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sadesluvr · 3 days ago

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— THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

Mickey Barnes x GN!Reader 1.3k words

You watch Mickey die for the first time, he shows you he's still here. fluff/comfort (?)

There was always a certain clinginess to Mickey, it varied from version to version of him but it was always undeniably there. Perhaps clinginess wasn't the right word, longing might fit better; every Mickey longed for you. Unsurprisingly dying and being reprinted was a tireless process, one second he's plunged into the unmistakable darkness of the end and the next he's waking up in a cold room filled with the harshest fluorescents; good as new but not really, the memory of what dying felt like still engrained fresh in his mind. His attitude after reprinting would differ depending on how he had died, all deaths suck of course but after the first few some are easier to move on from than others.

This one though was tough, you had been there.

Mickey could get over dying, been there done that, but seeing your face as he died? That was something that haunted him. You both knew he'd be back of course, but it's difficult to see past that when you watch someone die before your eyes. As much as he could put on a brave face over dying, he knew you'd be struggling to put one on over watching him die. Needless to say, Mickey was longing to see you after this reprint more than he ever had before.

He knew you needed to see him too and knew exactly where he could find you. You had wandered your way to his bunk not long after the death, mind numb and running on autopilot. You knew you didn't need to mourn, he would be back in a few hours just like always, but actually watching him die rather than hearing about it made everything feel too real, it awakened a new fear within you... What if one day they didn't reprint him? The thought was distressing, one you wished you could shake but it clung to you like a thick smog blocking anything else from your mind. He enters his room quietly, eyes landing on you laying on his bed back flat against the mattress and eyes glue to the ceiling, you don't react to him coming in, only looking away once his voice fills the air.

It's soft, hesitant as if he doesn't know if he should say anything, and all he simply says is, "Y/N..." But it's enough, enough for you to know he's there, enough to make you look up.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, staying in his bed, cold expression softening and Mickey doesn't miss the way your face is puffy and eyes red, heart straining at the thought of you crying for him. And with your voice hoarse, a slight quiver to it like you don't really believe he's there, you murmur out,

".. Mickey?"

That's all it takes to get him by your side, almost stumbling with how eager he is to reach you on the bed. He crawls over you, resting his head on your chest and his long legs awkwardly tangling in yours. Instinctively your hands fall to his body, one in his hair and the other around his torso pulling him close like you'll never let go.

For a while neither of you speak the only sound in the room your overlapping breathing. It isn't awkward though, it says everything and nothing the two of you want to say. Mickey can feel your stress slowly melting off of you as you lay entwined together, your fingers curling to brush through his hair, resulting in a satisfied sigh from him that lets his walls fall down, words tumbling from his mouth.

"you shouldn't have seen that," he mutters, face buried in your chest muffling his words, "i don't want you to think of me... Dying.."

There's a pause before he says it, he doesn't want to mention the elephant in the room, and he practically spits the word out. For a second he thinks he's said the wrong thing, a flash of panic crossing him as your fingers movements pause in his hair.

"I did though." You say plainly, trying to keep your voice steady. You had accepted long ago that Mickey's job was to die, you knew that, but knowing and seeing were two entirely different things.

He finds himself at a loss for what to say, an ache forming in his chest as he longs to comfort you, everything about being an expendable was strange. It was unprecedented territory, not something he could simply pick up a life advice book on and use to fix all his worries and yours. Luckily, it's you who breaks the silence and rips Mickey from his thoughts that were starting to become existential.

"I don't regret it," you inhale deeply, the exhale shaky, "I was going to see it happen at some point, we both knew that.."

Mickey shuffles in your hold, resting his chin on your sternum to glance up at you.

"I knew you'd be back, you always are... It just.. shook me."

Your words are followed by silence, wide eyes staring up at you as they compute your words a fear flashing in them like he doesn't know what to say. Maybe, he doesn't need to say anything.

The look of his face says everything he wants to, he knows it was bound to happen but that doesn't mean he wanted it to. You both know what you're thinking too, about the uncertainty, about how one day the ship could decide there's no need for expendables anymore and just like that Mickey's gone. It's nothing holding each other can change, it's like a cut that never stops bleeding, a worry that won't go away. Your hand gives his hair one final ruffle before falling to your side and that's Mickey's sign to make a move, shuffling up to now burrow his head in the crook of your neck and let his chapped lips skim over the tender skin.

"I can hold you still." He murmurs after a while, and you can feel the smirk that pulls at his lips, his tone is cheeky despite the solemn atmosphere, and although he doesn't need to say it he still does, "to stop you shaking."

It's so stupid, and you both know you didn't mean you were shook like that... It's what makes it all the more ridiculous, but it has the effect he intended as you crack a smile, pushing his head from your neck. He's pliable, he always is to an extent but especially when freshly printed, head following your movement willingly and leaning into your hand as he doesn't even try to hide his dopey expression.

Despite the cheesy response you can't help but indulge him, pulling your hand from his face and waving it with a slight shake in front of him as if to test his promise. He lets out a boyish laugh at the action, quickly lacing his fingers with yours, driving to kiss at your knuckles. The way he glances up at you, like he's looking for approval, the look is intoxicating and it's difficult to keep a straight mind when his dark eyes watch you through those thick lashes. It's enough to make you forget your worries, at least for now.

He seems to notice some of your tension easing, beginning to trail his kisses down your arm with those stupid exaggerated wet 'muah' sounds he knows make you laugh, and when you let out a groaned 'hey!' embarrassed by his teasing he responds by giving you a peck on the lips.

It's tender then, quiet, and he rests his forehead on yours as your eyes lock together and shallow breaths fan against each other's faces. You'd never stop worrying about Mickey, it would always be like a persistent scab you can't stop picking at, and maybe he would die again tomorrow but right now he was here and most importantly he was alive.

#cute lil fic right here 👆🏽#mickey 17 #reblog

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sadesluvr · 16 days ago

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Pure psychological horror omg. Being married to him is one thing, but a baby is crazy, considering the fact I don’t even think he likes them he just wants appearances and control… That baby is gonna have issues like all his other kids fr

He’s such an underrated character and you always write so well!

Caged Bird

Carmine Falcone x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, kidnapping, mentions of murder, drugging, reproductive abuse

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers

summary: A golden cage is still just a cage.

⭑

You felt…ashamed.

It seemed like an odd thing to feel at the moment—surrounded by more men than necessary and being held onto like a wild animal—but it was all you felt. Shame. Shame that it took you so long, shame that you lied to yourself for so long, and shame that you failed to actually make it out.

You swiped your tongue between your lips as you were led back into the Falcone Mansion, the imposing building making your throat tighten as you stared up at it. To think that you’d once viewed it like the answer to all of your problems, and you shuddered to think of how trusting you’d been then. Naive, some would say. Stupid, others might correct.

You found yourself feeling grateful that at the very least, it was the middle of the night and your embarrassing plight wouldn’t bear any witnesses of consequence—only the men that served as extensions of the man himself who could hardly be considered people. It seemed like every light in the house was on, and you were proven right when you were forced past the threshold, blinking at the fast transition, your eyes taking a moment to adjust.

All that could be heard were the footsteps of your captors and yourself.

It unnerved you.

The silence of the rest of the house unnerved you.

His silence unnerved you.

When his office doors—always shut so tight—finally came into your view, only then did the reality of your night and your current predicament seem to settle in. You suddenly felt so cold and so scared and—as a coping mechanism as of late—you rested your hand on your rounded stomach. It didn’t calm you like it did before, but reminding yourself of the baby growing inside of you made you feel less alone.

It reminded you that you weren’t alone.

A solitary knock and someone was opening the doors, guiding you inside for all of three steps before you were let go and abandoned. One minute at least five men were around you and then in the blink of an eye you were left with only one. You flinched when the doors slammed shut behind you, the wood rattling just a bit before all was silent once again.

He wasn’t facing you, and that made you both angry and sad for the same reason; you weren't a threat. Not even a little bit and especially not to the point where he felt like he couldn’t turn his back on you whenever he wanted. It brought angry and hurtful tears to your eyes, and you looked away just as he shifted.

You didn’t need to look at him to know that he was taking a sip of some brown drink he liked to keep on rotation, the occasion always calling for one no matter the mood. Neither of you said anything—he nursing his drink seemingly without a care in the world while there was hardly anything you wanted to say to him. Your gaze found the floor just as he moved again, and this time you knew that he was facing you. His gaze was always so hot and oppressive and to think that you’d once mistaken it for anything less.

He stared at you, and you stared at the floor, refusing to give him what he wanted.

You should’ve known that this silent battle wouldn’t last long, and you could only close your eyes as you heard his footsteps, the echo of them sounding like gunshots in the otherwise empty room. You kept your eyes closed, wishing you were anywhere but here, and the closer he got, the more you had the urge to just…run.

…but it was too late.

His hand was on your chin—so gentle—and your head was being lifted. You stared at the back of your lids as his thumb grazed your skin, and against your will, a few tears slipped out, betraying just how scared you were. Your lips started to temple just as he shushed you, and you felt him lean in.

“Why are you crying?”

The question was simple, and under any other circumstance, it could’ve been misconstrued as caring, but nothing about his tone felt caring. The question came out like a demand, almost rhetorical, like he knew exactly why you were crying and was wondering why you’d put yourself in this predicament to begin with if you were just going to cry about it.

When you didn’t answer him, his grip tightened on your chin.

“Open your eyes and answer me,” he softly told you. “I won’t ask you again.”

Knowing how much he hated to repeat himself, you slowly did as he said.

Your shaky gaze connected with an equally strong one as you stared into the eyes of Carmine Falcone.

You had hoped that you’d never look into those eyes again, certain that if you did, it would be one of the last things you ever did. The stony expression on his face actually softened just a tad as he looked between your eyes, and you felt your heart skip a beat, quickly reminding yourself that this man could kill you and get away with it…as he’d done before.

“Why are you crying?”

The question came out much softer this time, repeating himself despite his proclamation that he wouldn’t, and it reminded you of the times he did a lot of things that he said he wouldn’t for you. It made more tears spill over, and despite how much you wanted to look away from him, you told yourself that was a very risky thing to do, right now.

“Do you think I’m going to hurt you? Is that it?”

You hesitated, and then you nodded, and your husband sighed.

He let your face go, and you reached up to brush your fingers over your jaw just as he straightened. You watched him as he stepped away from you, taking a sip from the glass in his hand as if you two were having a regular conversation on a regular night. He was half turned to you when he looked down into his drink before lifting his gaze to meet yours again.

“...and why do you think that?”

You didn’t answer him right away, and he made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve got to talk to me.”

“...because that’s what you do,” you finally answered. “You hurt people.”

Another swig of his drink.

“...but you knew that when you married me,” was his response, and you felt your face crumble.

“That was when I thought you hurt bad people.”

There was a beat of silence, and when you slowly lifted your gaze again, he was still staring at you. His expression was unreadable, but he was giving you his full attention as he lifted his hand to take a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact.

“I do,” he finally replied. “...only hurt bad people.”

He was treating you like you were stupid, and you shook your head, gaze tearful.

“Carmine…”

He turned away from you to set his drink on his desk, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as he approached you again. You swallowed when he rested his hands on your shoulders, standing so close and leaning in so much that you couldn’t help but to lean away a bit. The scent of his cologne—something that used to bring you so much comfort—made your stomach turn, and you rested your hand on your stomach again.

“You did a stupid thing tonight, a very dangerous and stupid thing…”

You reached for one of his hands, but he tightened his hold.

“Were you anyone else, were you anything less than what you are, we’d be having an entirely different conversation.”

“Carmine–.”

“You’re pregnant, and the baby and the hormones are messing with your head…”

You shook your head.

“...making you entertain all of these…silly thoughts,” he said, waving his hand around. “You’re not yourself, and that’s why I’m not angry with you.”

“No, do not do this! Do not make it seem like I’m crazy…”

“Anything could have happened to you and the baby, and I know you’d never want that.”

He finally let you go, and his office doors were open once again. You looked over your shoulder for a second before a different set of strong hands were wrapping around your wrists and your arms. You felt Carmine’s fingers on your face, and you turned to him just in time to feel his lips brush over the corner of your mouth.

“Things are going to be a bit different around here until you feel like yourself again.”

“Carmine, please.”

“Were you in your right mind, you’d never try and leave like that…”

The way he said it almost sounded like a threat, like he wanted to believe it because the alternative would produce a very different kind of night for you both.

“You would never abandon Sofia and Alberto like that, not after how much they’ve grown to love you. Never.”

He pulled away slightly, and while the use of his children’s names was meant to inspire some guilt within you, some part of you also knew he wasn’t just talking about them. It went unsaid, but the look in his eyes told you what he really wanted to say in front of all these men.

You would never abandon him like that.

“I don’t like these pills,” you heard yourself say, feeling as if you were on the outside watching yourself reach along the table to place your hand on Carmine’s.

The dark-haired man didn’t acknowledge you right away, but when he did, he sent you a smile that you were sure was meant to be comforting. He shifted his hand, taking yours into his and brushing his thumb over your skin. When he brought it up to his lips, you let out a small hum despite how almost…numb you felt.

“They’re new, and you’re just not used to it. The doctor said they’re perfectly safe and will help you regulate your emotions.”

You blinked at him, noting in the back of your mind that it was just fancy speak for keeping you compliant. You hardly felt anything most of the time these days, floating on a calm air of nothing and lacking so much energy that you were agreeable to pretty much anything. You didn’t think you liked the feeling, recalling that every time you woke up, but the doctor was always there so early, and Carmine was always close by as you were handed the pills, two sets of eyes on you as you reluctantly swallowed them each morning.

All of this was so wrong…but at the moment, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“Okay,” was your only response, and your husband kissed your hand again.

“You’re still attending Sofia’s recital with me tonight, aren’t you?”

Even if it was something you wanted to forget, it was impossible to. Even now, you could hear the little girl pressing her fingers to the keys so beautifully in another room, and you smiled.

“Of course,” you told him. “She’s been so excited for months, and I know she’d be devastated if I missed it.”

Carmine smiled at you—or what one would consider a smile from him—and it produced an unsettling feeling in your stomach.

“...and to think, you almost did.”

You slowly blinked at him, humming to yourself as he reminded you of that night. You thought about it often, telling yourself that it couldn’t be your only attempt, but then you’d wonder what would happen should you get caught again? You were currently the calmest you’d ever been in your life, not a care in the world, but you were only calm in body. The pills forced a disconnect between your brain and everything else, and while you had no energy other than anything that wasn’t a smile, your mind was still telling you that none of this was right.

“They love you so much, and I can’t even imagine how I would have gone about explaining to them that they lost another mom should anything have happened to you.”

Your husband said it so casually, with just enough concern in his voice to be believable, but something in you wondered if he’d been anticipating something happening to you out there or in here. The story was that your hormones had you all out of whack, but only he and you knew the truth, and sometimes you wondered if Carmine would have just chosen to be done with you if it weren’t for the fact that he’d chased you down to the ends of the earth to have you…and you were currently pregnant with his child.

You recalled the way you’d been dragged out of his office that night and coming face to face with a man you’d never seen before. You were entirely still as you remembered how he and Carmine talked over you and about you as if you weren’t there. Before the pills, it was a syringe that night, and you would never forget the sight of Carmine coming towards you with the ring you’d left behind just as the doctor stuck a needle in your arm.

It was a scene that sometimes haunted you, waking you up in the middle of the night. A light sheen of sweat would be clinging to your skin, and your chest would be heaving. By this time, the pills you’d been forced to take in the morning would have worn off, and you’d just be left with raw emotions. Sometimes you cried silently, sitting back against the headboard as you stared into darkness with wet cheeks, and sometimes your nightmares would wake Carmine before they’d wake you.

“Take another one,” he’d say to you after turning on the light. “The stress isn’t good for the baby.”

You’d look at him like he was the crazy one, unsure if you wanted to laugh at the irony or not. Carmine—your husband—was the source of the stress, and one could argue that would mean he wasn’t good for the baby. Even still, you’d stare down at the pills in his hand, contemplating your chances if you just knocked them out of his hand and made a run for it…but then you’d remember why you ran in the first place. You’d remember that he wasn’t just a man who hurt bad people, but the good ones too. That he hurt those who did nothing at all, nothing to him, and that one of them was very probably the wife who came before you.

With trembling hands, you’d take the pills, and you’d let him guide a glass of water to your lips.

“Good girl,” he’d murmur in your ear and sometimes you’d find yourself laying back down, erratic heartbeat finally slowing.

Other times though, you’d feel Carmine pressing his face into your hair, hand rubbing circles into your back as it took a little longer for you to calm down this time. You’d both feel and hear him deeply inhale, and you knew what was coming, unsurprised when he’d turn your face to meet his in a kiss. You were good and showing, but that never meant anything when he wanted you, and the pills would finally start to calm you a bit just as he laid you down.

He could never stop touching your stomach when he fucked you, fingers trailing over your protruding belly as he pushed his cock into you. He did it a lot even when you weren’t pregnant, and there were moments when you thought back on those days and wondered if he’d been imagining the day when you finally were. You used to think that Carmine Falcone chased you down because he wanted to be with you, but now you knew that it was because he wanted to have you.

It was wholly different.

“They know you’re mine. They’ll do as I say,” was something he often said in the beginning whenever you voiced your concerns about the family accepting you.

Those words used to make you giddy, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at that intense gaze just before he’d press his lips to yours. You’d take the words completely different from how he meant them. You’d had no idea then that he genuinely saw you as his. His property, that is. Something that belonged to him to do whatever and treat however he pleased regardless of how you felt about it.

Despite how much he told you that he’d never hurt you, he had to know that he already did.

When the baby was born, Carmine was in the room, and had you been more lucid, you would’ve been bothered by his fingers in your hair and on your face and anywhere near you. Carmine held him first, and when you finally got him into your arms, you didn’t like the way your husband pressed his lips to your forehead, keeping them there and refusing to leave your side. Under any other circumstances, it would’ve been normal, desired even, but you were not under any other circumstances.

Now that you were no longer sustaining a whole other human being in your body, the atmosphere was shifting. You didn’t imagine the uptick in security within and around the mansion nor the way Carmine was almost always just there. The first morning you refused the pils, it had almost turned into a brawl.

“I’m not pregnant anymore–!”

“You’re still dealing with significant hormone and mood changes that can and will affect how you not only interact with yourself but the baby as well,” the doctor had told you, his voice so calm that you wouldn’t even think he was bearing witness to you being held down like some Arkham patient.

You’d looked between him and Carmine with tears in your eyes, realizing that your husband came to the same conclusion you did but only much sooner. With no baby growing inside of you, now, it would be much easier for you to simply walk out of that door and never come back. It would be so much easier to abandon everything, to abandon him.

“Carmine,” you’d cried, fighting against the hands holding you down. “Carmine, please.”

Like that very first night, a needle was preferred over the pills, and you didn’t take your eyes off of Carmine once. He didn’t look the least bit bothered by the sight before him, and any shred of hope you had that some part of him saw you as more than just a prize he’d gotten his hands on was long gone.

The drugs did their job and kept you sedated, and now that you could be given a higher dosage without the worry of hurting the baby, they kept you so sedated that you couldn’t even fight back when Carmine decided it was time to trap you again. You never refused his advances, but it wasn’t like you were exactly in a position to.

You didn’t exactly want his lips on yours, but there wasn’t much you could do to refuse him. When your son was asleep and the pills had long kicked in, Carmine pinned you between his sturdy frame and the plush bed beneath you. You couldn’t tell if he was hungry for you, the desire to see you pregnant and trapped once again, or both. Maybe it was a bit of both.

He had no qualms about spending hours curving his hips into yours and grazing his teeth over your skin. It was reminiscent of how he preferred to spend the early days of your relationship and especially the early days of your marriage. Carmine was insatiable for a lot of things, but above all else, he was insatiable for power.

Once upon a time, you’d thought that was solely reserved for power in Gotham, power in the family. You’d never considered that included power over you too. It made him feel powerful to have you underneath him when you both knew you didn’t want to be. It gave him a different kind of high–one Gotham could never give him–to feel your nails dragging down his back and your legs around his waist as he filled you up in the hopes of conceiving baby number 2.

When you weren’t coming around his cock, you were nursing, and when you weren’t nursing, you were sleeping. In between, you ate, but the cycle repeated, and in those brief moments where you weren’t doped up on pills meant to suppress your every emotion and energy, you were fighting to get your mind right and decipher up from down so that you could escape this prison.

“Don’t I give you everything you could ever want?” he’d quietly asked you one day, knelt before you as you curled yourself into a corner. “Hmm?”

Your husband actually expected an answer, and you couldn’t give him one that he’d like.

“You live in such a nice house,” he gestured around. “...and a million women would kill for that ring on your finger, and you’ve got three children who think the world of you.”

Those dark shades he liked to wear were covering his eyes, and you found that the inability to look him in the eye was more unnerving than that cold stare he liked to fix you with. You sniffed, chest tight as he reached out to brush his fingers down the side of your face.

“You want to leave all this?” he eventually wondered. “You want to leave me?”

Those words had you freezing, and the more you tried to see into his eyes–read his face–it was like the harder it became. You hadn’t missed the way his voice dropped as he asked if you wanted to leave him, and the room was completely silent now as you held in your sobs. It was remarkable how fast you’d gone from miserable to terrified.

“Carmine,” you’d finally whispered. “I’m not…happy.”

You watched the dark-haired man take a deep breath, and you shuddered when he rested his hands on your arms, pulling you with him as he stood to his feet. Your shoulder was pressed against him as he walked, his arm around you, and you felt the vibration fill you as he hummed.

“I’m sure we can work something out, find a way to cheer you up,” he proposed, depositing you on the bed and kneeling before you.

His hands rested on your knees as he looked you over, and you felt a few tears escape as the pills wore off more and more.

“Maybe we can all go on a nice vacation once the baby’s big enough to travel…”

You bit your lip.

“...or is that it? Do you want another baby?”

You stared at each other, and you swallowed down what you wanted to say, completely aware that Carmine had been trying for another for months, now. He gently massaged your knees, slowly exhaling.

“We have to come up with something sweetheart, because I can guarantee you that leaving me won’t make you happy.”

The words themselves weren’t threatening, but the way he said them and the way he stared you down as he said them told you everything you needed to know. More tears spilled over without your consent.

“Do you understand?” he asked after some time.

You closed your eyes and gave him a reluctant nod.

“Tell me what you understand.”

His voice was calmer, now, and you sniffed, taking a deep breath.

��That if I leave you…” you opened your eyes. “I won’t be happy.”

Carmine reached for your face, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before standing, guiding you to lean your head against his stomach.

“...and you want to be happy, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes again, focusing on the feeling of his fingers tracing circles into your scalp. You gave a shaky nod, faintly recognizing the sound of your son waking up, desperately trying to ignore the way the touch of his father made your skin crawl.

#reblog #dark fic #carmine falcone #he’s sexy though #the batman

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