#challenge failed </3 he is a walking danger you cannot tell me he wouldn't think of the most horrifying things when it comes to darling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 1 year

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some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal.

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus.

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you.

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do.

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set.

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial.

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim.

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you.

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you.

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering.

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable.

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all.

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee.

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate.

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #n/sfw #i think my favorite thing about writing yandere jade is how brutal and remorseless he can be #it's probably because he grew up in the harsh environment of the sea #which would naturally harden anyone and make them more predatory than a prey #it's probably also why he (and floyd and azul) see nothing wrong with murder #yes it's morally wrong and very much illegal #but in the ocean it's eat or be eaten and really do you think jade is going to let some other predator snap his darling up? :)#challenge: write one yan jade thought without it spiraling into a thought about his murderous rizz #challenge failed </3 he is a walking danger you cannot tell me he wouldn't think of the most horrifying things when it comes to darling #more jade thoughts!!! consider an artist (painter/sculpter/etc) jade who is absolutely obsessed with you (the nude model from his art class)#because you're the one who has finally inspired him and broken his months-long artist's block #and also because he'd like to paint you in the most vicious red #or jade who has broken into your home and is living there in secret without you knowing #sometimes he sleeps under your bed just to hear your steady breaths #he never rearranges anything in your house but he does do the dishes or clean up messes you've made #you can never remember if or when you cleaned these things but you never think much of it #jade stands at your bedside when you sleep at night and he watches you #you'll happen to wake and you'll spot him but by the time you've scrambled to wake up and turn the lights on he'll already be gone #so you're left to wonder if he was ever there in the first place or if you were still dreaming #he is the terror that you will never see until it's too late

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years

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Fic: The Instructor chapter 2, A Rash Decision

Read on Ao3

Rating: General Audiences (this chapter!). After this one, it's going to get Explicit.

Fandom: We Can Be Heroes

Relationship: Marcus Moreno/Original Female Character (Kate)

Summary: A bad day leaves Kate open to a suggestion from Marcus.

Warnings: This part is General Audiences but it’s going to get very Explicit in the future, so be warned. Here there be cursing and also Kate checks out Marcus's ass because why wouldn't she?

Marcus is five minutes early for his appointment the following week. Kate would appreciate the effort to follow her rules if it wasn’t for the fact that she hadn’t finished up with her previous client and she could not abide being interrupted. It could be dangerous, even fatal – she is, after all, just a normal human being, whereas her clients have all sorts of superhuman powers. One wrong step, one lapse in attention, and that could be it for her, especially when working with a client like Miracle Guy.

He’s among the most powerful of the Heroics, and boy, does he know it. Blonde, blue-eyed, a wet dream for any mother-in-law, he’s also in possession of the greatest ego Kate has ever had misfortune of having to try to penetrate in order to get something of use into his thick skull. Unable to call him Miracle Guy – a true miracle would be if he bothered to listen to her at least once – she’s taken to calling him Jazz. He seems to like that, no doubt it speaks to his self-admiration to be called something cool. Kate never tells him that she puts him down in her calendar as Hugh Jazz.

The only reason this huge ass even comes to see her seems to be so that he can flirt with her. He will do his reps on the machines, smirking at her as he flexes his biceps, and show her pictures of his kid like he expects fatherhood to make her swoon. The only saving grace about Jazz is that he actually seems to be a good dad – not that Kate gives a damn, uninterested in children as she is.

She’s attacking him with a staff at the moment, a task she derives great satisfaction from. Less enjoyable is the fact that he has superhuman reflexes, so parrying her strikes is no challenge to him. It’s mostly Kate who gets a good workout because the bastard, dressed in blue sweatpants and tank top, is barely breaking a sweat.

He parries a particularly vicious blow and can’t resist giving Kate a shove. There is no real force behind it but she still jumps back into a defensive stance.

“What have I told you about counterattacks?” Kate barks, furious with him. “You cannot use your powers on someone who does not have them!”

“Sorry, Kate,” he grins, shrugging a little. “Didn’t think.”

“I suggest you try it, you might even like it” she tells him sarcastically.

”Come on, give me a real challenge!” he snickers as Kate walks over to the weapons section, puts down the staff and takes a gun from a table. She turns around and fires it at Jazz without as much as a blink. He evades the paintball pellet easily, a splash of yellow appearing on the back wall. She fires again, and again, and for each dodged pellet, Jazz closes in on her. Anticipating it, Kate fires again, and this time it’s a direct hit. Jazz grunts and stops, looking down at the bright flower of yellow smeared over his chest. He then looks up at Kate, as if he can’t believe it.

”You always move in the same patterns,” Kate explains. ”You’re predictable. I saw through that immediately and fired not where you were, but where I knew you were going to be.”

Kate’s words are clearly not appreciated: Jazz’s handsome features distort in a grimace of discontent.

”I gave you that one,” he tells Kate. ”Wanted to test you.”

”You’re not here to test me, I’m here to test you. And you failed.”

”I’m more or less bulletproof,” he shrugs, ”had you really shot me – ”

”Is that something you really want to try? Getting shot? Because let me tell you, bulletproof or not, it’s going to hurt.” Kate’s patience is wearing thin. ”You don’t know what your enemies might come at you with. Maybe bullets, maybe something else, something that’s really going to hurt even superheroes.”

The door to the locker rooms open at the far end of the gym and Kate’s attention is divided between Jazz and Marcus, who has stepped out and is surveying the situation.

”We’re not finished here!” Kate snarls to him, pointing at the door. ”Get out.”

Almost comically, Marcus back out, and Jazz chuckles when the door is closing.

”Man, golden boy Marcus is in trouble…”

”So are you,” Kate snaps back at him. ”I don’t know how many times I can tell you this, but if you don’t get over your ego and start working with me instead of against me, I don’t see any reason for me to give you my time. I’m not here to entertain you. If you can’t do the work, let’s just stop wasting each other’s time.”

”You need to loosen up, Kate.”

”You’re making it very hard for me, Jazz. Now get going. Your time’s up.”

Kate dismisses him and retires to her office for a drink of water, a frustrated sigh bursting out of her. She hates how Jazz exposes her shortcomings as a teacher. She should be able to handle his personality, but there’s just so much of it, and it’s so obnoxious.

"Snap out of it," she chides herself. "Do better next time." The mantra that she applies to almost any situation when she finds herself spiraling usually helps her to re-center her energy, but today it doesn't seem to do anything. She has some water and draws a deep breath before returning the to the gym, intent on tackling her next client better.

Marcus is by the weapons rack, eyeing the double katanas on display. He turns around when he hears her approach, and he has the decency of looking apologetic.

"Hey," he greets her before jumping straight to it. "Sorry about earlier."

"There's a light by the locker room door," Kate explains curtly. "Green, you can come in. Red, you wait."

"I saw it but it must be broken because there was no light on at all."

"Fuck," Kate sighs rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I should've known, it's been iffy for a long time. Maintenance doesn't seem to get their heads out of their asses long enough to fix it permanently."

Marcus is waiting with a mild, patient expression on his handsome features, and Kate realizes she owes him an apology.

"I'm sorry for being so brusque," she offers. Marcus smiles wryly, displaying the dimple in his cheek.

"I work with Miracle Guy every day, I know what he's like."

Unable to withstand his charms, Kate smiles back; not a polite, withdrawn smile but a real one that conveys warmth and humor. She indulges in this one comment before rearranging her features into her usual business-like neutrality.

"How's your back, Marcus?"

He blinks, a little surprised. Maybe he thought they'd be bonding over their mutual dislike of Jazz.

“The same,” he admits. "I've tried standing at my desk more."

Kate nods her encouragement. When she asks him if he’s done the yoga exercises she gave him, he looks guilty.

“Only once. It’s hard to get something done at home, I’m taking care of my daughter on my own.”

“How old is your kid?” Kate asks and sees the all-too-familiar glint in his eyes when he gets to talk about his child. She’s seen it enough times in other guys she never hit it off with.

“She’s ten.”

“Then she’s old enough not to be your excuse. She can manage for thirty minutes.” Kate doesn’t have patience for people who use their kids as crutches.

“I like being with her.” There’s a line between Marcus’s eyebrows and there’s a defensive tone in his voice.

“Then be with her, by all means” Kate shrugs. “But don’t complain to me when your back doesn’t get better. It’s a choice that you have to make.”

“I forgot you’re not the nourishing kind,” Marcus mutters, resignedly.

“Not my forte, no. How about the gym here?”

“I’ve used it a couple of times.”

“Good. Any problems with the machines?”

Marcus puts his hands on his lower back.

"No, but I still get uncomfortable here. Not pain exactly, just…"

"Tight?"

He nods.

"You need to stretch your glutes. They’re not used to your standing and the tightness radiates up towards the back."

"So if I sit, my back hurts, and if I stand… my back hurts?" Marcus quips lightly.

Kate allows for a small smile. "Life hurts. You just have to breathe through it."

"Is that what you do?" His stare is piercing through her skin. "Breathe through the pain?"

Momentarily at a loss for words, Kate stares at him. He is definitely flirting with her but not in the exasperatingly obvious and obnoxious way Jazz does: complimenting her, taking every opportunity to touch her, straight out asking her if she wants to have dinner the next night his kid is with his mom. No, Marcus is a lot more subtle about it – if one can call his innuendos subtle.

What really grinds her gears is that while she knows how inappropriate this is, she’s also ready to admit that she’s attracted to him. He has a nice body and she likes those. Moreover, he’s humble and attentive: qualities she respects and doesn’t find too often in good-looking men. It’s infuriating and exasperating that she feels this way about him.

"We have work to do," she reminds Marcus snippily and gestures towards the gym machines. As if nothing out of the ordinary was ever said, Marcus obediently walks over to the first one and Kate forces herself to focus. She doesn't need this now, she has to concentrate on her client, on Marcus, with his back as broad as a barn door, walking in front of her. His bad back, which she now has to try to fix.

She goes over the exercises with him again and checks his technique, being sparse with praise, but her irritation melts away as she gets to immerse herself in the work, focus on the tangibility of muscles, joints, limbs. She notes in passing that Marcus has a cute ass: small and flat with lean muscles. Showing him a couple of stretches for the glutes, she shamelessly grab him by the hips to adjust him into position when he himself can’t find the right alignment. Knowing it’s unprofessional, she tries her best to push away the heavy feeling of guilt.

It’s not like he hasn’t shown her any interest.

Interest that she should ignore and not act upon.

Interest that makes her suspect he likes it rough in bed.

She shouldn’t think about Marcus in terms of bed.

”How do you feel?” she inquires when the session is at an end. Marcus moves his weight from one foot to the other.

”Like I want to buy you a drink.” The answer comes quickly and naturally. She meets Marcus’s dark gaze, barely even surprised that he moves faster than expected.

”Not gonna happen,” she retorts just as easily. Marcus’s face betrays his disappointment: the corners of his mouth drop slightly and his eyes are cast down immediately. Kate almost feels bad.

”It’s not a good idea,” she says with a little more empathy. ”I work for you.”

”Technically, we work together, but okay.” He produces a weak smile. ”I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t fuck it up.”

”No, it’s fine. Let’s just forget it.”

”Sure. Thanks.”

Their eyes meet and Kate feels that surreal hot-cold tensing of the air again, like ice pushing onto her chest so it gets hard to breathe, but the air that does flow into her lungs feels searingly hot.

”Same time next week?” Marcus eventually asks casually, and the moment is gone. In a heartbeat, Kate is back to normal as if nothing happened.

”Let me check.” She goes to grab the tablet and books him in where there is an empty slot.

”Keep doing those exercises. See you in a week.”

He nods, then turns around and starts to walk towards the locker room. Kate steals one more look at his ass before turning her attention to the tablet, and her next client.

Later, after having finished with her last client of the day, Kate makes her rounds in the gym and tidies up while going through the day in her head, like she always does. It stops her from dwelling on work-related things once she’s home.

Washing off the paintball explosions on the wall, she entertains herself by thinking about how satisfying it would be to have Jazz do it. Then again, she knows what a full-time job it would be to convince him to.

Jazz. Thinking about him irks her, but it’s her problem. She needs to learn how to handle him – and it is with no small amount of pride that she realizes that she may have cracked the code today by pointing out to him that he’s predictable. She has to figure out ways to work that into her routine with him before next time, and there is no telling when that will be. He books sessions with her at his own whim, probably when he feels the lack of female attention, is Kate’s pragmatic assumption.

As she gets undressed and steps into the shower, her thoughts are drawn to Marcus. His disappointment when she turned down a drink with him was so plain to see and she finds herself regretting her answer.

She wants to have a drink with him.

It’s a bad idea in so many ways. She works for – together with – him, he has a kid, they’re both workaholics, he’s in a goddamned superhero group for christ’s sake, whoever is together with him would never cease to worry about him.

Not in active duty, though, Kate reminds herself, then exhales sharply. Not helpful.

She’s playing it safe. Just like Jazz. Complacent in her ways, assured that it is enough. And it may be enough – she is happy in her life – but now she’s bothered by the realization that she always plays it safe, always is the good girl, never treats herself.

The day’s frustrations make her reckless. She doesn’t want to be a good girl anymore. And something tells her that with Marcus Moreno, she could be anything but.

Stepping out of the shower, she wraps a towel around herself and goes to the office to fetch the tablet. Without thinking, she types an email to him.

That drink you mentioned. I might be up for it, preferably tonight if you can leave your kid with someone?

She taps Send before she can change her mind, but only after that does she realize that it’s quite late and that he has probably left for home already.

Fuck.

Drying herself off, Kate has to focus on her breathing to calm her heart that’s racing with remorse. What the hell was she thinking –

The tablet announces the arrival of a new email with a bright ping. Heart in her mouth, Kate practically throws herself over it and opens the new message.

You’re in luck, mom has my daughter. I’m still at work, wrapping up. Drinks and a bite?

“Well, fuck,” Kate breathes, exhilaration replacing anxiety.

I’m at work, too. Front gate in 30?

The reply is almost instantaneous.

See you in 30.

She bounces up and grabs the hairdryer, grateful that she always keeps a change of nicer clothes at work, and some makeup. She’s not going to make too much of an effort: jeans and a blouse will do, and nice sneakers. Just a little bit of makeup, nothing fancy.

Twenty-five minutes later she arrives at the front gate, finding Marcus there already. Having forgotten that he wears glasses outside the gym, she initially considers his familiar features hidden by the square frames but when he gives her his usual warm smile, she recognizes him. He’s wearing ass-hugging, stonewashed black jeans, a t-shirt and a half-tucked button-down. A black leather jacket crowns the look and Kate can’t stop herself from thinking that he’s a total dilf.

“Hey,” she says. “Hope you haven’t been here long?”

“Just got here. Where do you want to go?”

“There’s a nice tapas bar a couple of blocks away from here?” Kate suggests. She’s been there for lunch a couple of times and their wine list is extensive. It’s also a relaxed place that doesn’t scream romance.

“I know it,” Marcus nods and gestures towards the door. “After you.”

#my fic #we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic

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