting. 

You took the time to check over his wound, and were pleased to find it looking much better. The edges of it stitching together, thankfully without corruption. 

“It does not hurt as much as it did before.” His voice was sleepy, “I will be back on my feet soon enough.”

“Let me dress Dominus, and I will fetch you something to break your fast.” 

“Not just yet.” He shifted, and although you helped him, he didn’t struggle quite as much. “Come, lie with me.” He held out his arm, and you went to him, trembling like a leaf to rest your head on his shoulder. “Gods, I missed you, Girl.” He buried his nose into the mess of your hair and something inside you grew and swelled, was fed and made strong by his words and by his skin. 

“I missed you, Dominus.” Truer words had never been spoken by you, the ache for him had been unbearable.

“Did you?” There was something underneath, something desperate and had it not been so early, so peaceful, he might not have asked.

“Desperately Dominus, I feared you had abandoned me, I feared you no longer desired me.” You pressed your face into his neck, breathing him in, his scent, his warmth, him- sustenance

“Come now, Girl, you know of my desire for you, it is like a thirst I cannot quench. A hunger I cannot satisfy, despite my dark moods, despite my sour face, you are a source of joy and pleasure I have not known in some time.” His hand brought your face up, his gaze burned into yours and his words affected you so that tears welled in your eyes. He wiped them away, and the tenderness was too much, a sob clawed its way out from your throat. All of the worry, all of the fear that he might have left you alone in the world, to be sold to another bubbled up and he held you as you cried.

“Do you wish to be free of me? Is that why you cry?” Something in his voice broke your heart.

“No Dominus, no-“ you wiped at your eyes, moving to look him in the eye and the expression you saw in them was almost too much to bear. “I have never been so happy in all my life, I have never felt about anyone, the way I feel for you.” You pressed your lips to his, petal-soft. 

“Sometimes, the things I feel for you are almost too big for my body, I want to be with you always, I want to feel you always. I feared so much while you were gone that I could barely eat, barely sleep-” Your words were frantic, so many things to get out that you could barely speak and he pulled you close, shushing you softly. 

“My heart swells to hear you speak this way.” He reached down, sliding his hand towards the hinge in your knee, to pull it over his thigh. “Peace, let us just enjoy the silence.” You nodded into his neck, letting go of a great breath in your lungs. 

“If I was myself, and whole, I would be pulling every ounce of pleasure from you now.” 

You laughed at the annoyance in his tone.

“Soon enough Dominus, I would have you healthy and healed.” Your hand slid up the smooth expanse of his chest, threading through the curls at the base of his skull. “Once your wound has healed, you may have me any way you please.” 

“Any way?” His tone darkened, and your body responded, thighs clenching, heart racing, nipples hardening. “Any way I please? And what if I want you for a day and a night? What if I want you wet and spread for me in this bed until you’re so full of my gift it spills all over my linens?” The hand that had been softly stroking your back moved down and grabbed at your backside, pulling until the lips of your sex spread open. 

A moan slipped out at the feel of his hands, and he all but growled. 

“Do not make those noises Girl, not when I cannot fuck you how I wish to.” He pulled your face up, licking into your mouth with a hunger you could not satisfy, not in his current state. 

“Dominus, I beg of you not to taunt me, not when we cannot indulge.” You kissed him again, despite your words and finally he pulled away, the tremble of frustration in his grip. You shifted, and felt his manhood press against your thigh, the sight of him, leaking and hard against his belly made you sigh. 

“Do not concern yourself with that, I am ravenous for you, but my body cannot fulfill the wishes of my cock. Go and fetch something to break our fast. I will need you to change my dressing as well, if you could.” He sent you off with a kiss, and with desire dripping onto your thighs. 

“Yes Dominus.” You smiled, and rushed off to do what needed to be done. 

-

Weeks passed, and he healed beautifully. His wound knit together cleanly and with that, his strength came back. More often than not he stood and cleansed without your help, he left the safety of his bed and his chambers and sported a genuine smile as he made his rounds through his house.

You trailed behind him, your own smile in place to see him coming back into himself. 

Things were different. He was different. 

He spoke more, that was for one. Before he would keep his own council, his words were curt and his thoughts would be kept close to his chest. Some nights he reverted to his silence, but it had grown into something peaceful, something comfortable.

The biggest change though, was his attitude towards you. 

For one, he refused to sleep alone. The darkness of night found you tending to his needs and after the candles had been snuffed- he pulled your tunic off and pulled you into his bed, into his arms. 

At first, you thought it was his injury, a fear that he might suffer some setback in his sleep, but as the days passed on and he was well past the point of danger, he still refused to let you go. 

His desire had come back too, much quicker than his body could handle. Mornings would find you in the cage of his arms, with his lust pressed hard and hot at the cleft of your ass. You would pull away so as not to tease him, and he would let you at first, but as his body caught up to him, he stopped letting you pull away. 

Most mornings, he’d whisper how much he missed burying himself inside you, how he couldn’t wait to gift you with his seed while slipping his fingers between your legs and swirling them around your clit, only stopping after you’d fluttered around his fingers. Then he’d send you off to fetch food with a smile on your face and an ever-growing ache between your thighs. 

A part of you fretted as to why he hadn’t taken you yet, as the days passed it was clear that he was well enough to indulge. Another part, a hopeful, possibly quite foolish part of you thought maybe he was waiting for you to ask him. That couldn’t be, could it? You ruminated on your previous encounters, yes–he’d called you forth to warm his bed, but with every recalled memory it was clear that in his own way, he'd let you decide whether to push things or not. A luxury you knew was rare. It was an intoxicating thought though, to think that you could decide when and what you wanted him to do.

So many possibilities. 

When night came, you brought him his meal, and his wine and tried to keep the tremble of excitement out of your hands. You watched him move about his chambers, his strength back to normal as he dipped his hands into the fresh water in his basin. His hair had grown out a little, dark with silver mixed through and that thought struck you again, that he was some beautiful marble statue come to life. An emperor of old, standing before you in all his glory. 

“Dominus-” You called to him, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes raised, finding you as he dried his hands. 

“Before you take your meal, I would ask something of you.” Your voice shook, never had you openly asked him for anything before. He raised his eyebrows, more surprised than anything.

“What would you have of me Girl?” He moved towards you, eyes curious. 

“I would have you–” You stopped him, guiding him to sit on his bed, “I would have you sit here, and accept my mouth.” 

You kneeled before him, staring up at him with your lip caught between your teeth. Your hands landed on his knees, sliding up to pull his tunic up to expose his manhood. For a moment, he stared at you with wide, surprised eyes. 

“I have missed our times together, I have missed you filling me of a night and as much as I treasure your fingers in the morning, I would have you feel pleasure at my hand–or, my mouth.” He did not stop you from exposing him and heat flooded your body to see how quickly his cock responded to your words, to the soft exploration of your hand. 

“You would do this?” His palm landed on your shoulder, sliding up to cup your cheek. “You have no obligation, I would not command you to do this should you not want to.” You spit onto your palm and grasped him in hand and despite his words, he shudderred to feel the way you stroked him. 

“I dream about this Dominus, I desire you so deeply that I ache for you–” You opened your mouth and took the blunt tip of him into your mouth. He moaned, slack-jawed at the sight of you. You placed open mouthed kisses at the tip, and the sensitive underside, stroking at the base of him. His thighs spread, making room for you and you relished the warm strength of them under your arms. 

He tasted like the ocean. 

“God’s above Girl-” You pulled away, smiling as you continued to stroke him, he barely fit in the palm of your hand and with his passion dribbling out and your spit the sounds were loud and slick. Your own arousal unspooled between your legs, the ache intensifying as he tensed underneath you, hissing when you pressed soft kisses to the scar at his side, to the softness of his belly, to the firm golden thighs bracketing you to his hips. 

“Open your mouth.” His confidence resurfaced, and then his hand wrapped around yours, guiding you to stroke him the way he liked. He guided the reddened tip into your mouth. “Look at me when you take me in your mouth, open wide, I want to touch your throat.” You moaned around him, taking him deeper, breathing through your nose in an attempt to stay calm. 

“That’s it Girl, Gods be damned-” His tone was filthy as he held you there, eyes watering until you pulled away, sputtering and messy. 

“If you continue, I will spill in your mouth.” he guided your hand still, slowly stroking himself against your lips, smearing your spit and his salty arousal onto your lips. Never in your life have you felt that powerful, that beautiful, with tears spilling down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. He held himself suspended in his pleasure, awaiting your word. 

“Would you like to spill in my mouth Dominus? Or would you like to fill my cunt?” You held out your tongue, letting him rub the tip of himself against it while he decided. Your heart soared to see the conflict on his face. 

“I would fill your cunt, I have missed it terribly.” You smiled and rose with a final kiss to his cock and once you did, he ripped the tunic off your body. The loud tear of it made you squeal with a mix of shock and excitement. 

“I promise you, I will not last.” He all but tossed you onto his bed, spreading your legs wide for his gaze. “Greedy little cunt, so wet for me.” He spoke in a daze, staring at the place that ached at the mere thought of him. He slipped down and it’s with a shock that you watched him dip down to spear into you with his tongue. Never had anyone used their mouth on you and the sight of it was almost too much to bear.

It’s with a greedy, filthy groan that his lips dragged up to latch around the pert little pearl of you, his tongue stroking, stroking, stroking while his mouth suctioned around it. Your body was a taut string, legs shaking under the strong grip of his hands, holding you to him tight enough to hurt. Your breathing came in pants, the climax was already there, balancing on a knife's edge, so close you could almost taste it.

His hands moved, sliding up to pinch at your nipples and the wave crested. Your hands gripped into his curls, both holding him close, and desperately pushing him away while you fluttered into his mouth. 

You felt the strong muscle of his tongue slide down, drinking you from the source. 

He made his way back up, your slick shining on his face and on his whiskers. You’re almost too shocked, and too shy to look into his eyes. 

“I confess, I have wanted to do that for a long time.” He pulled his tunic up and off as you lay under him, boneless. “I know it’s not something commonly done, but I enjoy it. Did you enjoy it? I felt you flutter.” He raised your leg, wrapping it around his hip while his cock slipped inside you without any resistance. You let out a relieved sigh, finally, he was home. 

“Yes Dominus–” You almost whispered, half-shy as he dropped down, his arms holding himself up on either side of your skull. “No one has ever–Oh–” He snapped his hips hard, unable to hold himself back and already, the need built in your core, robbing you of any coherent thoughts. 

“No one but me ever will.” He kissed you, making you taste yourself and it was so perverse, so exhilarating you held him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him to feel as much of him as you could. His cock pushed and pulled, hitting that special place he owned and with a handful of thrusts, and a punched out groan he filled you with his gift. Finally. 

He watched himself pull out of the mess he'd made, watched in silence as his gift dripped out and onto his linens. 

Things felt different this time, there’s a vulnerability, an intimacy that is almost overwhelming. You pulled his face up, and pressed your lips to his softly, praying that you conveyed the feelings swirling in your chest. He kissed you back, his hand gliding up to wrap around your neck. When you opened your eyes, his brow was furrowed, the same feelings shining back at you through his dark eyes. 

Seconds passed, and the feeling did not disperse. Before he would have sent you away, but he held you close. Wordlessly he pressed his lips to yours over and over, he stroked at your skin, your shoulder and your thigh high on his ribs, your breast, your lips. He moved off, and went about dampening a cloth to clean himself off of you. Once he was done, he brought the food you’d served him and fed you from his own hand. 

You accepted the food, smiling shyly as he watched you, something like affection, like love shining out through his eyes. 

“Thank you Dominus–” He shook his head, a small frown at your words. 

“Call me Marcus.”

– Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue

[dykedvonte]

Curly's little blurb on his steam trading card just keeps reminding me he is a much more miserable person than people realize.

We don't get a lot of his thoughts, inner confliction that aren't bogged down by what Jimmy says or does. Even in the The Last One and Then Another, his dialogue is reflective, not the Curly before the crash but the result of everything. Parts of the him he was are there of course, but also disfigured and warped beyond recognition just like he is physically.

Curly really doesn't think much of himself and desires. He clearly chases fleeting moments of happiness. He doesn't really have prospects for himself, assumes in a similar way to Swansea, that if it should make it happy then he is happy. Though, he hasn't reached the point Swansea did to admit it doesn't. He neither sees the glass half full or empty, it's just water, something he needs and he'll take it from any perspective.

He wasn't running from anything but he's never really been going towards something either. He's listless. I've been using the term complacent to describe how he feels about his life and the closest people (really just Jimmy) in it, but now that word feels too neutral, too nice. Happier than Curly really was. There isn't just one word for it, he's unfulfilled, uncertain, uninspired. There are no active problems he faces and that's the issue, why should he be upset?

I believe he really is a person who doesn't know who he is or wants to be. He follows a structure. I don't think he's suicidal, but he clearly doesn't think about what makes him happy. He's numb. I suppose that is a better word than complacent, used to the feeling even if he hates it. It doesn't hurt so why stop it?

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Empty Spaces Walk Into A Bar

The mech pilot's handler orders the usual for it. It has been here before and it will return for countless tomorrows. It's a burn that cures, a painful reprieve from its emptiness. In the morning, it will become again, returning to its body, being filled with its blood and allotted its thoughts. Its targets.

The doll orders just as Miss commanded it to. The bartender was once cursed, afflicted with the arcane, so she feels pity for the magical. She breaks protocol and allows the doll to leave with a bottle of the witch's favourite. She is sure not to tell the doll it's breaking the rules. It forgets its change, or rather, the witch forgot to collect it using the doll as her tool.

The angel orders a glass of juice. The bartender hasn't seen its kind at this establishment in a while. With enough encouragement, it complains of its woes. How it was once an agent of heaven, a miracle worker, an extension of Him. Now it struggles to keep mere vices at bay, having already permitted itself to smell the ambient booze. The bartender remarks, silently to herself, that she's never seen an angel that fulfills its expectations.

The moth isn't sure what to order. All it knows is that it wants. Of the outlines of existence the bartender has observed tonight, this one seemed to be the most aware, the most active, almost as if it was a person. But the bartender knew better. This listless want was why it was empty. It had nothing for the want to fill, so it had no choice but to keep chasing. It orders the "brightest drink you have", something to try and fill the emptiness just a moment longer. Indeed, just for tonight, it feels alight.

The bartender closes for the night. She looks out on her establishment, an empty space defined by what it isn't. A store with no customers, a drink with no alcohol, a body with no self. She takes just a moment to mourn the day's activity. It takes just a moment more to cherish the silence.

[pandelacreme]

lots of speculation over how round 7 between luka and till will turn out! and its had me thinking about the presence of recurring motifs and how the main ensemble are foils of each other.

i know that many people like to joke about how sua and ivan are genderbends of each other/basically siblings... but in my honest opinion, i think the parallels between the two (similar hair styles and having the more subdued personality of the pairing) are to throw us off about what we know about hyuna and luka lol.

sua and ivan's similarities are to emphasize their situational differences, highlighted by the comic where ivan expressed envy over sua not being in an unrequited love situation (yeah i know that's literally what the definition of a literary foil is, but hear me out LOL). so in that sense i feel that they're not really as similar as it seems?

i personally think that sua has more similarities to luka than she is with ivan, excluding her relationship with mizi. both in terms of their upbringing as being treated like dolls and how their resting face is kind of empty when they're not with mizi/hyuna respectively lol. plus their listless acceptance of the lethal circumstances they exist in

tbh even the childhood dynamic between mizisua and hyuluka (before the hyunwoo thing...of course...) is pretty similar, with mizi/hyuna dragging sua/luka around

i think by emphasizing the similarity between luka and sua, it reframes the events that happened in round 5. while luka probably was purposefully exploiting mizi's grief, it does come to question how much of the cutting shots between the two was mizi seeing sua in luka.

so how does this relate to round 7 between till and luka? there's a lot of speculation that luka will demolish till by pulling the same schtick he did with mizi -- and conversely there's a lot of speculation that vivinos and qmeng will subvert expectations by having till somehow overcome his depression by becoming numb to luka's tricks.

here's a third idea i haven't seen being brought up: luka seeing hyuna in till. i propose this idea because i think we can make some comparisons between till and hyuna. both of them are the most rebellious of the ensemble, both had a tendency to roughhouse as children, and both's choice of music genre is very high-powered with a heavy emphasis on the guitar (i want to say they both have that rock and roll vibe but unfortunately music isn't my forte and i don't want the genreheads to get on my ass LOL).

and now suddenly it feels like the random tidbits we get about luka's interactions with till feels like they're hinting towards something:

[cheriecelestial]

Angel Pt.III

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ nsfw. 18+ content. MDNI. porn with plot. creampie. unprotected sex. phone sex(if you can call it that). oral(m!+f! receiving). our jaybird is tad bit obsessive and manipulative (mild yandere content). mild mask kink. praise. dacryphilia. fingering. mentions of domestic and child abuse. swearing. canon typical violence. crowbars. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Okay so here’s what was promised. It’s my first time writing smut so please let me know your thoughts in the comments. All flashbacks are in italics. Comment Reblog and Like

☆〜（ゝ。∂）

╰ ┈➤ Part I ➤ Part II

Y/N knew that Red Hood leaving would create a void in her life, but she hadn’t anticipated feeling so adrift. The excitement she once felt at the sight of the fridge filled with expensive groceries, imagining them cooking together, disappeared without a trace. A humorless chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips staring at the assortment of items he bought, wondering why he assumed she needed seven kinds of cheese, varieties she didn’t even know existed.

Despite her best efforts to keep herself busy, Y/N couldn’t ignore the emptiness growing inside her. Somehow, she found herself struggling to navigate everyday life with the listlessness weighing down on her, even her friends begun to notice. The void left by his absence grew more palpable with each passing day, leaving her longing for him to return. Why are you moping around like that? It’s not like he was your boyfriend or anything. A voice taunted her. He’ll be back before you know it, yet a hopeful voice reassured her. What if he won’t? What if he — no. I can’t think that. Y/N slapped her hands on cheeks to snap herself out of dismal train of thoughts. He’s strong, he’ll come back. He has to.

Her eyes found their little parcel he had left her. Exactly 15 minutes after Red Hood left, a parcel arrived for Y/N in the mail, much like the one she received a couple months back — though slightly larger. Unwrapping the brown paper around it was a shoebox with the words “Red’s Anti-Goon Starter Kit” written on it with permanent marker. Inside were several unusual items like tiny smoke bombs, a very potent possibly industrial strength taser, pepper sprays which Y/N was sure were banned sometime back and a flip phone. Accompanying these tools was another handwritten manual, meticulously detailing the operation of each item in the simplest language possible.

She couldn't help but marvel at the items before her. As she studied the contents of the kit, she felt the mix of gratitude and apprehension stirring within her. The things he gave her were unsettling, though thoughtful. Somehow it reminded her of an alley cat, who would get odd sorts of gifts for people who were nice to them. Y/N took out the phone and stashed the box under the couch because whenever Stephanie was over, she had a habit of snooping around the kitchen cabinets for snacks so it wouldn’t be the best place to put it. She plugged in the phone, noticing it appeared pristine with no contacts saved. She just assumed that the phone was for calling her without either of them getting tracked.

As days turned into weeks and then months, Y/N would often find herself staring at the phone, hoping the small screen to buzz to life. Leaning against her balcony railing as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, she drifted into a daze. Twirling strands of hair absentmindedly, her thoughts inevitably returned to him; wondering where he would be or if he’s eating well.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. With a sigh, Y/N pulled out the flip phone, scrolling through it for the nth time. The sleek and compact flip phone sported a soft pastel pink colour, the same shade of cotton candy with tiny shimmering Sanrio charms dangling from silver chains and the keypad adorned with dainty floral patterns that lit up with a soft pink glow when in use. The cover was embellished with rhinestones. Ever since she was young, Y/N had always harbored a fondness for cute things and this phone was something she had always longed for something like this since her middle school days.

Y/N wondered if he would call, glancing at it in anticipation. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as her mind conjuring up various scenarios. And almost as if on cue, the phone illuminated with an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. Y/N’s heart raced, nearly dropping the device in shock. Rushing to her bed, she hastily answered the call, her breath catching in her throat.

Relief washed over her as she was greeted by a very familiar voice on the other end, a wave of happiness flooding through her. Y/N's brain buzzed with a whirlwind of emotions. She hadn’t heard his voice in months. Her heart fluttered with a mix of joy and longing as she savored the sound of his voice. “Red,” she whispered softly with a smile on her face. “Missed me angel?”

“Yes. I did. Very much so,” she confessed,“How about you ?”

His response was immediate, filled with the same affection that had always warmed her heart. “More than you’d think,” his voice so crackled over the phone that Y/N almost thought she imagined it. She buried herself in the blankets wrapped around her, almost being feel his presence, as if he were right beside her rather than miles away. His tone was tender, leaving a strange sort of chill on her skin. In that moment, the distance between them seemed insignificant, eclipsed by what she felt.

“So, how’s that mission going? Any hope of returning soon?” She joked to lighten the mood of the conversation. “Sorry angel. This might take a while. I could only call you once throughout this whole thing and tonight was particularly tough. I just needed to hear your voice.” his voice seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable, casting a bittersweet shadow over their conversation. Y/N's heart ached with empathy as she listened to his words, realizing the sacrifices he had to make for Gotham. “I understand. Take your time and I’ll be here waiting for you.” Her voice a gentle reassurance across the airwaves.

There was a brief pause filled with unspoken sentiments and shared longing before he spoke again, his voice tinged with gratitude and affection ,“Fuck don’t do this to me angel. I swear I’ll drop everything and take the next flight to Gotham.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile as she let out a soft chuckle, “ As much as I would like that, your mission is important.” Her tone gentle yet firm. With those words, the burden of his duty weighing down on his shoulders felt a little lighter, buoyed by her unwavering spirit. He sighed in resignation, “I know I know but that doesn’t make it any easier. Y’know what angel? Forget it. Just keep talking. Anything, topic doesn’t matter. I just need to hear you.”

“Of course,” her heart swelled with tenderness at his request. I guess what people said about distance making the heart grow fonder was true. Despite the crackling static and interference, every word was like a soothing melody to him. After a point he lost track of what she was saying. Everything around him seemed melt away and was replaced with him, her voice and joy at its purest.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice the faint groans and whimpers on the other end of the line. She initially dismissed it as static but still decided to ask, “ Red are you okay?” Red Hood replied with a nervous cough, “ Wh-what? Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry. J-just don’t stop talking. Okay?” His voice was hoarse, and his breathing became noticeably choppier. Y/N was the least bit suspicious but still continued rambling on about the happenings of the cafe. “Though I still don’t get why you thought I needed so many different types of cheese.”

“I just read somewhere that women like cheese. You can make into a charcuterie board or something.” He answered casually, trying to stifle the soft moans slipping from his lips. Y/N paused, I could swear I heard moan. The only time people make such sounds are when they’re in pain or when they’re —

“Red, are you hurt?” she asked again cautiously. He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before reaffirming, “ N-no. I’m fine. Just dealing with stuff. That’s all.” His words came out oddly strained. “If you insist.” She sighed in resignation. There was a moment of silence on the other end before he let out a shaky exhale, “I should really get going. I’ll see you soon” And just like that the line went dead.

Y/N sat there, staring at her phone, her mind swirling with questions. It didn’t sound like he was with someone. Could he be —? Heat rose to her cheeks as images flashed through her mind. No no don’t think such things Y/N. She did suspect that her advances hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed by him. Well, it seems she’ll just have to make sure when he gets back.

Two more months flew by since the phone call and the frequency of thoughts about him had, albeit not much, diminished as she busied herself with work. As the last customer sipped the last of their latte and left— Y/N sighed, preparing to close up and head home. With Stephanie having to leave early because of a family emergency, Y/N found herself alone to shut down the shop. She wiped the espresso machine and counter tops clean once again, leaving them gleaming under the dim glow of the overhead lights. With each swipe, she removed any traces of the sticky spills and stray coffee grounds left behind by the bustling crowd, a farewell to the day’s countless cappuccinos and macchiatos. The hiss of steam escaping the machine, the gentle dripping of taps from the cleaning of the frothing wands, the screech of the chairs across the wooden floors — all seemed to reverberate a little louder than usual in the tranquil solitude. Flipping the closed sign gave her a sense of satisfaction, marking the end of yet another long day.

With a final glance around the now-empty café, Y/N flicked off the lights and locked the door. Outside, the evening sky had dimmed to a soft twilight, casting a warm glow through the café windows. The bat signal appeared in the sky above her, a small smile gracing her lips as she remembered Red Hood. It reminded her of the red bat insignia on his chest— a symbol known to strike fear into the hearts of all those that dare take advantage of the innocent but struck solace and warmth in hers. She hadn’t gotten far on her way home when she felt her purse vibrate. Y/N pulled out her phone and realized it was the flip phone that chimed. The phone could be used only once to contact Red Hood, and she knew she wouldn’t be receiving another call on it without compromising her safety, yet she carried it around as a tangible reminder of his promise.

With a sense of both apprehension and anticipation, she flipped open the phone to answer. However, this time, it wasn’t a call. It was a text message. The message contained a straightforward address located near the Narrows; a part of town Red Hood had specifically warned her to steer clear of. Y/N couldn’t help but feel skeptical about the ominous message. But what if it is him? Her fingers hovered over the SOS button on her necklace, a safety net if things took a turn for the worse.

Y/N remained alert as her footsteps echoed through the desolate streets, she felt a chill creeping up her spine which just felt all the more foreboding in the eerie stillness around her. Yet in that stillness — she could hear the insects buzzing around the flickering streetlights, the distant howls of stray dogs and the sounds coming from the seemingly abandoned buildings looming overhead, slowly building a palpable sense of déjà vu. Except this time, it was much more unsettling than the night she met him in the alley near her apartment. She could feel someone’s gaze burning holes into the back of her head, but she couldn’t tell if it was the product of her paranoid imagination or not.

Y/N looked over her shoulder but saw no one feeling her senses heightened by the creeping unease. She tried but couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being watched but every nerve in her body remained on edge. Yet despite the trepidation suffusing in the air, she was driven to see this through the end. Y/N pulled out the flip phone and dial the number that Red Hood used to call her. Within moments, the faint chime of a ringing phone echoed somewhere nearby.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she followed the sound of the ringing phone. As she rounded a corner, the sound became cleared and clearer — a phone lying on top of cardboard boxes next to a dumpster, its neon screen lighting up in the darkness. She slowly approached the phone, hands trembling slightly as she reached out to pick it up. As her fingers touched the phone, she felt a sudden presence loom behind her. Before she could react, darkness enveloped her vision, silencing any screams that may have escaped her lips.

“Must you have incapacitated her so forcefully, Roy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have the luxury to serenade and take her for coffee before bringing her here. In case you didn’t notice Kory we have a stubborn son of a bitch bleeding out.”

“I noticed plenty but she’s a civilian, you know they’re… fragile. You ought to be more considerate Roy. I doubt he will take it well.”

“He was the one who asked me to bring her here in the first place.”

“Your funeral.”

“Well if this one doesn’t wake up soon there’ll be a funeral, just not mine. Should I get some water to pour on her?”

“Don’t even — hush I think she’s waking up.”

Y/N eyes fluttered open, the world around her seemed hazy and distant. The room in front of her danced in and out of focus, a ballet of blurred shapes and muted colours. The last thing she remembered was the events of the —. She shot up, immediately regretting it as she was hit by a head splitting migraine. Discomfort took over almost immediately when her eyes moved about, albeit slowly, taking in her surroundings properly now that her head was clearing up somewhat.

What she was able to take it, was one of few things. First, she was on a very comfortable couch with a blanket draped around her shoulders and secondly, two red heads in costumes staring at her curiously.

“You —,” she started, her throat feeling parched but still continued, “ Arsenal and Starfire? You’re Red’s friends.” Her words were careful, she pretended to not have overheard their conversation from before. She knew that she was better off not knowing the real identities of people like them. That’s why she never tried to take Red Hood’s helmet off. And though she would never admit it out loud to anyone else, but she knew having a mask kink in a place like of Gotham wasn’t the best idea.

Arsenal, or as his teammate called him, Roy exchanged a glance with Kory and spoke up first with a cocky smirk, “ You got that right princess. How’re ya feelin’?” Kory offered her a comforting smile, though her glowy neon eyes were somewhat intimidating to Y/N. She heard somewhere that Starfire was the alien princess of a faraway planet but never thought much of it. Nevertheless, she appreciated the effort Kory was making to appear friendly.

“Fine I guess.” The h/c haired woman forced a small smile, trying to ignore the twinge of pain around her neck and in her head. Roy chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “Thank fuck. If anything happened to his precious little darling, Hood would have me six feet under.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Red’s name, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “He talks about me?” she asked shyly.

“Uh No,” Roy began ,“I’d wager he planned on keeping you all to himself cuz y’know he’s not big on sharing and not that I don’t see why.” His grin held a flirtatious edge with his gaze subtly checking her up and down until Kory smacked his shoulder, making him to wince and drop his smile immediately. “Please don’t mind him,” she said with a gentle laugh, “He means well even though his words lack … finesse.”

Roy huffed, almost pouting, “ I’m right here y’know.” Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter, though the question about Red lingered in her mind. Meeting Arsenal and Starfire was pleasant, but there was someone else she longed to see. “Where is Red?” she finally asked, unable to suppress her curiosity. Roy’s eyes widened and Kory’s expression turned into a pained one. “Fuck I totally forgot about him. Come with me.” He exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and leading her urgently to the room. Red Hood lay on the stretcher in the center, clutching his side and softly groaning. Y/N’s breath hitched in horror as she rushed to his side. “Red ?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern. “Long time no see angel,” he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

he mustered a light-hearted chuckle but despite his efforts she could almost see the grimace under his mask.

“We need to call a doctor!” She turned to Roy and Kory with panic lacing her tone. As vigilantes, she assumed they must have a designated doctor at their base, like in movies where such groups often had retired military personnel or medical prodigies in their ranks.

Roy clicked his tongue and sighed before stating matter-of-factly, “We did call a doctor.” Both of them glanced between Y/N and Red Hood. “I was the best you could find ?!” she exclaimed incredulously. It seemed unbelievable given the seriousness of Red Hood's condition. While she had patched up a few wounds before, her last operation had been back in med school and even then, it was her teacher performing it on a cadaver.

He shrugged apologetically, understanding the gravity of the situation. “We’re stretched thin right now. Plus, you’re the one he asked for,” he admitted.

“You want to put his life in the hands of a med school dropout ?!” Y/N asked rhetorically. “You’re a dropout?” Kory blinked in surprise. “He didn’t tell you?” The h/c haired woman gasped incredulously. All three pairs of eyes turned accusingly towards Red Hood. He shifted uncomfortably under their gazes, tense with unease. “It's not like that," Jason began, but Y/N interrupted him with a pointed look, crossing her arms, “Not like what? That you failed to mention you were relying on someone with minimal experience?” Her tone tinged with frustration.

“Can we do this later doll? Kinda dying here.” He coughed out, followed by a pained groan. Y/N felt a lump form in her throat and his discomfort grew almost palpable. Despite still being visibly distressed, her expression softened slightly — not being able to bear to see him in pain like this. “Fine,” she relented, steadying her panic and her concern breaking through her annoyance, “Let's focus on getting through this first.” With a nod of agreement, Kory and Roy turned their attention back to the task at hand. “We need to stabilize him until we can get him to a real qualified medical practitioner,” Y/N stated eyeing him accusingly. Jason let out a small sigh, relieved to momentarily escape the interrogation, though he could feel his consciousness slipping away from the blood loss.

“Stay with us bud.” Roy tapped his helmet. Jason’s grip on his consciousness was tenuous but still he nodded with labored breaths, fighting against the pull of exhaustion as they worked frantically to stabilize him. Y/N quickly immersed herself into the task, seizing the bag of sterilized equipment in the team’s med bay.

“Take off his armour.” Kory’s hands worked nimbly through Jason’s armour. It took her less than a minute to dismantle everything. The three worked in a manner that felt almost choreographed with their intent clear – to save their friend.

The skin of Red Hood’s torso marked was network of scars and red splotches. Y/N knew that for someone like him, injuries were inevitable and so were the scars they left behind. There were minor ones that resembled cigarette burns and larger ones that were angry red ones from fire or acid. She recognised some of the slashes as the ones she stitched herself. She recalled that Red Hood, probably not wanting her to see his wounds, would always pull his shirt back down as soon as she finished sewing. As someone who grew up in the rough part of town, she was no stranger to scars so she didn’t feel repulsed by them, rather she felt a sense of awe for the man who did everything in his power to make Gotham a better place. People admired the bat vigilantes sure, but not all knew just how tough it actually was, honestly Y/N didn’t know if she understood either but one thing, she knew was that Red Hood was worth every ounce of respect he commanded with each scar being the testament of the storms he weathered.

However, one scar particularly stood out to her, probably the biggest one. The raised ridges in shape of a Y travelling from his collarbones to his abdomen. Y/N felt her stomach lurch, she had seen that shape in medical book several times but never on a living person. Maybe it was some sicko who carved it onto him during one of his missions, she tried to convince herself but in the back of her head she knew that it was too prominent to be just skin deep.

“Y/N?” Roy’s voice broke her reverie, snapping her back to reality. Y/N quickly looked away, realizing she had been staring. “Turn him over. We need to remove the bullet first,” she instructed Kory and Roy. You can't afford to space out like that, she mentally scolded herself. Refocusing, she pushed aside her distractions. The blood had soaked through the first aid bandage, tainting the sheets crimson under him. “This might hurt. Do you have anaesthesia?” She inquired. Roy shook his head sheepishly, “We don’t keep that, but we do have booze, a leather belt to bite onto and horse tranquilizers. Would any of that work?” Y/N gaped at him incredulously. “Perhaps not,” Roy muttered, searching the room for alternatives. “Just go ahead without it,” Red Hood rasped, his voice barely audible. “But—” Y/N began in protest. “I don’t need it and besides you’d kiss it better, wouldn’t you angel?” he joked. Her face broke into a smile seeing his bravado still intact.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle softly at his remark, appreciating his attempt to lighten the tense situation. “As you wish,” her tone softened with affection and partly from being impressed by his resilience. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and began the task of removing the bullet from the injured area with utmost caution and care. Despite the lack of anaesthesia, Jason endured the discomfort stoically only to wince ever so slightly, not wanting to cause Y/N any more distress. Kory and Roy could only watch in awe as she worked with exceptional finesse. Regardless of what Y/N said, Roy could tell that she was far more skilled than she admitted to being. Maybe calling her wasn’t that bad of an idea after all.

Gotham city was a place where shadows stretched endlessly, the skyscrapers piercing the skies like jagged edges of broken glass cutting through the darkness. It offered a stark contrast to the labyrinth of impoverished and gritty streets of the Narrows.

Poverty, desperation and every other negative emotion to man was pervasive with the social fabric frayed under the weight of corruption and systemic injustice. And when it rained, the sound of the fresh water striking the flimsy roofs of the dilapidated buildings carried a sense of morbid irony - a reminder of despite how the city was plagued by perpetual rainfall, there were those who still struggled to get access to drinking water. But even then, the rainwater was far from fresh considering the untreated chemicals the industries pumped into the air of Gotham. Water was turned to acid and people’s hearts and minds to poison.

After working a long and tiring shift, Y/N stepped out the back door to dispose of the leftovers amidst the rain threatening to soak her cheap and scratchy waitress uniform. As she approached the dumpster, she heard movement and craned her neck to see what it was. “Jase?” she called out. In a moment’s notice, the boy crawled from under the empty cardboard box with his face lighting up when he saw her. Y/N’s eyes widened as she noticed the boy drenched head to toe and sporting a huge blue-black bruise across his cheek and eye.

“How did this happen?” She asked gently caressing his cheek and guiding him out of the rain. After their first meeting, 14-year-old Y/N formed an unlikely friendship with the elementary schooler. The boy recoiled from her touch and averted his gaze. She sighed, “Willis is having one of his episodes again?” Jason’s expression turned solemn, and he nodded slowly, “Mom told me to stay at the neighbor’s for the night but the neighbor was being weird and handsy, so I ran away.”

“Well let’s get you something to eat and that treated,” Y/N pointed at his black eye and continued, “I’ll call Catherine and let her know you’ll staying with me for the night, but we need to go home for that. Lucky for you, my shift just ended.”

“Don’t you have a phone?” Jason asked curiously. Since everyone he knew who had a job had a phone, it simply made sense that she would as well. “Ain’t got the kind of money for that kiddo. But if I did, I’d probably buy those cute flip phones. You know the cutesy ones with the flower pattern, rhinestones and crystal chains?”

“But they’re so —” his nose wrinkled in revulsion making Y/N laugh at his cute expression, “ Girly?” She made a guess, and he slowly nodded. “Well, I am a girl,” She patted his head but as soon as her hand touched his forehead, she withdrew it with a gasp, “ My god, Jase you’re burning up!”

“It’s nothing.” The boy muttered. Y/N shook her head firmly, “Pardon me but it’s not exactly convincing coming from someone who looks like a sopping wet cat. We’re going home no buts, you hear me?” Jason hesitated, torn between his discomfort and not wanting to burden Y/N. He knew her situation wasn’t much different from his own, and he couldn’t keep taking advantage of her kindness. “I-I’ll be okay. I don’t need your help.” he insisted but a dizzy spell from his raging fever hit him just as he spoke. Y/N caught him quickly, her expression leaving no room for argument. She crouched down, motioning for him to get on her back. “Get on. I’ll take you home,” she said. Jason complied without resistance. “I’m heavy you know,” he remarked. Y/N blew out a laugh as she stood back up. “And I’m stronger than I look you know.”

She draped her raincoat over both of them and carried him home, her steps steady despite the added weight. She could feel Jason’s fever rising, she kept talking to him trying to keep him awake despite his half-slurred responses in his fever-induced haze.

Much to her relief, it was Y/N’s mom that answered the door. “Is that Jason?” Her mom asked and Y/N nodded, gently placing him on the couch and explaining the situation. Her mother's gaze darted between her daughter and the boy; her expression filled with concern. “Y/N you can’t keep doing this.”

“Mom please he’s just a boy —”

“He is not your responsibility. He has his parents for that. You need to learn to be more selfish, this is the Narrows not the diamond district. If your father finds him —”

“He won’t.” Y/N answered in a clipped voice. Jason couldn’t help but feel guilty, it was clear that her mother wasn’t going to help, and he understood why. Both of them knew that all too well that Y/N was too kind for her good and insisted on helping despite the fact that they themselves were barely getting by. Despite his state, he could feel the tension in the air. He felt like an intruder, burdening Y/N and her family with his problems.

“The bathroom’s over there. Go change,” Y/N instructed, her voice firm but not unkind. She set a clean set of clothes down beside Jason and draped a towel over his shoulders. Her movements were practical, efficient, but there was a softness in the way she cared for him that didn’t go unnoticed. Y/N’s mother stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed as she watched Y/N heat up a glass of milk on the stove. Her expression was a mix of frustration and concern.

“What’s with this kid, anyway?” her mother remarked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Feeding a stray cat or dog every now and then is one thing, but this… this is too much. We can’t afford this.”

Y/N’s hands stilled for a moment, her grip tightening on the glass. She took a deep breath before turning to face her mother, her eyes steady but filled with emotion. “Then what do you want me to do, Mom? Send him back to his abusive father and just let him—” Her voice faltered, catching in her throat as the weight of her words hit her. She paused, swallowing hard before continuing, her voice quieter but no less determined. “I can’t do much about my own life, but at least I can help him.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “So is that what this is? Pity?” she questioned, her tone sharp and probing.

“Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me,” Y/N said, brushing past her mother with a tray in hand. She set it down on the bedside table next to Jason, who sat hunched under a blanket, his face pale and drawn. She poured a dose of medicine onto a spoon and held it out to him, but he turned his head away, his expression clouded with hurt. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Y/N lowered the spoon, exhaling slowly as she felt the weight of his words settle in her chest. Her heart ached, realizing that her intentions might not be coming across the way she had hoped. “It’s not pity, Jase,” she said gently, setting the spoon aside. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, searching for the right words. She knew the sting of being pitied all too well, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel that way.

“I hate the Narrows,” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “Every single inch of it.” Jason stayed silent, his eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to go on. “You heard what my mom said, and I get it—she means well. But I refuse to be selfish. I just can’t. Because everyone here is. The adults? They only care about themselves. So it’s up to us—the kids—to look out for each other, you know?”

Jason nodded slowly, his guarded expression easing slightly as he listened. Y/N felt a flicker of relief, grateful that he seemed willing to hear her out.

“It’s like… we’re all we’ve got,” she continued, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “Everyone expects us to turn out just like them—selfish, bitter, and broken. And if I give in to that, if I stop caring, then how am I any different from the people I can’t stand? So no, Jason, this isn’t pity. I’m doing this for you, but I’m also doing it for me. I won’t let myself get trapped in this cycle. I’m going to break out of here—someday.”

Jason studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “So you’re being nice out of spite?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile faintly at his question. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But mostly, I’m being nice because it’s the right thing to do. And because I don’t want to become someone I hate.” She paused, her gaze steady on his. “You don’t have to trust me, Jase. But I’m not going to stop trying to help you. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because I think you’re worth it.” Y/N booped Jason’s nose making lips curve into a half-smile. “You’re very weird. But ... in a good way.” His response made her own smile grow wider. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, be a good sport and take your medicine.”

Jason’s face scrunched up in distaste as he eyed the spoonful of medicine in her hand. “But that’s too bitter. I don’t like medicine,” he complained, his bottom lip forming an adorable pout. Y/N rolled her eyes before sighing softly, “ Well who does. You know what? Fine, lemme cut you a deal. You eat this and I’ll read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?” The boy contemplated the offer for a moment before opening his mouth reluctantly, his expression shifting from defiance to resignation. Y/N didn’t spare a moment before feeding the medicine, his face contorted into a grimace but swallowed it down, nonetheless. Handing him a glass of warm milk, she added,” I added extra sugar in this. This should help.”

Jason accepted the glass of milk with a grateful nod, a welcome relief from the bitterness of the medicine. He took a sip, savoring the comforting warmth spreading through him.

“Thanks Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the rim of the glass. Y/N smiled warmly at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You're welcome, Jase. Just remember, sometimes we have to do things we don't like for our own good,” she reminded him gently.

The boy scooted closer to her, resting his head against her shoulder as he continued sipping the glass of milk she had given him. Y/N had always been there for Jason, she was the one person who would always make all his problems disappear into oblivion. Her presence was a sanctuary from the Narrows’ harsh realities, a dream he never wished to wake up from. It was probably the only time in life he felt entirely safe and loved. “Now let’s get on with that bedtime story. Yeah?” she suggested.

Jason nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he lied down on the bed, pulling the blanket closer to him. “Well, I don’t have a lot of kids’ storybooks lying around but I can read to you this one of my current favorites.” Jason didn’t mind, in all honestly considering his fever, he doubted he’d retain much of the story anyway, it was the soothing cadence of her voice that he craved. “What’s it called?” He asked.

“Pride and Prejudice. It’s by Jane Austen”

Jason's mouth formed an 'o' shape, unfamiliar with the title. Y/N hadn't expected him to recognize it either. Literacy rates in the Narrows were less than ideal and she didn't know anyone who willingly picked up a book, let alone a classic.

Despite his lack of familiarity with the title and the plot, he listened intently as Y/N began to read. Though some of the nuances of the story may have been lost on him, regardless he relished the opportunity to escape into this world that Y/N liked so much. He observed the small smile that graced her face when she mentioned a particular character. “Y/N?” he called out. Y/N tore her gaze from the book and met his eyes with a hum of acknowledgment. “Hmm?”

“Do you like this Mr. Darcy?”

Y/N’s expression turned pensive as she considered Jason’s question. “Well, Mr. Darcy is a complex character,” she began, her voice reflecting her fondness for the literary figure. “He may seem kind of a jerk at first, but as the story unfolds, you'll see there's more to him than meets the eye.”

Jason felt intrigued by Y/N's insights. He could sense her genuine affection for the character. He knew that Y/N didn't have a boyfriend so often he couldn't help but wonder about her preferences in men. “— I just find his character development fascinating. And of course, there's the fact that he’s rich. Like really really rich.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “You like rich men?”

“I mean, who doesn't love financial security?” she replied with a shrug before continuing, “ I have two game plans for the future — either become rich myself or marry into wealth.”

The boy nodded, processing her words thoughtfully. “But aren't most rich men sleazeballs?” he interjected, curious about her perspective. “Well then, I guess I'll have to find someone who's at least agreeable. And when I say rich, I mean like —” she trailed off, searching for the right words considering how redundant of a topic this was for discussion with an elementary schooler.

“Mr. Darcy rich?” Jason guessed, eliciting a hearty laugh from Y/N.

“That's what I want. A huge penthouse at the top of a hotel, wearing luxurious clothes every day, receiving pretty flowers and indulging in gourmet delicacies like that wooden board thingy with different types of cheese, bread and grapes,” Y/N added, propping her hand against her chin and sighing dreamily. “Dunno what it's called but l've seen it in a magazine,” Jason remarked. He couldn't help but smile at her response, struck by her clear vision of the ideal lifestyle.

Y/N closed the book with a soft thud, placing it on the bedside table to signal the end of their reading session. “But that’s a conversation for another time. It’s late, and you should get some rest,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

Jason, who had been ready to protest, hesitated at the quiet authority in her voice. Recognizing there was no point in arguing, he gave in with a slow nod. He tugged the blankets tighter around himself, shifting to the other side of the bed as he prepared to settle in for the night.

As Y/N reached the door, Jason’s voice stopped her. “Y/N, wait—just one more thing.” She turned back to see his face peeking out from the cocoon of blankets, his expression curious. “Yes?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.

Jason hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before finally asking, “If a guy is rich, nice, and good-looking… would you marry him?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, a warm, genuine smile spreading across her face. “Go to sleep, Jason,” she said, shaking her head as she stepped out of the room. Her laughter lingered in the air behind her, leaving the question unanswered. Little did Jason know, as he lay there in the quiet of the night, that her response—or lack thereof—had sparked something in him. That night, he found his aspirations for the future, though he couldn’t quite put them into words just yet.

Jason Todd was no stranger to waking up in excruciating pain after a particularly grueling mission. This time was no different. As consciousness slowly returned, agony was the first thing he registered, sharp and unrelenting. The last thing he could recall was Y/N bent over him, carefully operating to remove a bullet, and the searing pain of her incisions cutting through his flesh. He guessed he must have triggered vasovagal syncope—a reflex that causes blood pressure and heart rate to plummet, leading to fainting as the body’s way of shielding itself from overwhelming stress or pain.

A small part of him felt almost insulted by it. He’d been trained to endure, to stay conscious through the worst of it. But maybe the endless sleepless nights, the relentless pursuit of his target, had finally taken their toll. Jason had left Gotham months ago with one goal: to dismantle Black Mask’s overseas drug operations. Base after base, lead after lead, he’d chased the trail for six exhausting months, only to end up back on the outskirts of Gotham.

Black Mask and his men had set a trap, one that caught Jason and his team off guard until it was almost too late. They’d used civilians as bait, forcing Jason into a corner. In the chaos, he’d managed to take down two of Black Mask’s top generals, but not without cost. A bullet had found its mark, leaving him wounded and vulnerable in the crossfire.

His eyes struggled to get into focus, blinking several times as he continued looking at the ceiling, it was a familiar one. The one at the outlaws’ base. He exhaled softly, his throat dry and aching, due to the lack of a much-needed drink. Regardless that was nothing compared to the pain coursing through his body, the sources varied, spreading like fire to his nerves. As the initial wave of pain subsided, he became more aware of his surroundings, he felt a weight on his leg. He turned his head and saw her.

Y/N L/N, in all her quiet grace, was asleep with her cheek resting gently against his thigh. Her hair, tied into a loose bun earlier, had partially come undone, strands falling softly around her face. She looked as beautiful as ever, though the faint dark circles under her eyes hinted at the sleepless nights she’d endured lately. Yet, despite the fatigue, her expression was serene, almost ethereal, radiating a sweetness that reminded Jason of something divine—like an angel, if he believed in such things. It struck him that this was the first time he’d ever seen her sleep like this, so peaceful and unguarded.

Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light so as not to disturb her. He froze when she stirred slightly, but instead of waking, she nuzzled closer to his hand, her face softening further in her sleep. At that moment, Jason felt something shift inside him, a warmth spreading through his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if his heart had melted into something unrecognizable, something tender and fragile.

Jason had long since turned his back on religion. Given the life he’d lived and the things he’d done, he was certain there was a special place in hell reserved just for him. He’d never given much thought to angels or divinity, convinced he’d never know what they truly looked like. But in that moment, as he watched Y/N sleep, he felt as though he was staring at something sacred. She embodied the purity and grace of every scripture, every gospel, every story of goodness he’d ever heard. And for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something akin to hope—or maybe even redemption.

She stirred awake slowly, the sensation of a calloused hand brushing lightly against her cheek and neck pulling her from sleep. “Red?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. The sound of her voice caught Jason off guard, his breath hitching as it pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the quiet reality they shared.

“Mornin’, doll,” he greeted softly, his voice rough and scratchy but warm. She hummed in response, instinctively leaning into his touch, her face nuzzling closer to his hand. Just as she was about to drift back into sleep, the memories of everything that had happened rushed back to her, jolting her fully awake. Y/N sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with alarm, and without thinking, she threw her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her chest rose and fell with quiet sobs, the relief she’d been holding back finally spilling over.

Jason understood that witnessing someone close suffer a severe injury like his could be profoundly unsettling for someone not accustomed to such dangers. Though taken aback, he returned her embrace, caressing her hair with a tenderness he didn't realize he possessed.

As Y/N held onto him tightly, he felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. The pain throbbing through his body long forgotten as he continued holding her close to him. Her presence was all comfort he needed. Jason was a man of many talents unfortunately comforting people wasn’t one of them, at least so he thought. “Shh it's okay, sweetheart. I’m okay. I swear,” he murmured, rubbing small circles on her back soothingly.

Y/N sniffled against his chest, her tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. She slowly pulled away, “I was so scared.” He brushed a stray tear from the corner of her eye, his touch filled with unspoken promises and reassurance. Jason’s heart ached at the sight of Y/N’s tear-stained face, his own emotions mirroring hers. Despite his usual stoicism, he found himself struggling to find the right words to comfort her in this moment of vulnerability.

“I know angel,” he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. “‘m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” Yet despite her initial relief, her eyes betraying the lingering distress. He knew the storm of emotions was far from over. “Red we need to talk,” the tone of her voice spoke volumes of the impending conversation they would have about his recklessness.

Jason's heart sank at the seriousness in Y/N's tone. He knew that if he wasn’t careful with this, it could drive a rift between them and scare her off for good, something that he considered an absolute non-option. Nodding solemnly, he met her gaze,“I know,” he replied quietly. “Let's talk.”

As they settled into a tense silence, Jason braced himself for the worst. “Red, I don't think I can keep doing this. You should really hire someone more qualified as your doctor,” Y/N continued, her words filled with concern. Despite her relief at seeing him alright, she was painfully aware of the potential dangers of their situation. The possibility of a misstep, such as making an incision in the wrong place or nicking an artery, weighed heavily on her conscious. Jason felt a knot tighten in his stomach at her almost palpable distress, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for putting her in such a precarious position. “Please don't put your life in my hands like that again. I- I don't think I can take it.” Her bottom lip quivered with emotion and her eyes grew glossier.

Reaching out, he gently cupped her face with his hand. “You won't have to do something like that again,” he vowed earnestly. There was a pause after his words where neither of them knew what to say. “But I can still crash at your place, yeah?” he added playfully with a hint of hope.

Y/N's serious expression broke into a smile, “Of course.”

Their moment was interrupted by a cough, and they turned to see Roy leaning against the door with a smirk. “As much as I hate interrupting your canoodling sesh, l gotta borrow Hood for a moment. Do you mind Y/ N?”

Y/N pulled away from Jason's touch with a jerk before hastily getting up and leaving the room, her cheeks flushed with furious blush of embarrassment. “Cute,” Roy's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he watched her walk out, then turned back to Jason, who was not amused in the slightest.

Jason shot Roy a stern look, his irritation evident. “What?” he said, his tone clipped. Roy Harper had been his ride or die for a very long time now, mostly because his plans were often high-risk high return and to be conducted by higher trained individuals with dubious moral compasses - two of them being himself and Roy. And one could say Jason trusted him with his life and had done so many times. But as of now asphyxiation seemed like a very tempting plan.

Despite wearing his trademark helmet, Jason’s sharp scowl didn’t escape Roy’s notice, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he sat down on the bed with barely concealed mirth and curiosity in eyes, like that of a schoolgirl talking gossip with her girlfriends. “Y’know Jaybird I’m kinda sad. You got a girlfriend and such a hot one at that and didn’t tell me? And here I thought we pinkie promised to tell each other our secrets when we braided each other’s hair and painted our nails at Lian and the outlaws’ slumber party.” he teased with faux sadness.

Jason rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile despite himself. Roy always had a way of lightening the mood. “Just forget it,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “Y/N’s not my girlfriend. Not yet, at least,” he began, unsure of how to approach the topic. Roy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying Jason’s attempt to downplay the situation. “Uh-huh sure whatever you say buddy,” he remarked, his playful demeanor unwavering.

“You were out for a like two days, so I took the liberty to make my acquaintance with our lovely Y/N. I already know how you folks met and all. So, I’ll start asking the real questions. What’s the plan ? ” Roy asked vaguely.

“What are you talking about?” Jason replied, playing dumb. Roy leaned in closer, his usual playful grin replaced by a more serious expression. “Come on, Jay. You and I both know you don’t actually need a doctor. We’ve stitched ourselves up plenty of times, and if it’s really bad, there’s always Alfred. So, there’s only one reason you’re keeping her around. You want an excuse to keep her close without her figuring out what you’re really up to.” Jason’s carefully constructed facade didn’t last long under Roy’s sharp observation, and it wasn’t long before the truth began to show through.

“Do you think I’m agreeable?” He asked. Roy’s brows furrowed in confusion at the odd question, but he decided to play along, “Uh yeah, I guess? What’s that gotta do with this?” Jason shook his head dismissively, waving off his question. He slumped back against the headboard and sighed heavily, wincing slightly from the pain of his injury. “Look let’s just say it’s easier for me to get her to accept gifts and stuff if she thinks she saved my life. And well she did.”

Roy's confusion deepened as he tried to make sense of Jason's words. “That bullet wound wouldn't have killed you,” he pointed out, stating the obvious.

“No. But abuse would have. Starvation would have. Disease would have. Neglect would have. The Narrows would have. She didn't let it. She saved me and continued to save me again and again. For years.” Jason's response was solemn. His voice softened to a whisper as he reminisced what were probably the only good memories of his childhood.

Roy’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “You two have history,” he stated, not bothering to wait for Jason’s confirmation before diving into his next question. “So, what is this? Some kind of childhood sweethearts thing?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words to explain without making it sound awkward. Roy, meanwhile, held up his hand, counting on his fingers as if doing some quick math, his face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, she’s older than you, right? How does that even work?”

“Uh well. It is childhood love, just one sided and —“ Jason began, but Roy cut him off with a scandalized gasp. “Ain't no way dude ! So that's why you asked me and Kory to make sure she doesn't find out your identity. You know she'd never let you hit it if she knew you were the same snotty-nosed brat she babysat or some shit.”

Jason shot him a glare, his scowl deepening at Roy’s crude phrasing. “I’m not just ‘trying to hit it,’ Roy. I’m in love with her,” he snapped, though deep down, he knew his best friend wasn’t entirely wrong—even if he didn’t appreciate the bluntness of the delivery.

For a moment, he was speechless. In all the years he’d known Jason, love had never seemed to be a priority. Jason was always more focused on his missions, his goals, his vendettas—matters of the heart rarely, if ever, made the list. Seeing him so openly and sincerely lovesick was unexpected, to say the least.

“Dang, Jay,” Roy finally said, his tone a mix of disbelief and pride. “I always knew you’d get there someday. But man, I should’ve seen this coming. You’re absolutely down bad for her.”

Jason’s scowl deepened at Roy’s teasing, his irritation flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, his voice defensive.

“I mean, I had my suspicions ever since I heard you getting all… worked up to the sound of some girl telling you about her day. Y’know, like a few months back?” Roy said, his grin widening.

Jason’s eyes narrowed in surprise. “How did you—” he started, but Roy cut him off with a casual shrug. “You forgot to mute the comms,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry. Kory was asleep and didn’t have her comms in. She didn’t hear a thing.”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “So you’re telling me you didn’t have the decency to, I don’t know, not eavesdrop on a private moment?” he retorted, his annoyance clear.

Roy shrugged again, his expression still unapologetic. “Hey, it’s not like I was trying to snoop,” he insisted, though his tone lacked any real remorse. “I was just about to crash when I heard this cheerful voice coming through the comms, and, well… I ended up hearing the whole thing. Total accident, I swear.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, his skepticism obvious. “Sure, Roy,” he said dryly, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because accidentally overhearing something like that is totally normal.”

Roy raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, maybe I should’ve given you some privacy,” he admitted, though his tone was far from sincere. “But come on, Jay. If it had been a mutual thing, I would’ve backed off immediately. No questions asked—that’s private and all. But it was just you, so I figured, hey, that’s fair game.”

Jason let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head at Roy’s weak justification. “Fair game? Seriously?” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your—” He gestured vaguely toward Roy’s body, his words trailing off. “And let’s not forget, you didn’t give a rat's ass about privacy when you were fucking that model girl five feet away from me and Starfire at the iceberg lounge.”

He winced as the memory resurfaced but, in his defense, she was undeniably attractive and he had been as intoxicated as his metabolism allowed him to be. He reasoned with himself that it was simply a momentary lapse in judgment, a product of the stress and frustration from the mission. “Anyways 'nuff about that. Let's talk about Y/N.” Much to Jason's relief, Roy dismissed the topic eager to shift the conversation back to the original topic. “You're serious about her, yeah ?”

“Absolutely,” Jason replied without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. Despite the complications of their situation, his commitment to her was unwavering.

Roy leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. “So, what do you plan to do when she finds out the truth?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

The question gave Jason pause, forcing him to confront the reality he’d been carefully avoiding. He hesitated, his mind racing as he weighed his words. “Well, I—” he began, swallowing hard as a hint of vulnerability crept into his voice. “I’m hoping to build our relationship enough that we can work through it when the time comes.”

“So, no plan?” Roy pressed, his tone skeptical as he sought a clearer answer.

Jason’s gaze faltered for a moment, his confidence wavering. “I mean, I haven’t mapped out all the details yet,” he admitted, “but I’ve thought about it. I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Like securing yourself as her sugar daddy so she’ll be too attached to let you go?” Roy quipped, rolling his eyes as he remembered how Jason had been mysteriously draining their funds lately. But then it hit him—when he’d spoken to Y/N, she hadn’t mentioned anything about receiving gifts or money from Jason.

“Well, yes and no,” Jason admitted, his tone a mix of defensiveness and honesty. “I’ve been sending her three grand every month, and I’ve been keeping an eye on her bank account. But she hasn’t spent a single cent of it. The only money she’s used is what she won from our video game bets.”

Roy raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Huh, so she’s not after the money. That’s cool,” he said casually. Jason shot him a sharp glare, and Roy quickly cleared his throat, backtracking. “I mean, not that I ever thought she was. But if she’s not spending your money, that could mean one of three things: one, she’s just a natural saver; two, she’s saving up for something big and specific, like a one-way ticket out of Gotham; or three, she’s planning to give it all back to you.”

Jason scoffed, his voice carrying a subtle but unmistakable edge of possessiveness.

Roy’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the tone. “Let her what? Return the money or leave?” he asked, his concern growing as he recognized something familiar in Jason’s voice—a determination he’d heard before, but this time, it lacked the usual rage and vengeance. Instead, there was a darker, more intense undercurrent.

“Both,” Jason stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Roy’s unease deepened at Jason’s unwavering declaration. The gravity of the situation was starting to sink in, and a sense of dread crept over him. Please don’t let it be what I think it is, he silently prayed to whatever gods might be listening. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and spoke up. “Jason, I need to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Jason replied, his expression unreadable.

“What if she rejects you?” Roy asked cautiously, his tone measured as he braced himself for Jason’s reaction. The air between them grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. Jason fell silent, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question. After a moment, he replied, “Well, I’ve got a secure penthouse. It’s furnished with everything she likes.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening as he processed Jason’s words. He pressed his lips together, rubbing his forehead as a knot of unease tightened in his chest. “Is that why you’ve been blowing through all that money? To set up some kind of gilded dollhouse to keep her in, just in case she tries to leave you?”

Jason’s demeanor shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “It’s not like that,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. Roy’s skepticism didn’t waver, his gaze sharp and probing as he stared Jason down.

“I asked you what you’d do if Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with you, and your first thought is kidnapping her? Jason, this isn’t how any of this works!” Roy’s voice rose in disbelief, his worry spilling over before he caught himself. He glanced toward the living room, where Kory and Y/N were, and quickly lowered his tone, realizing the risk of being overheard. The depth of Jason’s attachment to Y/N was becoming alarmingly clear, and it left Roy deeply unsettled.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he met Roy’s gaze. “You’re making it sound worse than it is,” he said, his voice low and defensive. “It’s not about trapping her. It’s about making sure she’s safe, that she has everything she needs. If she doesn’t want me… fine. But I’m not going to let her walk away without knowing she’s taken care of.”

Roy shook his head, his frustration evident. “Jason, you’re not hearing yourself. This isn’t about taking care of her—it’s about control. You’re so scared of losing her that you’re planning for the worst-case scenario instead of just… I don’t know, talking to her. Being honest. Letting her decide what she wants.”

Jason looked away, his shoulders tense. “You don’t understand. It’s not like I want to do it. It’s just a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose her, Roy. Not again.”

Roy let out a frustrated scoff, his words sharp and cutting. “You Bats and your goddamn contingencies! Listen, Jay, Y/N is a civilian—and a really good person. You don’t pull this kind of crap with people like her. Or with anyone, for that matter.” His disapproval was clear, his voice firm as he laid into Jason.

“At least she’s not a villain,” Jason shot back, his exasperation bubbling over as he tried to justify himself.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed a finger at Jason in warning. “Don’t bring the mother of my child into this,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He dropped his hand and let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Roy knew all too well how stubborn Jason could be, and arguing with him often felt like talking to a brick wall. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up. “Look, if you want to win her over, start with flowers and dinners, y’know—green flag stuff,” Roy suggested, his tone softening as he tried to steer Jason toward a better approach. “The way to a woman’s heart is through genuine, romantic gestures—not through some creepy forced captivity. You read romance novels, for crying out loud. You should know this!”

“Like I said, it’s just a worst-case scenario. And yes, dinners and flowers are exactly how I plan to start,” Jason replied, his arms crossed as he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something to a child.

Roy nodded, feeling a small measure of relief at Jason’s reassurance. “Good,” he said, his tone easing slightly. “I’ll help however I can. Just don’t let those ‘worst-case scenarios’ of yours mess with your head.”

Jason gave a slight nod and hummed in acknowledgment. The two fell into a brief silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Roy understood the complexity of the situation—he couldn’t risk the safety of a civilian, and he certainly couldn’t let his best friend make a choice he’d come to regret, especially with Batman always watching closely in the background.

Despite being father and son, Batman and Red Hood’s relationship was anything but smooth. Their differing approaches to crime-fighting and their clashing ideologies often put them at odds. Roy frequently found himself stepping in as a safety net for Jason, especially when his best friend’s anger and thirst for vengeance threatened to spiral out of control. Roy knew what it meant to owe someone your life—Jason had saved him and his daughter, Lian, more times than he could count.

That’s why Roy was acutely aware of how Jason’s feelings for Y/N could further strain the already fragile relationship between him and Batman. Bruce had always been adamant about keeping civilians out of their world, especially when it came to personal relationships. But one thing was undeniable—Y/N brought a sense of joy and peace to Jason’s life that Roy hadn’t seen in years. After everything Jason had been through, he deserved that happiness.

Roy clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, breaking the silence. “Good talk. You should get some rest now. I’ll take Y/N home,” he announced.

Jason’s head snapped up, his expression one of surprise. “What? Why?” he asked, his voice tinged with protest. “Can’t she stay a bit longer?”

“Nope,” Roy said firmly, pointing a finger at Jason. “You’ve used up your Y/N privileges for now. She hasn’t been home or gone to work since you’ve been out. If you keep her here any longer, you’re going to get her fired.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he didn’t argue. He could see the exhaustion written all over Y/N’s face, and he didn’t want to push her any further. Without waiting for a response, Roy turned and walked out of the room. As he stepped into the living room, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Y/N and Kory were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together like old friends sharing secrets. The sound of their laughter filled the room, warm and genuine, and it brought a sense of comfort to Roy’s heart.

It wasn’t often that Kory found someone who treated her so naturally. Most civilians kept their distance, wary of her striking appearance and alien origins. Despite her boundless optimism, Kory often faced mistrust and hesitation from others. But Y/N didn’t seem to care about any of that. She treated Kory like anyone else, and it was clear they had hit it off.

“Having a good time, girls?” Roy asked, leaning casually against the couch.

Kory’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile radiant. “Conversing with Y/N has been most delightful,” she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Y/N smiled back, giving Kory’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Likewise, Kory,” she replied warmly.

“Well, hate to break up the fun, but I need to take Y/N home,” Roy announced, disrupting the cheerful mood. Kory’s smile faded slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I suppose you do,” she said with a reluctant nod. It was obvious the two had hit it off, and Roy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for cutting their conversation short.

Y/N excused herself to gather her things. “She’s nice,” Roy remarked, earning a hum of agreement from Kory. “I also approve of Jason’s choice,” she added with a small smile. When Y/N returned, ready to leave, Roy gestured toward the door. After a round of goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, they headed out of the Outlaws’ base.

The car ride was mostly quiet, though not uncomfortably so. Y/N considered asking Roy how he knew her address, since she hadn’t actually given it to him. But given his line of work, she figured it wasn’t that surprising. Still, she saw it as a chance to break the silence and decided to ask anyway. “How did you know where we’re headed?” she inquired, her tone curious.

“Hood has a file on you. I read it,” Roy replied casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Red had a file on her? The idea was intriguing, to say the least. She’d seen stuff like that in detective shows and movies, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. “What else is in there?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“The usual stuff. Date of birth, place of birth, height, weight, criminal record—or lack thereof—and a bunch of other details,” Roy explained, choosing his words carefully to avoid alarming her. He knew, of course, that the file was far more extensive than that. In reality, calling it a “file” was an understatement. Jason had dug deep into Y/N’s past, compiling an almost obsessive amount of information. Roy found it unsettling, even by his own standards. Jason had crossed into borderline stalker territory, and if it weren’t for the fact that he already had a 24/7 tracking device hanging around Y/N’s neck, Roy wouldn’t put it past him to install hidden cameras or something equally extreme. Thankfully, it seemed Jason hadn’t gone that far—yet.

Y/N decided not to press further and instead turned her attention to the passing scenery outside the window. The exhaustion from the past few days was catching up to her, and despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed. Roy glanced over at her, noticing her head resting against the window as she drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as he watched her succumb to exhaustion, her features softening in the quiet comfort of sleep.

A gentle tap on her shoulder eventually roused her. “We’re here,” Roy said, his voice low so as not to startle her. Y/N blinked awake, peering out the window to see her apartment complex. She gathered her things from the seat and reached for the door handle, ready to step out. “Y/N?” Roy called out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yeah?” she replied, turning back to face him.

“Can I get your number?” he asked, the question coming out a bit abruptly. Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the request. Sensing her hesitation, Roy quickly clarified, “No, no—not like that. I’m not hitting on you. You’re Hood’s girl, and he’d kill me if I tried. What I meant was, before Kory and I knew about you, Jason would disappear for hours, and we’d have no idea where he was. Turns out, he was with you. So, next time he pulls a vanishing act, I can just call you and check in.”

And also so I can keep tabs on you to make sure you’re not kidnapped, he thought to himself, though he wisely kept that part to himself.

Jason’s intentions toward her were far from innocent, and Roy knew it was only a matter of time before Y/N became so deeply entangled in his world that escaping would feel impossible. She was blissfully unaware of the situation she was in, and a part of Roy hoped she’d never have to find out. That would be the best outcome for everyone involved.

“Of course. You could’ve just asked earlier,” Y/N replied with a warm smile, handing him her phone. Roy quickly saved his number in her contacts. “Hood can be… unpredictable sometimes,” he added, his tone serious. “If anything ever happens, call me.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly at his words. While she trusted Hood enough to believe he wouldn’t do anything to harm her, she appreciated Roy’s concern. Living in Gotham had taught her that preparing for the worst was just part of life.

“Thank you, Roy,” she said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just so you know, Red and I aren’t dating, though I’ll admit he’s quite the catch.”

“It’s actually the opposite,” Roy muttered with a dry chuckle, his tone laced with irony. Y/N smiled, misinterpreting his comment as a compliment rather than the subtle warning he meant it to be. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, completely unaware of the underlying meaning behind his words.

Roy frowned, realizing she hadn’t picked up on his implication. “That’s not what I—” he started, but then stopped himself. “You know what? Never mind. Stay safe, Y/N,” he said with a sigh, forcing a reassuring smile to mask his unease.

With a final nod, Y/N bid Roy farewell and headed toward her apartment. As she walked away, Roy couldn’t help but think to himself, he’s the one who caught you Y/N.

As the sun began its descent, soft golden light filtered through the kitchen window, bathing Gotham in a warm, amber glow. The sky, once a mix of vibrant blues and cloudy grays, now melted into the softer hues of pink and orange, gradually deepening into the purples of twilight. Y/N stood at the kitchen counter, preparing herself a light evening snack. It had been nearly a week and a half since she last saw Red. In that time, she’d stayed in touch with both Roy and Kory, receiving regular updates on his recovery.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Y/N remembered texting Kory earlier, asking if Red could visit once he was feeling better. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon, but the idea of finally seeing him again filled her with anticipation. Quickly drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she made her way to the door, a smile spreading across her face as she imagined the familiar sight of the red helmet and leather jacket.

“Hello, Y/N,” a voice greeted as she swung the door open. But her smile faltered, and her heart sank like a stone. Standing on the threshold wasn’t the figure she’d been eagerly waiting for. Instead, it was someone from her nightmares. The excitement bubbling inside her vanished in an instant, replaced by a storm of emotions—confusion, anger, hatred, and, most of all, an overwhelming sense of dread.

Time seemed to freeze as shock and disbelief washed over her. Memories of past traumas flooded her mind, sending a cold shiver down her spine. Her eyes locked onto the metal crowbar in his hand, and the icy rage in his gaze made her heart pound with fear. She was trapped, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Where did I go wrong? she thought desperately. She had done everything to ensure he’d never find her. So how had he?

“Dad,” she muttered involuntarily, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her own voice sounded strange, distant, as if it belonged to someone else. She knew she had to act fast, her survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Despite the paralyzing fear threatening to overwhelm her, she forced herself to focus, summoning every ounce of strength and determination to find a way out of this nightmare.

With trembling hands, she took a step back and tried to slam the door shut, but he wedged the crowbar into the gap before it could close. Panic surged through her as she threw her weight against the door, pushing with all her might to force it closed. But the crowbar held firm, leaving the door stubbornly ajar.

“You ungrateful wench!” he roared from the other side, his voice dripping with venom. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

Desperation clawed at her chest as her mind raced for a way to escape. Then it hit her—the box Red had given her. The SOS pendant! Her hand flew to the delicate chain around her neck, fingers fumbling as she pressed the button repeatedly, her heart pounding in her ears. Please, let help come soon, she prayed silently, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she braced herself for what might come next.

Without a second thought, she sprinted toward the box, but before she could take more than a few steps, her father forced his way through the door. His hand shot out, grabbing her ankle and yanking her backward. She crashed to the floor with a painful thud, her face hitting the ground. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking and thrashing wildly. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to break free, but her father’s grip was ironclad. His only response was a cruel twist of her ankle, sending a sharp, searing pain through her leg and drawing a cry of agony from her lips.

Despite the blinding pain, Y/N refused to give up. Fueled by adrenaline, she swung her free leg with all her strength, aiming a fierce kick at her father’s torso. The blow landed with enough force to make him stagger back, giving her a fleeting moment to act.

Seizing the opportunity, Y/N scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting around for something—anything—to defend herself. Her hand closed around the nearest object, a hatstand, and she swung it with all her might. But her hope was short-lived. He blocked the swing with his crowbar, the impact jarring her arms, and then wrenched the hatstand from her grasp, tossing it aside. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the hair and hurled her to the floor. Her back slammed against the couch, knocking the wind out of her.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “You really thought you could run from me?” He punctuated his words with a brutal kick to her stomach, the force of it leaving her gasping for air.

“Mom’s dead because of you. Haven’t you done enough already?” Her voice trembled with raw emotion, every word heavy with years of pain and anger. After enduring so much suffering—both her own and her mother’s—at his hands, the physical pain she felt now was nothing compared to the hatred and rage burning inside her. She heard him scoff, the cold metal of the crowbar nudging her face as he leaned closer.

“Now that I think about it, you do remind me of her,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “How she used to beg me not to hurt you. To take it out on her instead of her precious little daughter. You’re just as pathetic as she was.” He sneered, his words cutting deep.

Y/N stayed silent, her mind racing. She needed to buy time, to keep him talking long enough for her to reach into the box and grab what she needed. Her heart pounded as her fingers brushed against the box Red had given her. Relief flooded through her as she pulled out the can of pepper spray, her grip steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. She aimed it at him, her expression cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, you bastard,” she spat.

The spray hit him square in the face, and he let out a howl of pain, stumbling backward as he clawed at his eyes. Curses and threats spilled from his lips, his voice a mix of rage and agony. But before she could react, he lunged at her, crowbar raised, his movements wild and uncontrolled. Y/N knew she couldn’t dodge in time. She shut her eyes tightly, raising her arms to shield her head, bracing for the blow she was sure would come.

But it never did.

The crowbar clattered to the floor with a deafening crash, followed by a piercing scream. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and there he was—Red, perched on her father’s chest, his fists raining down blow after blow. Her father, bloodied and battered, let out a sardonic laugh despite the pain. “What’s the price for playing hero?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “She offering you more than just gratitude?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Red growled, his voice low and dangerous, barely containing the fury bubbling beneath the surface. He grabbed her father’s jaw, forcing it shut with a rough grip, before delivering another punch that landed with a sickening crack. Y/N watched, a mix of shock and relief flooding her as Red continued to pummel her father, each strike precise and brutal. Blood poured from her father’s nose, pooling on the floor beneath him. With every hit, his struggles grew weaker until he was nothing more than a limp, broken figure beneath Red’s relentless assault.

In one last, desperate attempt, her father’s hand twitched toward the crowbar, his fingers brushing the metal. But before he could even lift it, Red grabbed his wrist and twisted it with a sharp, merciless snap. The sound of bone breaking echoed through the room. Something in Red seemed to shatter in that moment. Blind rage consumed him as he snatched the crowbar from the floor, his hands trembling as he stared down at the broken man beneath him. Emotions he had buried for years surged to the surface, raw and unrelenting.

“Red, stop! You’ll kill him!” Y/N cried out, rushing forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist to hold him back. She wasn’t entirely sure why she intervened. For years, she had dreamed of her father facing justice for everything he’d done, but the thought of Red staining his hands with blood for her sake was unbearable.

Red’s head turned slowly toward her, and he flinched at the sight of her tear-streaked face. Her eyes held a glimmer of something all too familiar to him—fear. A sharp pang of regret stabbed at his chest. What had he done? Was she afraid of him now? Did she hate him? This was the side of himself he had always hoped to keep hidden from her, the darkness he never wanted her to see. But in that moment, he realized he had failed. His rage had taken over, turning him into the very thing he despised.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension. Red’s mind raced, a storm of guilt, shame, and self-loathing swirling inside him. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he was still the same person she had trusted, the one who had always tried to protect her. But the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his own regret.

“Hood, I got the—” Roy’s voice cut through the apartment as he burst through the door, breathing heavily. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. Without hesitation, he knelt beside Red and gently pried the crowbar from his hands. Turning to Y/N, he quickly scanned her for injuries before tapping his comm. “Star, comm in. Rendezvous at the SOS coordinates.” Within moments, Starfire arrived, her eyes immediately locking onto Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re injured!” Kory gasped, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to her side.

“Star, help Y/N. Hood, you’re coming with me,” Roy ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. Red obeyed without protest, rising to his feet and leaving the apartment without so much as a glance back. Roy sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.

“Don’t worry about this, Y/N. We’ll handle it,” Roy assured her, gesturing toward her unconscious father sprawled on the floor. Y/N nodded slowly, the shock beginning to fade as reality set in. “Red’s going to be okay, right?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s a tough nut—bounces back from pretty much anything,” Roy replied, though his tone lacked the confidence he wished it had. Kory helped Roy lift the unconscious man, and together they carried him out. Y/N didn’t ask what they planned to do with him, and truthfully, she didn’t care.

“Where do you keep the first aid kit?” Kory asked, her voice calm and steady.

“In the bathroom cabinet,” Y/N answered. Kory nodded and quickly retrieved the kit. She guided Y/N to the couch and knelt at her feet, carefully tending to her injuries. “Fortunately, you’re not seriously hurt,” Kory remarked, her tone carrying a note of relief. As she worked, a sense of calm began to settle over the room.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful for Kory’s presence. The alien woman’s soothing demeanor and gentle hands brought a sense of comfort despite the chaos that had just unfolded. “Thank you, Kory,” Y/N said softly, a genuine smile of appreciation spreading across her face. Kory’s expression softened, her eyes lighting up with warmth at the gratitude.

“You’re very welcome,” Kory replied warmly. “Even though we’ve only just met, I’ve grown quite fond of you. Since I’ve been on a break from the Titans, I haven’t stayed in touch with many of my old friends. So, it’s nice to make new ones. We are friends, right?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

Y/N smiled warmly and reached out to take Kory’s hand. “Of course. If you’d like, we could go shopping or catch a movie sometime. You know, just girl stuff,” she suggested. Kory’s face lit up with excitement, her vibrant green eyes sparkling. “I would love nothing more,” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.

“Hey, Kory,” Y/N began after a moment, her tone shifting slightly. “Can I ask you for a favor?” Kory nodded, her attention fully on Y/N as she waited for her to continue. “Could you ask Red to come see me? It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but I just…” Y/N trailed off, struggling to put her feelings into words. Kory’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the request. Usually, after violent outbursts like the one today, Red needed time and space to calm down. But maybe Y/N was exactly what he needed right now.

“I will,” Kory assured her with a soft smile.

About half an hour after Kory left, the doorbell chimed. Y/N took a deep breath, wincing slightly as her injuries made her movements a bit slower, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was immediately greeted by a large bouquet of roses.

“Last I checked, it wasn’t my birthday,” Y/N teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Even though Red’s face was hidden behind his mask, she could almost feel him smiling back.

“Well, I couldn’t show up empty-handed, could I?” he replied with a casual shrug. “And who says you need an occasion to give a girl flowers?”

“Come on in,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Jason stepped inside, the air between them thick with awkwardness. As he set the bouquet down on a nearby table, he could feel the anxiety gnawing at him. The memory of nearly killing her father in front of her weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t shake the fear that it had changed everything between them. A part of him was terrified she’d called him here to end whatever they had.

They settled onto the couch, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Finally, Jason broke it. “How’s your ankle?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

“Oh, it’s almost healed,” Y/N replied, her tone light. “Who knew Kory could do a hot and cold compress with just an ice pack and her hands? Perks of having superpowers, I guess.”

“Roy still has burn marks from when she tried that on us the first time,” Jason recalled, a chuckle slipping out. But he stopped short when he noticed the concern on Y/N’s face.

“Oh, um, I see. Anyway, thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” Y/N said, steering the conversation in a different direction. Jason nodded, his posture relaxing slightly as he appreciated the shift in topic. “Yeah, no big deal. Thought they might brighten the place up a bit.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Y/N replied, her tone softening. Then, her eyes flicked over him, and she tilted her head curiously. “So, what’s with the suit?” Amid all the chaos earlier, she hadn’t noticed, but now she couldn’t help but see how different he looked. Gone was his usual leather-and-armor ensemble. Instead, he wore a crisp red shirt, a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, and a sleek black waistcoat. His signature biker helmet was replaced by a red and black mask that covered half his face, leaving his dark hair—with that striking white streak at the front—to fall casually over his forehead. Y/N couldn’t tell if the white streak was natural or dyed, but it only added to his magnetic presence.

There were attractive men, and then there was him. Y/N had never met someone whose aura was so intensely masculine and commanding. It was almost overwhelming to be near him. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a mafia romance novel—the kind of man who could dominate a room with just a glance. Come to think of it, she vaguely remembered hearing something on the news about him being a crime lord.

“Oh, this?” Jason started, pausing briefly before clearing his throat. “I had a… meeting. Just business stuff.” His answer was vague, but Y/N’s imagination filled in the blanks effortlessly. She could picture him lounging on a luxurious black leather sofa, a glass of whiskey in hand, while some underling groveled at his feet, begging for mercy. She hummed in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on her lips. “So, is this how your thugs get to see you every day?”

“Only the high-ranking ones or the ones in really deep shit,” Jason replied with a smirk, leaning back casually.

“A life of crime suddenly seems much more enticing,” Y/N joked, her tone light but with a hint of playful envy. Red chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, angel, not everyone gets the Y/N treatment.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she replied with a grin, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “Too much happened today. I need a drink. Can I get you anything? I have—” She opened the refrigerator, only to realize with a flush of embarrassment that her options were limited. “Water, coffee, and… oh! Tequila!” she exclaimed, pulling out a bottle with a triumphant grin and holding it up for him to see. It was cheap liquor, the kind someone of his stature probably wouldn’t even glance at, let alone drink.

“I’d drink anything you pour for me angel.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush and her stomach flutter at his words. Red wasn’t usually the flirtatious type, so she wondered if his comment was more than just a casual remark. Maybe it was genuine. Maybe this was something worth exploring. She grabbed two shot glasses and set them on the table.

“You get started. I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile before heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her expression determined. “Okay, Y/N, you can do this. You’ve been dreaming about this for months. The worst he can say is no. You’re a grown woman, and you can go after what you want. You just have to try.” Her pep talk sounded a lot like Stephanie cheering her on, even though Stephanie had always been quick to encourage her to dump her past boyfriends. And, looking back, Y/N couldn’t blame her. But this was different. He was different. Before heading back, she smoothed her clothes, reapplied her lip gloss, and spritzed on some perfume.

Feeling more confident, Y/N took another deep breath and walked back to the living room. The bottle was now a quarter empty, and her glass was filled to the brim with the golden liquid. “Took you long enough,” Jason said, his gaze fixed on her, studying her intently. Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder, picked up his shot glass, and downed it in one swift motion without hesitation.

“I didn’t know you could handle your liquor so well,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with curiosity. He was trying to draw her into conversation, maybe to distract himself from how her perfume was clouding his senses. The longer he stared at her, the more desire crept into his veins. It didn’t help that her hair fell over her shoulder, framing her face, or that he could almost feel her breath brushing against his skin. His mind began wandering to places it definitely shouldn’t. Y/N’s laugh, soft and genuine, filled the room, and Jason felt his resolve waver. It stirred emotions he’d been fighting hard to keep buried. She set the glass down and leaned back, her arm still resting casually over his shoulder, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more.

“Why don’t you find out?” she challenged playfully, her gaze locking with his. It’s now or never, she thought to herself. Y/N reached up, tracing the edge of his mask with her finger, watching as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish, angel,” he warned, leaning into her touch, trying to throw her off balance. But her reaction wasn’t what he expected.

“Well whether I finish or not depends on you. Can you make me finish ?”

That was the moment Jason’s control shattered. His attraction to her was like a moth drawn to a flame—inevitable and dangerous. His love for her, his desire for her, was a risk because he knew if he let himself go even a little, he might lose all restraint. Jason stood up, closing the distance between them until they were face to face. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. Her eyes traveled over his figure, towering over hers. He could hear a deafening heartbeat but couldn’t tell if it was hers or his own.

“All these past months, I just have the same moments playing on repeat and you— you make it so hard.” As the words stumbled out of his mouth, he felt as if each syllable was bringing him closer to the precipice of ruining whatever fragile relationship they might have had.

“So hard to what ?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but charged with intensity.

Jason swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. “So hard to keep myself from you,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “Every time I'm near you, I feel like I'm losing control. And the more I try to fight it, the stronger it gets.” The confession was a cathartic release, not done out of blinded optimism but out of raw honesty begging to be acknowledged.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Despite the mask, she could almost see the struggle in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed. She reached up, her hand gently cupping his cheek. “Maybe you don't have to fight it. Maybe I want it too,” she said, her voice soft yet still holding that lilt that so keenly resembled a siren's song reeling him closer and crumbling any walls he could’ve even thought of putting up.

Jason's plan seemed to have taken an unexpected yet much appreciated turn. From the start of his pursuit of Y/N, he had never really considered the possibility that she could be attracted to him out of her own volition, without any of his tricks or deceptions. But now he saw that this had a chance of really working out, the right way. As much as he wanted to keep her all to himself, he knew she didn't deserve to be manipulated, and he couldn't let his selfishness get the better of him.

Realization hit him like lightning. He had meticulously planned every minute detail to make their first time absolutely perfect, and he felt panic surge internally when he realized he didn't have enough time to do all of that. “Y/N, I hate to break the mood, but I need five—no, seven minutes to prepare. On the clock, I swear.”

Y/N blinked in confusion at the suddenness of the request but didn't refuse it and watched as he dashed into her room and close the door behind him. Her earlier confidence started to deflate at the awkwardness of the situation, but she couldn't help but wonder what he meant by needing “time to prepare”. It was understandable if an awkward teenager needed time to get himself together but what could a man like him possibly need to prepare for ? Left alone, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She decided to trust him, knowing that whatever he was planning, it was likely something thoughtful. Y/N wandered over to the couch and sat down, her mind replaying their conversation and the emotions that had surfaced.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Jason reappeared. He extended his hand towards her chivalrously and led her into the room. Y/N's earlier confusion melted away as she saw the effort he had put in. The bed was now adorned with luxurious silk sheets that looked incredibly expensive. A sweet scent wafted through the air, and she noticed scented candles on the side tables. “Didn't have enough time to get roses. Sorry about that,” he spoke, scratching his neck sheepishly, clearly nervous about her reaction.

“What are you talking about ? It's perfect Red ! How did you know I liked these scented candles ?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with appreciation.

“It reminds me of your perfume.”

Y/N's heart swelled at his thoughtfulness and effort. “You're really something, you know that ?” she said, stepping closer to him. Before he could reply, she leaned in and kissed him over his mask. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he relaxed into her touch as if it were second nature.

Jason's fingers found their way into her hair, tangling in the soft strands, the scene unfolding just as it had in his imagination countless times before. The kiss, despite the mask, was electric, sending shivers down his spines. Y/N could feel his breath quicken, matching her own heartbeat's rapid pace. She was amazed at how something so simple could feel so intense. His hands roamed gently over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her shirt as he gently laid her down against the silk sheets. He marveled at how perfectly she fit against him, how natural it felt to be this close to her.

The only light in the room came from the scented candles, leaving her to explore solely through touch and sound. She heard him remove his mask with a click and toss it aside, before diving into something more passionate, more intense. There was an edge to this kiss, a rougher, almost desperate need. Despite what how much he promised himself to be gentle with her - he needed it, the fiery desire to feel her in his arms, to hear her breathless gasps and little moans to feel like he was alive.

“God,” kiss, “you're,” kiss, “perfect—”

Jason's words tumbled out in a haze of desire. For years, he had longed for this moment. From the very first time he saw her, he had been captivated, convinced she was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. But over the past few months, his feelings had deepened far beyond a simple childhood infatuation. Y/N had become the center of his fantasies, leaving him restless and yearning for her touch on countless nights. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, leaving a trail of marks as he went. Her soft whimpers and moans, like sweet nectar, only fueled his eagerness.

His hands roamed her body with a delicate caution, as though she were a fragile porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest pressure. The sound of his kisses, slick and hot, deepened the flush on her skin, drawing out incoherent whines and whimpers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the intensity between them grew.

Every touch, every sound she made, was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He couldn’t get enough of her—the way her body arched toward his, the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps, the way her skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips. It was as if she had ignited something primal within him, something he could no longer control.

“Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with need. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea…”

His words trailed off as his mouth found her collarbone, nipping and kissing his way down to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She gasped, her grip tightening as she clung to him. The sound of her pleasure was like music to his ears, driving him to push further, to give her more. He wanted to hear her fall apart, to know that he was the one who had unraveled her.

Her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if she were afraid, he might disappear. “Red,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Please…” 

That single word, dripping with longing and desperation, was all the push he needed. His hands moved swiftly, pulling her tank top over her head and tossing it aside. Her shorts followed just as quickly, discarded without a second thought. The candles around them flickered, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. It wasn’t enough light for her to see clearly, but with the enhanced abilities he had gained from the Lazarus Pit, he could see every detail of her. For a moment, he paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of her beneath him—flushed, breathless, and utterly beautiful.

But the moment didn’t last long. The fire between them was too intense, too all-consuming. He joined her on the bed, his body pressing against hers as his lips found her neck once more. His kisses trailed down further and further till he was at the valley of her breasts. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

Then, unexpectedly, Jason hesitated.

“What happened?” she whispered, her voice tinged with confusion and desire. “Didn’t you say you wanted this for the longest time? Why are you stopping now?”

Jason shook his head before sliding down the straps of her bra and pressing kisses along her collarbone. The air seemed to leave his lungs entirely as he unhooked her bra, the reality of the moment hitting him hard. This was real. After years of longing, of imagining this very moment, it was finally happening. His hand cupped one breast while his mouth found the other, his touch both possessive and reverent.

“Fuc—,” she moaned and he huffed a chuckle, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt across her arms. She felt dizzy and elated at the same time as though she were standing at the edge of the world, gazing down at a kaleidoscope of colors swirling beneath her.

Y/N gasped sharply as his teeth grazed her sensitive nipple, a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure shooting through her, sending shivers down her spine and igniting a fiery heat between her legs. He took his time, his tongue swirling and sucking, leaving broad, wet strokes that spread warmth across her skin. Jason’s fingers lingered at the waistband of her underwear, teasing for a moment before slipping beneath. Her back arched instinctively as his fingers brushed against her, and she squirmed under the light pressure he applied to her clit. He traced her folds, teasing her gently before circling her throbbing clit again and again, each touch deliberate and maddening.

Before she could muster a coherent sentence, he slid a finger inside her, making her back arch. He was fascinated by how responsive she was, every touch eliciting a reaction. He curled his finger inside her, as if searching for something specific, and when her legs began to tremble and her eyes water, he knew he’d found it. A smirk tugged at his lips as he added a second finger, his movements alternating between slow and deliberate and fast and relentless, driving her closer to the edge.

It had been months since she’d been with anyone, and her body reacted intensely, as if rediscovering pleasure for the first time. As if two fingers weren’t enough, he added a third, pumping into her with a rhythm that felt almost punishing, determined to stretch her to her limit. His lips crashed into hers, swallowing her moans and cries as he quickened his pace. “ S'too much,” she managed to gasp between kisses.

Jason chuckled darkly, clearly amused. “Angel, trust me, you wouldn't be able to take me if I didn’t stretch you out first.”

Y/N’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and defiance. “Excuse me? I’m not a virgin, nor am I a prude. I’ve had boyfriends before. You’re nothing I can’t handle,” she shot back, though her words felt more like an attempt to convince herself than him. Sure, she’d had boyfriends, but none of them could even come close to Jason. She was certain he was twice her size, if not more, and the thought alone sent a thrill of anticipation—and a hint of nervousness—coursing through her.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful challenge. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, curling and stretching her in ways that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. She tried to hold back the sounds threatening to escape her lips, but it was impossible. Every touch, every movement, was designed to unravel her completely. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white as she tried to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensations.

“You’re so tight, angel,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “Even like this, you’re squeezing me so damn hard. Imagine how it’ll feel when it’s me inside you.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her, and she couldn’t help but whimper in response. Her mind was a haze of pleasure, her body trembling under his skilled touch and tears flowing freely. She wanted to fire back with a snarky remark, to prove she could keep up with his teasing, but all that came out was a breathless moan. 

“Red—” she gasped, her voice cracking as her hips instinctively rocked against his hand. “I—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice firm yet tender. “Look at me. You’re doing so well, darling. S'good for me.” She forced her eyes open, struggling to maintain his gaze. Even in the dim light, his eyes stood out vividly, glowing faintly.

“Your eyes… they’re green, like emeralds,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, grateful kiss to them, as if silently thanking her for the compliment. His free hand intertwined with hers, holding her steady as his fingers worked her with precision, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Her legs shook, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

And then, with a sharp cry, she shattered. Her body convulsed as the wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Jason didn’t let up, his fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out her orgasm until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him. 

When he finally withdrew his hand, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. Just as she thought she might have a moment to recover, Jason’s mouth descended to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Still think you can handle me, angel?” he teased, his voice low and rough with desire. Y/N groaned, her body still buzzing from the intensity of her release. She was too exhausted to argue, too overwhelmed by everything he had just put her through.

Y/N had always known Red had an appetite, but nothing could have prepared her for the way he devoured her now. His lips and tongue moved with a hunger that left her breathless, her slick coating his mouth as he feasted on her. The obscene sounds of his lips and tongue against her sent shivers through her, the heat of his spit only adding to the wet, aching pressure building inside her.

“Nghmm ,” he moaned against her, his green eyes glazed and hazy as he looked up at her, utterly lost in the taste of her. “You taste heavenly,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The bridge of his nose brushed against her swollen clit, and he took the opportunity to drag his lips across her folds, teasing her sensitive nerves until she was writhing beneath him. Her back arched off the bed, her mind spinning as she struggled to make sense of where she start and he ended. 

Her hands tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Jason’s tongue worked relentlessly, swirling around her clit before dipping lower to taste her deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough. Every flick, every suck, every groan he let out against her sent her spiraling further into ecstasy. She was a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body trembling under his relentless attention.

“Red please please —,” she choked out, her voice breaking as her hips bucked against his mouth. “I—I can’t—it’s too much—”

But he didn’t stop. If anything, he only intensified his efforts, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her in place as he devoured her like a man starved. The wet, sinful sounds of his mouth on her filled the room, mingling with her desperate moans. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her, threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, angel,” he growled, his voice low and rough, the vibrations sending shivers through her very core. “Let go. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

His words were the final push she needed. With a sharp, breathless cry, her body shuddered, her release crashing over her in a blinding, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Jason didn’t stop, his tongue working relentlessly as she rode out the intensity, her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath him. He savored every drop, drinking her in as though she were the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted, until she was left a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked up at her with a wicked grin, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction. “I think that’s plenty of warm-up before the main course,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief. “Or… do you want more?” 

Y/N’s breath hitched at his words, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. She wanted to respond, to fire back with something clever, but her mind was too foggy, her thoughts too scattered. All she could manage was a weak, pleading whimper as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with desire.

Jason let out a dark chuckle, clearly reveling in the effect he had on her. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before slowly trailing his lips upward, leaving a searing path of heat in his wake. His hands moved up her body, his touch firm yet tender, as though he were committing every curve, every inch of her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, “Completely undone, completely mine.”

His words sent a fresh wave of shivers cascading down her spine, and she instinctively arched into his touch, craving more. Despite being exhausted and oversensitive, the raw hunger in his eyes reignited a deep, primal need within her. She wanted him—every part of him.

“Not fair,” she eyes almost watered, her voice trembling.

“What’s not fair?” he asked curiously.  

“You’re still fully clothed,” she breathed, her hands weakly reaching for him. “And I… I want you. I want to touch you, to feel you—not just through fabric.”

Jason’s smirk deepened at her words, a flicker of surprise and satisfaction crossing his features. His eyes, dark and intense, glinted with a mix of amusement and raw desire as he watched her. It was almost surreal to him—the way she wanted him, the way she looked at him like he was something worth craving. He’d spent so long believing he wasn’t the kind of man someone like her could want, not in this way. And yet, here she was, her words and touch unraveling him. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d somehow died and stumbled into some kind of heaven. “Well, angel,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “if you wanted me out of these clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

Before she could respond, he leaned back, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt and waistcoat. The fabric fell to the floor with a soft thud, though Y/N could barely make out the details in the dim lighting, silently cursing the lack of visibility. “Better?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence as his fingers moved to the buckle of his belt. Y/N nodded, her throat suddenly dry. “Much,” she managed to whisper, her eyes glued to him as he finished undressing.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “you can touch me all you want.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands immediately found their way to his chest, her fingers exploring the hard planes of his muscles, tracing the ridges of his scars, and following the faint trail of hair that led down his abdomen. She marveled at the way his breath hitched when her nails lightly grazed his skin, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. It was intoxicating, knowing she could unravel him just as much as he unraveled her.

Feeling a surge of boldness, her hands trailed lower and lower until they reached the waistband of his pants. She glanced up at him, his brilliant green eyes darkening with desire, his breathing growing heavier. Her fingers dipped further, brushing against the hard outline of his arousal. Her eyes widened in surprise and curiosity.

“Is that…?” she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Jason let out a low, throaty chuckle, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah, angel,” he said, his voice rough and dripping with desire. “That’s all for you.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let her fingers curl around him, feeling the heat and hardness through the fabric of his pants. Jason’s breath hitched, his hips instinctively pressing into her touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tilting back slightly as her hand began to explore him more boldly, “You’re gonna be the death of me angel.”

She smirked, emboldened by the way he reacted to her touch. With her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she pulled down his boxers. Jason’s hands gripped the sheets tightly, his muscles tensing as she finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

Her eyes widened as she took him in, her breath catching in her throat. He was… impressive, to say the least. Her hand wrapped around him tentatively, her touch light but deliberate. Jason let out a sharp hiss, his hips jerking slightly as her fingers brushed against her tip.

“Hold on…” she withdrew her hand, her voice shaky. “Jus’ wait a minute.”

Jason froze, his eyes flashing with uncertainty.

“You… don’t want this?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with vulnerability.

You don't want me?

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, and it pained her how quickly he assumed he was undesirable. As if he could ever be anything less than everything she wanted.

“No!” she blurted out, her fingers gently hooking under his chin to make him look at her. “I just… need a second to recalibrate because… holy shit… you’re so big—”

He burst into laughter, his boyish face lighting up with joy. “That’s all? Aw, angel…” he cooed, flicking her nose playfully with his index finger. “Swear, you can be so adorable sometimes…” he teased, his voice dripping with affection.

She huffed, the tips of her ears turning red, but the tension between them had softened, replaced by a warmth that made her heart swell. Jason’s laughter was infectious, and despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier worry completely erased.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured against her mouth, his tone reassuring. “We’ll take it slow. I’ve got you, angel.”

His words eased her lingering nerves, replacing them with a warm, comforting reassurance. She took a deep breath, centering herself before gathering her courage. Her thumb brushed over the wet tip of his cock, feeling the soft, velvety skin twitch under her touch. His length curved slightly upward, and she couldn’t help but squirm at the thought of how perfectly it would hit all the right spots inside her.

“Nghh—fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained but encouraging. “Didn’t expect you to feel this good…”

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “I know something that’d feel even better,” she said, her voice low and teasing. Slowly, she dipped her head down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting her hands explore the shape of him, familiarizing herself with every inch. Her smirk widened when she felt the prominent vein pulsing beneath her touch. She ran her tongue along it, and the reaction was immediate—his head fell back, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips.

The sound sent a thrill through her, hotter and more intoxicating than anything she’d ever heard. Taking it as encouragement, she wrapped her lips around him, stretching them as wide as she could to accommodate his size. He barely fit in her mouth, and the thought of how he’d feel elsewhere made her pulse quicken. There was no way something that big would fit inside her—but the idea of trying sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Jason’s hands tangled in her hair, not pushing or forcing, but gently guiding as she took him deeper. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hips twitching slightly as he fought to keep himself still. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re—god, you’re amazing.”

She hummed softly in response, the vibration drawing another sharp moan from him. Her tongue swirled around him, exploring every inch as her lips moved up and down his length. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, the taste of him intoxicating as she lost herself in the rhythm. 

“Fuck. I’m close. Y/N, I—,” he managed, his voice breaking.

“Come for me Red.”

Jason’s grip tightened in her hair, his breath catching as her words sent him spiraling over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he fell apart, his release hitting him with such intensity that it left him trembling. Y/N stayed with him, her lips and tongue moving gently to coax out every last wave of his pleasure until he was completely spent, his body relaxing and his breaths coming in heavy, uneven gasps.

When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him, her lips glistening and her eyes dark with a satisfied gleam. Jason’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip, ensuring not a single drop of his release went to waste. He gazed down at her, his expression a mix of awe and adoration.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice still rough but laced with tenderness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, angel.” Y/N smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re not so bad yourself, Red,” she teased, her voice warm and playful.

Y/N's world suddenly tilted as Jason hooked her ankle and draped it over his shoulder, positioning himself firmly between her legs. He pressed a series of soft, lingering kisses along her calf, each one sending a shiver through her body. Her breath hitched as he aligned himself with her wet entrance, his eyes dark and intense as they met hers.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, his voice low and husky, laced with both desire and concern.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in anticipation. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I’m ready.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, his eyes never leaving hers as he gave her time to adjust. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt him stretch her, fill her completely. It was overwhelming, almost too much, but in the best way possible. A cry escaped her lips as she struggled to take all of him, her body trembling under the intensity. He had done his best to prepare her, to be as gentle as he could, but the sheer size of him was still a challenge.

“Relax, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “Stop squirming, and it’ll be easier for you, I promise.” He pressed a tender kiss to the tears streaming down her face, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d noticed it before—how her eyes tended to water when she was particularly aroused. Maybe it was the darker, more sadistic part of him that found it so captivating. He couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that, from now on, he would be the only one to see her like this—so vulnerable, so undone, so completely his.

She nodded, focusing on his voice, on the way his hands stroked her sides, grounding her. Slowly, the initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that made her toes curl. Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of him, and Jason groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.

His pace quickened as he felt her body finally begin to adjust to his size, the initial tension giving way to a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he chanted, each word a declaration, a promise, punctuated by a deep, relentless thrust that drove the air from her lungs. Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back as he rocked into her, the pleasure unfurling down her spine like a live wire, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Fuck… Red…” she gasped, her voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick, rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

In that moment, there was nothing else in her mind but him. The sound of his low, guttural groans, rough and primal, filled the room, mingling with her own desperate cries. She could see the way his brow furrowed in ecstasy, his face a portrait of raw, unbridled pleasure. His swollen lips hovered inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, yet he held back, as if savoring the tension, the anticipation. Even the dim, flickering light of the candles seemed to wrap around them, casting a warm, golden glow that cocooned them in their own private world—a world where nothing else mattered, where they were safe from the chaos and horrors that waited outside.

“You’re mine, understood?” he growled, his voice rough and commanding, cutting through the haze of pleasure that clouded her mind.

Y/N barely registered his words, let alone processed them. The onslaught of sensation was too much, too overwhelming, leaving her unable to form a coherent thought, let alone respond. Her body was a live wire, every nerve alight with pleasure, her mind blank except for the feel of him, the sound of him, the sight of him. But then, suddenly, he stopped, and the sharp sting of a light slap on her cheek brought her back to the present. Jason grabbed her face, his large hands squishing her cheeks together as he forced her to look at him, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I said,” he continued, thrusting into her again with a pace that was both punishing and exhilarating, “you’re. fucking. mine. Is that clear?”

His words were firm, demanding, and laced with a possessiveness that left no room for argument. Y/N nodded as best as she could, her breath hitching as she managed to choke out a weak, “Yes. I'm yours I promise.”

Jason’s expression softened slightly, though his movements remained relentless, each thrust driving his point home. “Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost tender growl. “Because I’m not letting you go, angel. Not now, not ever.” His words were a vow, a promise that wrapped around her as tightly as his arms did. And as he continued to move inside her, his pace unyielding, Y/N felt a strange sense of comfort in his possessiveness. It wasn’t just about control or dominance—it was about belonging. In his arms, under his touch, she felt wanted, needed, cherished in a way she never had before. The world outside might be cruel and unforgiving, but here, with him, she was safe. She was his, and he was hers, and nothing else mattered.

As the pleasure built to a crescendo, Y/N’s cries grew louder, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge. Jason’s hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly as he drove into her with increasing urgency, his own release drawing near.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Her body trembled as she came undone, a creamy layer of her release coating the base of his cock, a sight that sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Jason wasn’t far behind, his own climax hitting him with such force that it left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he rode out the waves of his release, his grip on her tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

When the intensity finally subsided, they both lay there, their bodies still intertwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Jason pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. Y/N’s body felt boneless, every muscle relaxed and humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe and affection. “Absolutely incredible.” Y/N smiled weakly, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Y’know, I regret not making you mine sooner,” Jason continued, holding her close, his arms wrapping around her like a shield.

“You know you haven’t even asked me yet,” Y/N reminded him, her voice soft but teasing.

“What is it that you want us to be, Y/N?” he asked, his tone earnest. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, as long as you’re mine. If you want a friend with benefits, a boyfriend, or even a husband—it can all be arranged. Just say the word.”

“I like the second option for now. But you know,” she said, her voice light but laced with curiosity, “for someone who’s willing to marry me, you haven’t even told me your name or shown me your face.” Her fingers trailing along his face, relying solely on touch to piece together his features. From what she could feel, he had a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. But one feature stood out more than the others—a scar. It started under his left eye, trailing down to the bridge of his nose, with a jagged curve at the center that almost formed a malformed J.

Jason hesitated, his body tensing slightly. “I will, darling. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—” He paused, his voice faltering, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. Y/N cut him off before he could finish, not wanting to make him feel worse. She hadn’t meant it as a jab to hurt him—it was more of a lighthearted tease. She knew he had his own struggles, his own reasons for keeping parts of himself hidden, and she understood that.

“I know, don’t worry,” she said softly, her hand resting on his cheek. “Take your time, Red. But I have a request.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Can you tell me the first letter of your name?” she asked. She knew he wasn’t ready to reveal his full name yet, but she hoped for something more personal than just “Red.” Jason paused, considering her request, then nodded. “Give me your palm.” She extended her hand toward him, and with his index finger, he traced the first letter of his name on her palm.

“Your name starts with a J?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s nice because it’s a cool nickname on its own. Right, Jay?”

His heart leapt at the way she said it—soft, playful, perfect. But there was also a pang of guilt. He hated that she had to settle for fragments of him, for pieces instead of the whole. Still, he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at her acceptance, at the way she made even the smallest part of him feel special.

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that left her breathless. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low, tinged with a hint of regret. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek. “And one day, I’ll give you more. I promise.”

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the late evening sky was shrouded in dark clouds, a familiar sight in Gotham. Among the gloom, the Bat Signal shone brightly, cutting through the haze like a beacon. Her chest tightened as she stared at it, a knot of worry forming in her stomach. “Does that mean you have to go?” she asked, her voice soft as she pointed toward the signal. She knew all too well the weight of his responsibilities to the city.

Jason followed her gaze, his expression softening as he looked back at her. “No,” he said firmly, his hand reaching out to gently turn her face back toward him. “I asked Star and Arsenal to cover for me tonight. Tonight, I’m not Red Hood. Tonight, I’m just yours.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over her. “Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Really,” he confirmed, his lips curving into a small, tender smile. “Tonight, I just want to spend my time with my precious girl.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tension in her chest easing as she leaned into him. For once, the city could wait. Tonight, he was hers, and that was all that mattered.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Y/N stirred awake, her hand instinctively reaching out for Jason, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Her heart sank, a pang of panic tightening her chest as she sat up, clutching the sheets to her.

He left. The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. After everything they’d shared, after the way he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, he’d just… left. Her mind raced, doubts creeping in. Had she been too much? Had he regretted it? She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in her throat.

But then, a faint aroma wafted into the room—something savory, something warm. Her nose twitched, and she froze, listening. The sound of faint clattering came from the kitchen, followed by the low hum of someone moving around. Her heart leapt, hope flickering back to life.

Before she could overthink it, the bedroom door creaked open, and there he was—Red, rather, Jay standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. On it was a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of coffee. His hair was slightly messy, and he was wearing nothing but his mask and the same pair of pants as yesterday that slung low on his hips. The sight of him, so casual and domestic, made her breath catch.

“Morning, angel,” he said, his voice soft but laced with that familiar roughness. “Thought you might be hungry.” Y/N stared at him, her emotions swirling—relief, joy, and a hint of embarrassment for jumping to conclusions. “You… you didn’t leave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head in confusion as he stepped closer, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“Leave?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “Why the hell would I leave?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You thought I’d just take off after last night?”

She looked down, her cheeks flushing. “I woke up, and you weren’t here, and I just… I thought maybe you regretted it or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. I don’t regret a damn thing. Not last night, not you, not us. I just wanted to make you breakfast. That’s all.”

Her eyes searched him, looking for any hint of doubt, but all she found was sincerity—and something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. “Really?” she asked, her voice small.

“Really,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re stuck with me, Y/N. Whether you like it or not.” A smile broke across her face, the tension in her chest melting away. “I like it,” she admitted, her voice soft but sure.

Jason reached out and patted her head, the simple gesture making her stomach flip. “Good,” he said, his tone warm but firm. “Now eat up. You spent a lot of energy yesterday. You need it.”

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she reached for the tray. “That I do. God, I’m starving. How’d you know strawberry pancakes were my favorite?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she took in the stack of fluffy pancakes topped with fresh strawberries.

Jason hesitated for a moment, his mind flashing back to a memory from years ago—back when they were kids, and she’d mentioned it in passing. But he couldn’t admit that. Not yet. Instead, he shrugged, his tone casual. “It’s the only flavor of pancake mix I’ve seen in your pantry in months of knowing you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So you’ve been snooping in my pantry, huh?”

He smirked back, leaning against the headboard. “Call it reconnaissance. Gotta know what I’m working with if I’m gonna keep you fed.”

She laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth, and took a bite of the pancakes. “Well, consider me impressed. These are amazing.”

Jason watched her eat, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. For a moment, everything felt perfect—the soft morning light, the easy banter, the way she looked at him like he’d hung the stars just for her. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Jason’s smile faded slightly as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, angel,” he began, his voice tinged with regret, “I’ve got some… business to take care of. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

Y/N looked up from her pancakes, her expression softening. “Business, huh?” she said, her tone teasing but understanding. “Let me guess—something involving a certain red helmet?”

He smirked, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. “Something like that,” he said vaguely, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead through his mask. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, though a shadow of worry flickered in her eyes. “Be careful, Jay.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady as he grabbed his jacket and helmet from the chair by the door. With one last lingering glance at her, he got dressed and slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.

The warehouse was a tomb of shadows, its high ceilings swallowed by darkness and its walls stained with the grime of decades. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and sweat, the only sound the faint drip of crimson hitting the cracked concrete floor. A single flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters across the walls.

In the center of the room, Jason stood like a wraith, his red helmet gleaming under the sickly light. The man tied to the chair in front of him was barely recognizable—his face a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, his body trembling as he struggled against the ropes that bound him. His breaths came in ragged, wet gasps, each one a desperate plea for mercy that would never come.

Jason tilted his head, the movement unnervingly mechanical, as he circled the chair like a predator sizing up its prey. The man flinched with every step, his swollen eyes darting wildly, trying to follow Jason’s movements.

“You know,” Jason began, his voice low and distorted by the helmet’s modulator, “I’ve been looking forward to this. You’ve been on my mind ever since for a long long time.” He stopped in front of the man, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. “Stealing money from your own daughter and then coming back to hurt her ? No wonder not even Black Mask wanted you as one of his petty thugs.”

The man choked out a sob, his words slurred and broken. “I-I didn’t know… I didn’t know she was yours! I swear, I didn’t know!”

Jason straightened, his laugh a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the warehouse. “Mine? Now that's one thing you've said right. She's mine and you hurt her. Even as my future father-in-law, it's not something I can let go you know. She doesn't want to see you anymore you know.” His voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and deadly. “So you should disappear.”

He reached into his belt and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the light as he turned it over in his hand. The man’s eyes widened in terror, his breathing quickening as he struggled against the ropes. “P-please… I’m sorry! I’ll never go near her again, I swear! Just let me go!”

Jason tilted his head again, the motion almost playful, but there was nothing playful about the way he stepped closer, the knife glinting in his hand. “Sorry?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “You think sorry fixes this? You think you can just say a magic word and make it all go away?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “This isn’t about forgiveness. This is about consequences.”

The man screamed as Jason brought the knife down, the blade slicing through flesh with surgical precision. Blood pooled on the floor, the metallic scent filling the air as Jason worked methodically, his movements calm and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t lose control. This wasn’t rage—it was calculation. Every cut, every slice, was a message. A reminder.

“You see,” Jason said, his voice eerily calm as he wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, “I don’t just kill people. I make sure they understand why they’re dying. And you?” He leaned in close again, his voice a whisper. “You’re dying because you thought you could hurt her and walk away. But here’s the thing about me—I don’t let things go.”

“Oh, and since you’re about to die,” Jason added, his tone almost casual, “I’ll let you know who killed you.” He pressed the back of his helmet, and it opened with a hiss, revealing his face. He looked directly at the man, the one he’d hated for so, so long.

“Do you remember who I am?” he asked, his voice cold and steady, his green eyes locking onto the man’s terrified gaze.

It was just another one of those days when Jason didn’t feel like going home. Instead, he found himself lounging in his second home—Y/N’s house—flipping through one of the library books she’d borrowed. The quiet comfort of her room was a refuge, a place where he could breathe without the weight of his own life pressing down on him.

The door creaked open, and Y/N slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. “Jase, come here,” she said, her voice low but excited, her eyes sparkling with a secret she couldn’t wait to share. Jason’s curiosity was instantly piqued, especially when he noticed the small box clutched in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, setting the book aside and sitting up.

Y/N’s smile was radiant as she opened the box, revealing a neat stack of dollar bills. “I finally saved up enough to get that pink flip phone I told you about!” she announced, her voice bubbling with pride.

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s amazing! Once you have a phone, I can call you from my mom’s!” he exclaimed, his excitement matching hers. The two of them broke into an impromptu celebratory dance, their laughter filling the room. For a moment, everything was perfect.

But the moment shattered as the front door slammed open, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. Y/N’s face fell, her joy evaporating in an instant. Her father was home.

Jason had heard enough stories to know what that meant. Y/N’s father was a cruel, useless man—a gambler, a drunk, and a bully who took his frustrations out on his wife and daughter. He didn’t contribute a dime to the household; instead, he drained what little they had. And when he was in one of his moods, no one was safe.

“Jason, get under the bed,” Y/N whispered urgently, her voice trembling. “Do not—and I mean do not—come out. Okay?” Before Jason could protest, she shoved the box of money into his hands and pushed him toward the bed. He scrambled underneath, his heart pounding as he watched Y/N’s feet shuffle nervously on the floor above him.

The door to her room burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that made Jason flinch. Y/N’s mother was clinging to her husband, her voice pleading. “I already gave you everything I have! She’s just a kid—she has nothing, I swear!”

“A kid with a job,” her father snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t know?”

There was a sickening crack as he backhanded Y/N’s mother, sending her stumbling into the room. She collapsed near Y/N, who immediately dropped to her knees beside her. “Mom!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her mother. Y/N’s father loomed over them, his face twisted with rage. “What do you want?” Y/N demanded, her voice shaking but defiant as she glared up at him, her eyes burning with hatred.

“You ungrateful brat!” he roared, his hand raised to strike again. “How dare you talk back to me?”

Under the bed, Jason clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his chest constricted with a mix of rage and helplessness. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to burst out, to shield Y/N and her mother from the monster towering over them. But he couldn’t. Not yet. All he could do was lie there, frozen, as the sounds of their suffering filled the room. Each cry, each plea, etched itself into his mind.

“You think you can hide money from me?” her father snarled, his voice booming like thunder. “Where is it? Where’s the money you’ve been saving, you little thief?”

“I don’t have any money!” Y/N shot back, her voice trembling but defiant. “I swear, I don’t!”

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room, followed by Y/N’s cry of pain. Jason’s stomach twisted, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he fought to stay silent. He could hear Y/N’s mother pleading, her voice breaking as she tried to shield her daughter.

“Please, stop! She’s just a child! Take whatever you want, just leave her alone!”

“Shut up!” her father roared, his voice dripping with venom. There was another sickening thud as he shoved Y/N’s mother aside, sending her crashing into the wall. “Both of you are useless! Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for this family? And this is how you repay me? By hiding money from me?”

Y/N’s mother continued to beg, her voice desperate and broken, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Jason heard every slap, every kick, every cruel word that followed. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could hear Y/N’s quiet sobs, the sound cutting through him like a knife, tearing at his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

“Now,” her father sneered, his voice dripping with malice, “will you give me the money, or do you want me to move onto the little brat you’re hiding under your bed?” He yanked Y/N’s head up by her hair, forcing her to look at him. Despite her pain, Y/N grabbed his ankle, her voice trembling but desperate. “Please, not him. I’m begging you. I’ll give you everything. Just don’t hurt him, please.”

She crawled to the side of her bed, her movements slow and pained, and extended her hand toward Jason, who lay under the bed clutching the box of money like his life depended on it. Jason shook his head vehemently, his eyes pleading with her not to give in. He’d rather take the beatings himself than hand over the money she’d worked so hard to save. But Y/N, her face streaked with tears, whispered a broken, “Please,” and he had no choice but to relent.

She gave Jason a small, pained smile as she took the box from him and turned to her father. “That’s all I have. Take it.”

Her father snatched the box, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “About damn time,” he spat before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The house fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft cries of Y/N and her mother.

Jason waited a few moments, his ears straining for any sign that her father might return, before carefully sliding out from under the bed. Y/N was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in her hands. Her mother was beside her, gently stroking her hair, her own face streaked with tears. Jason hesitated, unsure if he should intrude, but Y/N looked up and saw him, her eyes red and swollen.

“Jase…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside her. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here.”

Y/N leaned into him, her small frame shaking as she cried. Jason wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make it better, so he just held her, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

Her mother watched them, her expression a mix of sorrow and gratitude. “Thank you, Jason,” she said quietly. “For being there for her.” Jason nodded, his jaw tightening. He didn’t trust himself to speak. All he could think about was how much he hated Y/N’s father, how much he wanted to make him pay for what he’d done. But for now, all he could do was be there for her.

As the minutes passed, Y/N’s sobs gradually quieted, and she pulled away from Jason, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jason said firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who should be sorry. Not you. Never you.”

Y/N nodded, but her gaze was distant, as if her mind had drifted somewhere far away, somewhere safer. Jason’s chest ached at the sight. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from all the pain in the world, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. After all, what could a child do against a grown man like him? The thought burned in his chest, a bitter reminder of his own helplessness.

“One day,” he said, his voice low but fierce, filled with a determination that belied his age, “I’ll grow up into a big, strong man, and I’m gonna make sure no one can ever hurt you again. I promise.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. “I know you will, Jase,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet faith that made his heart swell. “I know.”

And in that moment, Jason made a silent vow. No matter what it took, no matter how far he had to go, he would keep that promise. For her, he’d do anything. For her, he’d become someone strong enough to stand between her and the world. For her, he’d make sure she never had to cry like this again.

The man’s bloodshot eyes widened as he stared at Jason’s face. The bruises and scars couldn’t hide the boy he once knew—the boy who had cowered under the bed, powerless to stop him. “You…” he croaked, his voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re that kid… the one who Y/N used to bring home…”

Jason’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m the kid you thought you could push around. The kid you thought would never fight back.” He leaned in closer, his green eyes blazing with fury. “But guess what? I’m not a kid anymore.”

The man’s face paled, his body trembling as the realization sank in. “P-please… I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was you…”

“You didn’t know a lot of things,” Jason said, his voice icy. “But you’re about to learn one last lesson.”

The man’s screams turned to gurgles, his body slumping in the chair as blood poured from his wounds. And as the life drained from his eyes, Jason stood, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood. He looked down at the man who had caused so much pain, the man who had haunted his memories for years, and felt no remorse. Only cold detached satisfaction.

He pressed the back of his helmet, and it closed with a hiss, sealing away his face once more. “Rest in hell,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away. The warehouse fell silent, the only sound the faint drip of blood hitting the floor.

Jason had kept his promise. And he would keep it for the rest of his life. For her. Always for her.

a/n: Got sidetracked with several new projects but we made it gang (Even though it's almost a year late). So yay me and suck on that ADHD and College. Comment to be added into the tag list and I’m taking some requests for Part IV’s smut and suggestions for plot points since I'm running low on brain juice.

Tags : @thisisafish123 @ceramic-raven @millyhelp @blamedbisexual @trunkswithlonghair-blog @jasontoddthings @deans-spinster-witch @12134z03 @sophiethewitch1 @johnnysilverhandeeznuts @yasmin-oviedo @rosecentury @pierayanna @jinviktor @crybaby-21 @solarrexplosion @sahana28banana @ari-sama21 @princessbl0ss0m @fictionalwhor3 @leeleecats @lalalozer @shkosm

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : @hana-no-seiiki

Told you I’d write it and tag you in it.

And this anon

Thank you and I tried to make it worth the wait. ily </3

[sorcerersandskillusers]

One of the most heartbreaking scenes in The Dark Era is seeing Dazai trying so desperately to convince Oda to live. Seeing Dazai clutching at straws, repeating back the advice he must have heard a thousand times at him, just to try and get through to Oda even though he knows already that it would never work.

And the worst part is, how through this whole scene Oda is acting just like Dazai, he has the same emptiness that Dazai normally only sees in himself. So now Dazai has to go through the impossible task of convincing HIMSELF to live, something he has been unable to do all these years.

I looked at Dazai. “There isn’t anything, Dazai. It’s all over. Everything. Whatever else happens now is meaningless—just like what I’m about to do. Am I wrong?” “Odasaku…,” Dazai said softly. “Forgive me for the absurd wording, but—don’t go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. There’s gotta be something…

And then him telling Oda why he joined the mafia, even though it was clearly something he never wanted to tell anyone, in the vague hope that it just might convince Oda to stop.

Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia?” I stared at him. We had known each other for a long time, but he’d never even attempted to talk about that. “I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that…” Dazai paused before continuing, “…I would be able to find something—a reason to live.”

But he can't do it, Oda is too far gone at this point, he lost not only the children, but his dream. He was in unimaginable grief and suffering and just wanted things to end.

I looked at him; he looked back at me. “I wanted to be a novelist,” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t deserve such a life if I killed someone during a mission. That’s why I never killed anyone. But that’s all in the past. There’s only one thing I want now.” “Odasaku!” I began to walk away. Dazai yelled out, but I didn’t turn around. Heading west, I started my journey.

Oda's listlessness is almost a perfect mirror of Dazai in the bar after Ango has betrayed them.

“I’m not sad. I knew from the very beginning,” Dazai said. His face was a blank mask now. “It didn’t matter whether you were with the Special Division for Unusual Powers. I always lose the things I don’t want to lose the most. That’s why I don’t feel anything anymore. The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That’s just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.” I stared at Dazai. We had known each other for a while, but this was the first time he’d ever opened up about himself. I could see a thorn the size of a harpoon wedged deeply into his life.

This is why I say Oda is the only character to ever truly understand Dazai, because he saw the part of Dazai that he kept most hidden from the world, he knew Dazai's unending loneliness and emptiness. And in the end, he was consumed by the very same thing. But before he died, he did what only he could do, and gave Dazai a way to escape that emptiness.