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wholoveseggs · 21 days

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I am begging you can you please make a Damon and Elijah fic? I didn't know this ship even existed but I'm so fuckin invested in it. You can make up the story line and everything, the only thing I ask is that Elijah is the dominant one and that Elena doesn't support their relationship but they simply don't care what she thinks anymore?

Thank you thank you thank you🫶🫶🫶

Respect

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah puts Damon in his place, and demands he show him a little more than respect.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I was giggling like crazy writing this (its my fav Elijah ship) Unfortunately I didn't include Elena, but we all know she would be jealous as fuck... (of who? well... that's up to you...) ♡♡

2.9k words - Warnings: smut, this is just a alternate version of the iconic pencil scene, Elijah in his middle part menace era, dom!elijah, sub!damon, blowjobs, face-fucking, Damon being an Elijah simp...

At first, Damon just saw Elijah as the enemy, simple, straightforward, an asshole that just had to go.

He was a threat and Damon was an expert on handling threats, especially when it came to the safety of those he cared about. He wasn't afraid to throw punches, not afraid to pull out the stops and go all out.

But then things changed.

Things changed and he realized that maybe he and Elijah had more in common than he thought, the man was cunning and calculating, he could be dangerous when he needed to be, and Damon would be lying if he said that it didn't scare the hell out of him.

Elijah was a mystery that he wanted to solve, he wanted to figure out just how deep his intelligence went, how far his knowledge spanned. He was curious about him, he wanted to learn every little detail and find out what made him tick.

Damon knew what he was to woman, he would wield his good looks like a weapon, his charm was another weapon, his wit was one too.

But now he truly understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of such charisma, it was addicting, and he was hooked.

Elijah's power and dominance was something that drew him in and held him there. He wanted nothing more than to submit to him, to surrender and let him do as he pleased. It was a foreign feeling, one he wasn't exactly comfortable with… but he couldn't resist him.

The way Elijah was able to command his attention and keep it was intoxicating, his presence alone demanded respect, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were pure elegance, and Damon found himself captivated by his smooth tone, his articulation was flawless.

He was a true gentleman.

He was everything Damon was not.

So what did Damon do? He took all these new and uncomfortable feelings and did what he always did. Antagonize.

He would try his best to push Elijah's buttons, hoping for a reaction, an emotion, anything to give him a clue on what was going through his mind. But to his dismay, the man would not budge, and it just left Damon wanting more.

He knew he needed to get his attention, and Damon still was determined to protect Elena at all costs, so he decided to take it further, the more dangerous the stunt, the better.

Damon sauntered into the Lockwood mansion, his signature smirk firmly in place. Today was a simple fact finding mission. All he wanted to do was suss out Elijah's weaknesses, find out if he could be manipulated, maybe find a way to control him.

That's all. He told himself, making his way deeper into the house, looking for the original.

It wasn't long until he spotted the older vampire, who was chatting away with Carol. He watched him, noticing how his body language screamed regal and refined.

Damon didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous, this was the first time they were officially meeting. The last time Elijah ripped out the hearts of two vampires right in front of him and the time before that Damon drove a coat hanger through Elijah's heart. Not the best first impression.

He could feel his heart beat quicken, and he knew he needed to calm down, otherwise the vampire would notice. So he took a deep breath and plastered his smirk back on, striding confidently toward the pair.

"Damon," Carol gave him a welcoming smile, happy to see him. "What a surprise," she greeted, reaching forward and shaking his hand.

"Carol," he returned, nodding at her.

"Elijah, I want you to meet Damon Salvatore. His family is one of Mystic Falls' founding families." Carol introduced.

"Mmm," Damon looked at Elijah, whose expression was impassive, his eyes scanning him briefly. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

"No. Pleasure's mine," Elijah replied, taking Damon's hand and squeezing tightly, just a tad bit too tight, causing the younger vampire to wince slightly.

"Excuse me," Carol interjected. "I should probably attend to my other guests," she smiled, giving them both a nod before leaving the pair alone.

Damon could feel Elijah's eyes almost burning holes into him, the older vampire seemed to be sizing him up, as if trying to decide whether or not he was worth his time.

"So," Damon drawled, his smirk still present, he motioned towards a private study off to the side, the door slightly ajar. "Shall we?" he suggested, his tone dripping with honey.

Elijah followed behind him, watching as he made his way inside. This young vampire was going to be quite the handful, but that was okay. He had dealt with others far worse.

Once they were both in the room, Elijah closed the door, grazing his fingertips along the leather sofa, not even bothering to look Damons way.

"What can I do for you, Damon?" he inquired, his voice low, but smooth and controlled.

"I was hoping we could have a word," Damon replied, his tone slightly less confident than before, the way Elijah spoke and held himself was unnerving.

"Where's Elena?" Elijah questioned, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Damon didn't like the way Elijah asked after her, like he had some sort of claim over her, and he didn't like the way he said her name either.

"Safe with Stefan. They're laying low, you know, bit of a werewolf problem," Damon explained, his tone nonchalant.

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that," Elijah responded, finally looking at Damon, his expression stoic, almost unreadable.

"I'm sure you did since it was your witch that saved the day." Damon couldn't hide the bite in his tone, he didn't like the way Elijah seemed all knowing, as if he was privy to everything that went on in Mystic Falls.

Elijah finally looked at him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes were cold and calculating, and it made him uneasy and a little aroused.

"You are welcome," he replied with a smug grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Damon leaned against the nearby desk, trying his best to stay casual. "Which adds to my confusion on exactly why you're here?" he questioned, hoping his voice didn't betray the nerves he was currently feeling.

Elijah was bored by this conversation, the infamous Salvatore was not worth his time. "Why don't you just stay focused on keeping Elena safe and leave the rest to me." He replied, looking away from Damon and smiling softly, he then turned and headed for the door.

But Damon wasn't going to let him get away so easily, he was determined to get his attention, so he sped to the door, blocking Elijah's way.

"Not good enough," Damon stated, his voice firm.

The look on Elijah's face could of melted steel, it was cold, his eyes were hard and his jaw clenched tightly.

Before Damon could blink, Elijah's hand was around his throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall, his grip was like a vice. Damon couldn't breathe, he struggled against the original, clawing at his hand, gasping for air.

He grabbed Elijah's throat, trying to choke him in return, but it was no use. He was strong, and the fact that the older vampire could effortlessly hold him there, only turned him on even more.

Elijah peeled Damon's hand off his throat, crushing the bones in his fingers, and causing the younger vampire to cry out in pain. Damon was shocked at how strong Elijah really was, how easily he was able to handle him.

"You young vampires, so arrogant." He growled, pushing Damon's hand away with ease. "How dare you come in here and challenge me?'' His voice was full of venom, his tone menacing.

"You can't kill me, man. It's not part of the deal." Damon managed to wheeze out, his words slightly slurred from the lack of oxygen.

Elijah was amused by his statement, his face contorting into a gentle smile, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Silence," he whispered, his tone dangerously low.

Damon's mouth snapped shut, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was in a compromising position, and he wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, or the fact that he was literally at the mercy of an Original, but his body was buzzing with anticipation.

Elijah could hear Damon's heartbeat racing, the blood pumping through his veins. He knew what the young vampire was feeling, the fear, the arousal.

Elijah grabbed a pencil and jammed it into Damon's neck. He needed to teach this vampire a lesson. He was a mere child compared to him, and it was time he learned his place.

Damon cried out in agony, the pencil lodged deep in his neck. He was utterly helpless, and Elijah could tell.

He dropped Damon, letting him pull the pencil out of his neck and stumble forwards, he clutched at his throat, groaning in pain.

Elijah smiled slightly, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off his hands, "I'm an Original. Show a little respect," he ordered.

Damon could feel his pants getting tighter, the bulge in his jeans growing with every passing second. Elijah's dominance was a major turn on, and he couldn't stop the arousal coursing through his body.

Elijah handed him the handkerchief, their fingers brushing, causing Damon to shiver. He took the cloth, wiping away the excess blood.

Damon wanted to be angry, he should be furious, but instead he was excited. His blood was pumping, his adrenaline was high, and he couldn't hide the fact that Elijah made him feel things he never thought possible.

When their eyes met, Elijah knew that he was in for a fun time. He could see the desire swimming in those bright blue eyes. He smirked and stepped closer, invading his personal space, causing the younger vampire to swallow nervously.

"On your knees," Elijah commanded, his tone deep and seductive.

Damon felt a jolt of pleasure go straight to his dick, his mind was screaming for him to leave, but his body was already sinking down to the floor.

Once on his knees, he looked up at Elijah, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming out in shallow pants.

"You know what to do." Elijah encouraged, his eyes full of lust.

Damon hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up and began undoing the belt and button on Elijah's dress pants. He was a bit nervous, not because he had never been with a man before, he had, plenty of times, but this was an original, and he wasn't exactly sure how far he was willing to go.

"Do you require a written invitation?" Elijah questioned with a teasing grin.

Damon frowned and swallowed thickly, pulling the zipper down slowly, and carefully removing Elijah's cock from his pants. It was so hard, so thick, and Damon couldn't deny that he was intimidated by its size.

Elijah grunted slightly, looking down at Damon with hooded eyes, his gaze filled with dark lust. He didn't usually have his enemies submit in this way, only when he was in a charitable mood, but Damon was an exception.

Elijah ran his fingers through Damon's dark hair, tugging gently at the strands, causing the younger vampire to wince, it wasn't rough enough to hurt, but it was enough to pull a reaction.

Damon leaned in closer, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Elijah smelled like pine and leather and a hint of cologne, he was pure man, and it made his head spin.

So Damon, using all his experience from previous encounters, ran his tongue over the tip, earning a small groan of approval.

Encouraged by Elijah's moan, he started to slide his mouth along his shaft. Giving him gentle licks and wet kisses, tasting the bitter flavor of the pre cum seeping out.

The pace was slow at first, Damon running his tongue down to the base and back up to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head of the shaft, eliciting more beautiful sounds from Elijah.

Elijah dug his fingernails into Damon's scalp, gripping his head, and guiding him down further, moaning softly as he hit the back of his throat.

Damon gagged a little, causing Elijah to chuckle. "Hmph, there we go," he grunted, looking down at Damon's face and meeting his heated gaze.

He then forced his cock deep into his mouth, holding his head in place and listening to him gag, spit dripping out and down his chin.

"Ah...good boy, that's better," Elijah cooed, easing his grip slightly and allowing Damon to adjust. "Just like that." He praised.

Damon closed his eyes and relaxed his throat, letting Elijah use him the way he wanted, the way he desired.

As soon as the noises stopped, Elijah removed his dick, giving Damon the opportunity to breathe. Damon gasped for air, coughing, his throat was raw, he hadn't let someone treat him in this way for decades, he was completely and totally dominated.

But it was so hot, so arousing, and he loved every minute of it. His own erection pressing painfully against the seam of his pants, he wanted more.

He swallowed heavily, looking up at Elijah who was stroking himself, enjoying the sight before him.

"Mmm, very good, such a pretty face, a perfect mouth for my cock," Elijah growled. "Now suck," he ordered.

Damon surged forward, his mouth wrapping around his shaft once more, but this time he pushed himself all the way to the base, swallowing around him, letting him feel the tight squeeze of his throat.

Elijah thrust his hips, and Damon could tell he was close to the edge, he wanted to taste his cum, wanted to feel the power and authority of him.

"Fuck, yes," Elijah muttered, holding Damon's head and slamming his hips into his mouth. "Just a little bit more," he groaned, his words broken by ragged moans.

Damon's jaw was aching, his entire body was shaking, and he could barely breathe, but the pressure building between his legs made the pain all worth it.

Elijah grunted, slamming his hips forward one final time, spilling his load down Damon's throat. The vampire eagerly swallowed down the warm thick fluid, breathing deeply, and trying to regain his composure.

When the spasms subsided, he pulled out, and Damon collapsed, his body trembling, his cock painfully hard, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

Elijah smiled down at him, his cock glistening with the young vampires spit. He tucked himself away, straightening his suit and clearing his throat.

"Now, get cleaned up," he commanded, tossing his handkerchief at him.

Damon scrambled to wipe himself off, he didn't even have the decency to ask if Damon needed help getting off. The thought didn't even cross his mind.

Elijah fixed his hair in the mirror, making sure his appearance was perfect, that his part was just right. When he was satisfied with his look, he gave Damon one last glance and left the room without a word.

Damon sat there, stunned and aching. He had never experienced anything like that before, and it left him wanting more. He couldn't believe what had just happened, how easily Elijah had put him in his place, how willingly he had submitted.

He was a vampire, a strong, powerful vampire, and yet he was completely at the mercy of another. And that scared and thrilled him.

He shook his head and stood up, his legs shaking. He quickly composed himself, adjusting his clothes, wiping away the stray tear.

He wondered what Elena would think, or Stefan or even Alaric. Would they understand? He didn't even understand it himself.

He sighed and walked out of the study, heading towards the bar. He needed a drink. A stiff one.

Elijah was leaning against the bar, a glass of scotch in his hand, his expression unreadable. Damon could feel the tension between them, but he ignored it, instead focusing on pouring himself a glass.

"Enjoyed yourself?" Elijah inquired, his voice laced with amusement.

For once Damon was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. He didn't know how to respond.

"The moment you cease to be of use to me, you're dead, so you should do what I say. Keep Elena safe." Elijah continued, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

Damon somehow found his voice again and his snarky side made an appearance. "Well, thank you for being so gracious," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head, he took a sip of his drink, savoring the taste.

"I like this town, there are so many interesting people," he commented, his eyes locking with Damon's, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Interesting?" Damon repeated, arching his brow.

"Indeed," Elijah replied, his gaze lingering on the younger vampire for a moment longer before he stood and set his glass on the counter.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against Damon's ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, "it was nice meeting you Damon Salvatore, I'm sure our paths will cross again,"

Damon watched him walk away, his heart racing, his mouth dry. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew one thing, he wanted more.

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tonyspank · 11 months

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TRUTH HURTS

Summary: Your girlfriend finds out your secret.

A/N: I was listening to Lizzo when I wrote this lol. And I didn't revise this at all, so if there are mistakes, sorry!

Warnings: Reader and Jenna being too cute at the end. But actually, I can't think of anything.

"I just took a DNA test turns out I'm 100% that bitch! Even when I'm crying crazy." You sing on top of a rooftop, your Spider Suit hugging your body. Karen (an artificial intelligence user interface created by and installed in your Spider Suit by Tony Stark) had turned on your swinging playlist that you had created last month. You pause your singing to take a bite of your sandwich you'd gotten from the deli a few blocks down, savoring its sweet and salty flavors.

Being New York's Spider-Man/Woman was absolutely exhausting. Yet, the thrill of it all was worth it. You smiled, content with the knowledge that you were making a difference in the city. You had to balance your heroic tasks with your everyday life, but it was worth it. You felt proud to be able to help people in need and make a difference in the world. You had found your true purpose. Sometimes you'd fear for the people you loved. You didn't want them to get involved in the crime you fought everyday. You kept doing your best to protect them while taking on the criminals. You knew that you were making a change and that's what kept you going.

Jenna, your girlfriend and also an upcoming actor didn't know exactly who you were. She thought you had a normal job, and thought you were just an ordinary person. She had no idea that you were Spider-Man/Woman, risking your own life to save others. You were afraid to tell her the truth, but at the same time you wanted her to know the truth. You decided maybe one day you could tell her hope she would understand.

You freeze your dancing and chewing, seeing a group of thugs walking into an alleyway. You knew you had to act fast, so you shoved the remaining half of your sandwich into your mouth, pulling down your mask. "Karen! Pause my playlist please." You asked the AI assistant installed in your mask. You started running, jumping off the roof and shooting a web out towards the alleyway, determined to protect your neighborhood.

You followed them, keeping a safe distance, and watched as they opened a door in the back of the alleyway. The door revealed a secret hideout with a large stash of weapons. You web yourself to a corner of the hideout, waiting for an opportune moment to act. Suddenly, the door opened and several armed men entered the hideout. You knew you had to act fast and without hesitation. You quickly webbed one of the thugs to the nearest wall.

"It's Spider-Man/Woman!"

The other thugs were taken by surprise raising their weapons at you. "Now that's no way to treat company!" You say with a smirk under your mask. "I was on my lunch break before this!" You fired a web at the thugs and they were suspended in mid-air, helpless. You quickly zip around the room, disarming each thug and taking their weapons.

You turn to the last one, still suspended in the air, and say "Let that be a lesson to you. Don't mess with me on my lunch break." Before you fire another web, your phone vibrates. You drop to the ground, pulling it out of your tight pocket and read the contact name, which reads "Jenna" Face-Timing you.

Really? Now? When you're fighting criminals? The thug attempts to attack you with a crowbar, but you dodge it easily holding up a finger. "Dude, please? I gotta text my girlfriend."

The thug stops, stunned, and laughs. He throws the crowbar to the side, shaking his head. "Man, you got some serious priorities. Alright, go ahead and text your girl, I'll wait."

The thug stepped back and crossed his arms. He watched with amusement as you texted away, trying to explain to Jenna you were too busy to Face-Time. After a few moments you put away your phone, turning back to the thug. "Alright, I'm ready." The thug grinned, showing off his broken teeth. He took a step forward and raised his fist. "Let's get this started then," he said.

You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, preparing for the fight. The thug lunged forward, but you were ready, dodging his attack and counterattacking with a flurry of punches and kicks. In a few short seconds, the thug lay on the ground, defeated.

"Karen could you call this in and call Jenna back for me?" You nicely ask the AI, Karen responded, "Yes, of course. I am calling Jenna now." Karen connected Jenna to a call and the police were dispatched.

You web away from the scene, as Jenna answers and you hear her lovely voice. "Hey, where are you?" You answer, "I'm at home. I just got back from Feast. " Jenna is suspicious but you assure her that you were just busy helping your Aunt.

She reluctantly believes you, "Oh, okay. Well, I have good news!" You swing low in the streets, dodging cars to entertain yourself. She continues, "I got the role!" You nearly get hit by a car, but move just in time. You yell with joy, "That's great! Congratulations!" Jenna laughs and tells you how excited she is about the new role. You talk to Jenna for a few more minutes, sharing your excitement about her news. "How about I take a shower and come to your place?"

"Orrrr," She trails off, "I come to your place and we use your vinyl player and celebrate over dinner?" You hesitantly agree. Were you going to make it back home in time to shower, prepare dinner, change, and beat her there? You start swinging off your webs faster, hoping not to run into anything with the speed you're going. You see your apartment building in the distance and you're relieved. You quickly swing inside from your open window. You turn around to close your window, but your heart drops when you hear a gasp behind you.

You spin around to find your girlfriend standing in the doorway, her mouth agape. How did she get here so fast?! You stand there frozen, unsure what to say. She stares at you, her eyes wide and searching for answers. Your heart beats faster as you try to come up with an explanation. You take a deep breath and take off your mask throwing it somewhere in your room as you open your mouth about to speak.

You finally blurt out, "It's not what it looks like!" She looks at you skeptically and you can tell she doesn't believe you. You take a step back, trying to figure out how to convince her otherwise. You open your mouth to explain, but no words come out. You sigh, "Okay, maybe it is what it looks like."

She stares at you, and you take a step closer to her. You reach out to take her hands in yours. She flinches and pulls away, but you continue to hold out your hands, looking into her eyes. She takes them, and you squeeze her hands, letting her know that you understand. "I wanted to tell you."

"Why haven't you?" "I was scared," You say. "I thought you wouldn't believe me, or worse, that you would think I was crazy. And I don't want you to get hurt because of me." She nods, letting go of your hand to run a hand down your cheek. It was a claw scratch from months ago, a battle you had with The Black Cat.

"What happened here? I’m now starting to realize it wasn’t Ms. Browns cat." You take a deep breath and tell her about the fight, and the superhuman strength of the cat, and how you managed to get away. You tell her about the strange feelings you have been having lately, and how you think something strange is going on. She listens quietly, her face a mix of concern and understanding.

"Are we okay?" You ask, your voice barely above whisper. She smiles softly and takes your hand again. "We're okay. I believe you, and I'm not going anywhere," she says, her voice gentle but strong. "We'll figure this out together." She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You take a deep breath, the tight knot in your chest loosening a bit. You can do this, with her by your side.

You nod, your eyes meeting hers. She smiles again and brings your hands to her lips, kissing them softly. You feel a warmth rush through your body as you realize that, together, you can take on anything. You pull her into a hug, your hearts beating in time.

You whisper in her ear that you love her and she whispers it back, her breath tickling your neck. Holding each other, you guys are okay. You stay like that for a few minutes, before finally pulling away. You both laugh and she takes your hand in hers, the warmth of her skin instantly grounding you. You walk together towards the future, ready to take on the world.

"So, Black Cat. What's she like?" She grinned, her eyes twinkling with mirth. You playfully roll your eyes at the question, "A real wildcat and a tease." You smiled, "You kind of remind me of her." Jenna looks at you, a brow raised. "I remind you of one of your villains?" You chuckle, "In some ways. But that's why I like her. She keeps me on my toes." Jenna grins and shakes her head, "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

You laugh, glad your girlfriend took everything so well. You didn't know what you would do if you lost her over your secret identity. Jenna puts her arm around you and says, "I'm just glad you're here with me. I love you no matter what." You smile and kiss her forehead, relieved that you could share your secret with her and that she accepted it.

After you change, shower, and prepare dinner Jenna and you spend the rest of the night talking about your powers and how you got them. You feel a connection to her that you didn't before, because you can now be open and honest with her. You are grateful for her understanding and love.

Jenna steps out of the apartment as her phone rings, and you lay down on the sofa, relieved as you watch TV. You feel like you can finally take a deep breath and enjoy the night's calm.

Outside of your apartment door, Jenna answers her phone. A known voice is on the other end. "Kingpin," Jenna murmurs into her phone, sighing. "Hey Felicia," Jenna grits her teeth together in anger. "That's not my name anymore. I left it behind along with that life." Jenna pauses for a moment, her heart racing as she remembers her old life. She takes a deep breath and continues. "I'm not going back." Kingpin laughs, a mocking sound that grates on Jenna's nerves. "You know I can find you wherever you wander."

"Listen," she says firmly, her voice full of determination. "I'm done with the old me. I'm creating a new life, and I'm not going to let anyone drag me back." She takes a deep breath and straightens her posture, her eyes blazing with determination. "I'm done with crime."

"But is it done with you?" I've seen you on the TV. Trying to convince everyone and yourself that you're a good person." Kingpin replies, on the other side of the phone. "I know what you're trying to do, I can tell. But you can't run away from who you are." Jenna remains silent, not knowing what to say.

He continues, "Or do I have to touch that spider of yours to remind you?" Jenna takes a deep breath, feeling like a million thoughts are running through her head. "You won't get the chance," she says angry. "If you or your goons show your face in New York, you're done with."

He laughs. "I admire your courage, Jenna," he says. "But don't forget who you're dealing with. I'm not some kind of joke." The line clicks, and the call is disconnected. Jenna takes another deep breath, trying to calm down. She knows she's made a powerful enemy, and she's not sure what to do next. She has to be careful, she knows. She can't let her guard down. But she also knows that she has to stay strong and fight for what she believes is right.

Suddenly, the door opens and Jenna comes back, a small smile on her face. "You okay?" You ask, concerned. Jenna nods and smiles, not wanting to worry you. She takes your hand and leads you away, ready to take on whatever comes next.

Jenna jumps at a noise emanating from your bedroom. With your super-hearing you can hear it clearly. "Oh, when you walk by every night. Talking sweet and looking fine, I get kinda hectic inside."

"Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed. "That's Karen playing my swinging playlist." Jenna's face relaxes in relief, and she smiles. You take her hand and lead her to the bedroom. You ask Karen to turn up the music, and you both start dancing to the music coming from your mask. You both laugh as you twirl around the room, forgetting the world outside. As the song ends, you pull Jenna close and kiss her. You both agree that there's no better way to spend your Saturday night.

#reader insert #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #wattpad #spiderman #spiderman reader #spider woman #spiderwoman reader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 year

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Metahumans Anonymous Pt.2

Continuing where Part 1 left off

(This is Damian Robin)

(Also I need to add one more thing about the previous part. This is an Anonymous Meeting Place, so to protect their identities even more, they wear Masks or Face Covers to try and stay hidden)

Robin was hopping across rooftops on Patrol, going through an area that he has noticed they have been accidentally avoiding, when he sees a strange light coming out from a skylight.

He wanders over and sees an average looking man shooting Fire at another man, who seems to be shooting Ice right back at him in some sort of battle. They even have technological weapons and masks.

Looking around the room more, there are potentially dozens of Metahumans battling in the room, all with small weapons and Masks. At first he thinks they are being made to battle by somebody else, like a Fighting Ring. But then, the two from before call for the others to wrap it up.

Obviously, those two are leading the others, and all of them are there of their own free will, he can tell that from their body language.

He is convinced that they are a group of Metahuman Criminals training to take over the city using their powers. He was raised in an Assassin Cult, and he inherited his dad's paranoia, so he doesn’t even consider the idea that this is completely harmless. He also just recently moved to Gotham, so he doesn’t know the real reason for the No Metas Rule, he just assumes the rumors were true that his dad didn’t like Metahumans and never brings it up.

In his eyes the only reason they could have for using their powers secretly in a warehouse at the edge of town using weapon-like machines against each other, was because they must be training. And if they are training, then they must have a reason for it.

He sees the two people that seem to be the leaders of the group. An average looking man with Fire Powers and a tall but thin man with Ice Powers.

He decides to look them up on the Bat-Computer, after Stalking them and getting a glimpse of their faces.

The Fire Guy looks like he had led a perfectly normal life, a little too normal in his opinion. He must be hiding something, this was obviously a fake profile. It was too clean. (this was actually because he didn’t want to be noticed for his powers, so he tried to keep under the radar as much as possible his whole life)

The Ice Guy was more interesting. He comes from a small town out in Illinois, and moved to Gotham for a job. His parents are registered as People of Interest in the Bat-Computer for their research into other dimensions, and they seem to lean a bit too far in the Mad side of Mad Scientists. He must be the one supplying their weapons.

There’s also some interesting reports from his hometown, a large amount of Powerful Metahuman Villains who recently stopped attacking the city and started living there peacefully. Even the Mad Scientists, who once proclaimed that they would skin the villains alive, had changed their Tune and started advocating for the Villains rehabilitation. Something was definitely up with the Ice Guy.

Robin doesn’t report this to his Father just yet. He only just recently joined the Bat-Family a few months ago, he’s still 10, and he really wants to prove himself by taking down an extremely dangerous Metahuman Villain Group by himself. Maybe his father would cement him as his one true heir then?

He decides to get creative. He can’t defeat all those villains by himself in a straight fight, and he knows picking them off one by one would put them on edge, but maybe he could...outsource their destruction.

He anonymously contacts the Rouge in the area that the Warehouse was in, and tells them that a group of Metas was going to try and take them over soon. He hopes that the villains will just kill each other, and he could pick off the leftovers. It would be two birds for the price of one, taking down both of the Villainous organizations at once and leaving him the sole victor.

The night he initiates the plan, he returns to the cave to rest for a few hours before he can go back out to deal with the leftovers.

Then Batman rushes in, yelling that they needed all hands on deck. Apparently a Civilian Assembly that he was in contact with was under attack by a Villain Organization. He and Robin rush out to help, but the closer they get, the more Robin realizes they are heading in the direction of the Metahuman Villain Group.

Did they make their move? Tonight of all nights? He had perfectly set up a situation where he could get all the credit, but now it was all going to collapse because he didn’t anticipate that they would make their move so early!

They get to the Assembly and see the two different Villain Groups battling. The Civilians must have been caught in the crossfire! He had caused this hadn’t he? (more than he knew)

He decides to take action, and defeat the biggest threats on the field. That of course, meant taking out the most powerful Metahumans in the battle. He goes for the second Leader, the one with Fire Powers, and knocks him out.

Before he can move on, one of his brothers calls out “Robin! What are you doing! Those are the civilians!”

By the time the battle is over, and the Villains have been repelled, Robin has realized what happened. The Civilian Assembly that was being attacked was the Villain Group that he had set up.

Of Course Batman would have known about the gathering of Meta-Humans in his City. He had met up with them months ago and made a deal with them to protect them in return for keeping their head down.

Thankfully nobody had been hurt to badly in the attack, and the Metas with healing powers could fix up most of the damage, but now that one Villain Organization knew about them, every single other one would know within a week. Their little slice of Heaven had been taken from them.

Danny is happy that none of their Masks were taken off or ripped, so none of the Villains will be able to see their faces, but they would need a new location if they ever decided to do in-person meetings again.

If they ever felt anywhere near "safe" again.

Basically, Damian f#cked up...

#dp x dc #Dpxdc #Dc #Dcu #Danny Phantom #Metahumans #Gotham #Metahumans in Gotham #Damian Wayne #Damien fucked up #He is his fathers son #With none of the people skills #Damien ruins the lives of many people that night #I warned you it was gonna be angsty #Damien inherited his dad's paranoia and mixed it with the Leagues paranoia #It was a dangerous mix #He needs therapy #Thankfully this Ice Guy knows somebody #Batman knew about the Metahumans Anonymous group #He genuinely cares about them so he offered his protection #Danny told him to just keep an eye on them from time to time to make sure he didn't overdo it and attract attention #Damien noticed in the wrong way #The Anonynous Group has Masks to protect their home lives #They use nicknames when doing group therapy sessions #Danny invites Jazz over sometimes but it's mostly handled by him

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soullessdianthus · 5 months

Text

♡‧₊˚✧˖° | Biker!Alejando X Reader X Biker!Rudy

s: biker!au with Los Vaqueros and inappropriate, polygamous relationship with a younger reader, because I was asked a few times to write for perv!Ale ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I'm more than willing to elabroate on this au *wink wink*

w: age gap (reader is in early to mid twenties, ale and rudy around their forties), mentions of drug dealing and violence, nfsw (daddy kink, dp, oral m!reciving)

It all started innocently as you started working at the local diner during the summer break. The place was vintage and messy, but served the most delicious food in Las Almas. People came here at each time of the day, bringing their family for a meal or a drink.

Despite being rather reserved towards strangers you enjoyed working there and talking to people. However, the night shifts were the worst part as you had to close the register and the diner alone and then walk to the nearest bus stop to catch a ride home.

Everyone knew that nightlife in Las Almas was dangerous, especially for such an innocent and sweet person as you. Drug dealers sneaking around each corner, drunken bar fights and more – who knows, maybe you poured them a cup of morning coffee earlier?

And those damned Los Vaqueros, a local motorcycle club who self-proclaimed themselves as a deputy of the locals. It was true that they did in fact condemn the cartel’s doing by smuggling narcotics and slowly were cleaning the city out, but they were smuggling weapons at the same time!

The bikers would often come by to the diner you worked at to have a feast or just a couple of refreshing drinks on their way. They were customers like everyone else and as long as they were overall behaving decently, you weren’t opposed to serving them their orders.

It wasn’t the first time you caught their vice president – Rudy, staring at you. However, it wasn’t a rude or creepy kind of staring, no. The man seemed quite polite and he always tipped you well. He wasn’t handsy and smiled at you each time you served him his favorite dessert. You grew to have a tiny little crush on him.

So it wasn’t a big surprise when the president himself and Rudy’s best friend – Alejandro finally noticed you too (it didn’t take that long to be honest). And even regarding the circumstances, you didn't mind their attention. You felt... kind of special? An apple in the eyes of older men who found you pretty. What was wrong with that?

One evening, when the sun had set behind the horizon and only a few customers were left, Alejandro and Rudy decided to stop at the diner. They sat in the farthest booth in the corner, tall walls separating them from the rest of the restaurant.

When you placed their bottles of frozen cola on the table, a sudden yank on your forearm made you lose your balance. It was the president of LV himself that pulled you into his lap with no shame at all.

You had fallen onto his spreaded thighs, hand clutching onto his leather vest as you looked at Rudy sitting across the table with wide eyes.

— So clumsy — Alejandro clicked with his tongue, a proud smirk painting on his tanned face when he noticed you blushing — and so pretty, no? I see why you like her, hermano.

— Don’t scare her, pendejo [sp.: idiot]. — His friend said, flustered by this whole situation. Rudy continued to play with the bottle’s metal cap between his fingers.

— Sir, I have to go back to work.

You stated the truth, trying to wiggle out of his grip and to stand up. But the man was stronger and so he wrapped his bulky arm around your waist. His muscles were so soft and warm and...

— Ay, not so quickly, ninfa [sp.: young girl] — Alejandro pulled you back onto his lap, causing the hem of your skirt to roll up your thighs — my friend here, he always tips you well, yes?

The raven-haired man knew how to wrap a woman around his finger. Better, he knew how to cast spells, because when his coarse palm made contact with the smooth skin of your exposed thigh, you shivered with excitement.

— Y-Yes? He’s very kind.

— You like him? — He continued to stroke your pretty leg as you looked at the soft look in Rodolfo’s eyes. — Don’t you think you should thank him?

— I always… — You were extremely confused, when you retraced your head towards the president of Los Vaqueros and then back to the object of your crush. — T-Thank you, sir.

— Not like that, silly. Let him take you out, hm? How about that?

Alejandro chuckled and bounced his leg at the same time, causing you to catch an embarrassing gasp in your throat.

— We can go to the park or grab a coffee if you’d like. — Rudy finally spoke, moving around in his seat, obviously content that you were even considering the offer of a date.

You bit down on your lip, before responding as Ale pulled the clean napkin closer to the edge.

— O-Okay, I’d like that.

— Write your number, sweetheart.

The man who served as your personal chair pointed at the napkin. Without further fuss you grabbed the pen from the apron that was underlining your curves just right and wrote down the numbers. Only then, Alejandro released you from his grip and helped you get up, smoothing the material of skirt.

— That’s a good girl. Go back to work.

And just before you could glance at them for the last time and leave, the raven-haired biker playfully slapped your ass through the clothes, causing you to walk faster. The eggs that table number seven ordered must have gone cold by now.

The two older men left you flustered, blushing and conflicted about your morals – they were probably twice your age! So how did they manage to speed the beating of your heart and arousal pool in your panties?

That one, innocent park date with Rudy turned into another few meetings, but the whole “thing” started to include Alejandro as well. So now it was the three of you in one relationship.

They clearly made it clear to the other club members that you were their girl, because none of them dared to stare at you for too long. Oh God, forbid others touching you. One of your older boyfriends would pick you up after work, so you didn’t have to take that shady bus at night. At the same time taking you for a short ride on their bikes.

Dear heavens, how Rudy adored when you hugged to his broad back so tightly, afraid of falling off the motorcycle. Since the first meet up, he felt responsible for something as fragile as you.

When in public they always kept their arms hooked around you, caging from the dangers of the world – because you were such a sweet and pure soul, too good for Las Almas’ ugliness or violence.

Sleeping between them in huge bed became a daily routine as much as them fucking you nicely to sleep.

When Rudy was trying to keep the thrust of his hips steady and not too rough, Alejandro was a complete opposite. They would take you at the same time, raven-haired telling you to swallow his throbbing cock down your throat, meanwhile Rodolfo would play with your pussy until your slick dripped down his wrist and only then, he would finally stretch your cunny on his big, swollen shaft.

— Come on, be a good girl for daddies. — Ale would be the one with the dirtiest mouth on the planet. His filthy remarks caused you to blush and feel humiliated, especially when he constantly reminded you how this relationship is deranged, because of the age difference.

He fucking adored when you referred to him as “daddy” or clung to him, desperate for attention, basically crawling up his lap.

At the same time, Rudy would fuck you gently, both of his hands on your hips, helping you to stay put. The vice president was the one to worship you in bed and do all the work for you and your pleasure. He secretly loved when you marked him with your soft, plump lips – hickeys, bite marks, but also scratches on his toned back caused by your nails.

There was a fine line between the personalities of your older boyfriends, nonetheless you loved them the same. For them, finding such a controversial little girlfriend to share and play with was like a new purpose sent from heaven.

It was like walking around a sketchy neighborhood with two dobermans by your side.

#biker au #biker!alejandro #biker!rudy #polyamory #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo rudy parra #rodolfo x reader #rodolfo parra #alejandro x reader x rodolfo #alejandro vargas x reader x rodolfo parra

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

Note

Dad Toji:

True, it's just toddler you and him enjoying a pizza on your couch while watching yet another Disney movie as you tell him about how you broke one urn after the other at the Zenin house because you thought they were cookie jars until one of the servants shrieked and started crying as they begged you to go to your room.

Toji nodded, before giving you another slice of pizza. "That's good. And then Naoya dropped you off here?"

You shook your head. "No. I was gonna go to sleep but then Uncle Naoya's mom showed me pictures of you and I missed you so I walked here!" You said before taking a bite of your pizza, swinging your legs back and forth off the couch.

Toji internally awed at your little confession until-

"Wait. Y/n- you walked here? WALKED?" He asked concerned. Toji is shocked because his house isnt anywhere near the Zenin house. His house is in the center of the city, while Naoya lives in the mountains away from all the noise. So you walked for miles, trekked down those high hills all alone?! "You didn't inform anyone you were coming here?"

You slurped your soda from the hello kitty cup. "Nope! Missed you too much. And if I did, stupid uncle Naoya would've been all "NOOOO! You're too poor and dumb to understand how you need to live with me than Toji! He doesn't love you! He abandoned you! I'm your fathe- GUARDIAN! I know what's best for you! Stop trying to walk away-" He whines a lot."

"Well, I'm glad youre here. But maybe next time, itd be better if you could call me? Id come pick you up myself." Toji chuckled before ruffling your hair and you gave him a toothy grin.

"You're so cute. I love you, Y/n."

Yur eyes gleamed. "I love you too, dad!"

The sweet moment was interrupted by loud banging on the door.

"Y/N! OPEN THE DOOR! I KNOW YOURE IN THERE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Naoya yelled from outside.

You pouted but before you could go, Toji pulled you back and gave you his ipad and some hello kitty headphones. "I'll ask Naoya to let you stay the night, okay? You wear these and enjoy some music." Your face brightened as you began searching YouTube, Toji glad that he put it on kids mode so that you wouldn't ble to see his history of purchases on the black market.

As Naoya began banging his fists against the door like a mad man, Toji suddenly opened it and stepped out, closing the door behind him as Naoya gulped at the huge man who narrowed his eyes at him.

"T-Toji-"

"Naoya, what's this I'm hearing about you telling Y/n that I dont loved her? That i abandoned her? Because if memory serves me right, I remember you breaking into my house, killing her nanny and kidnapping my daughter while I was away." Toji grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. "You begged me to let her stay with you, didn't you? And I told you that she can stay with you as long as you keep her safe and I get to meet her whenever I want. And so far, you've failed at both. She left the house, walked for miles here, all alone and god knows what could've happened to her. And then she tells me that you've been stopping her from meeting me? Hm? Do you want a fucking beating, Naoya?"

Baby shark blasted loud enough through your headphones for you to hear Naoya's shrill screams as Toji chased him with new cursed weapons he bought online that he'd wanted to test.

What better time than now?

#yandere toji fushiguro #yandere toji #yandere naoya zenin #yandere naoya #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere platonic #platonic yanderes #platonic yandere

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galaxymagitech · 2 months

Text

Call This My Funeral

For Dick Grayson Week, Day 1: Dick's Undervalued Competency

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: Sometimes, Dick remembers how it felt to kill the Joker and wishes that monster had stayed dead. After Blockbuster, he knows that his hands are already bloody. He should be brought to justice, and, well, he might as well go out with a bang.

Or: Dick breaks into Arkham to kill the Joker. He won't let anyone stop him—not some measly defense systems, not his baby brother, and not this mercenary who seems to be trying to break the Joker out.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, The Joker

Warnings: Borderline suicidal thoughts, murder, non-consensual drug use, very vague allusions to canon rape

Nightwing is dead.

It’s the truth of it, even if the world has yet to catch up. Nightwing is dead. He died the second that bullet entered Blockbuster’s skull and then he was buried on a rooftop in the rain.

It takes a while to come to terms with it. He thinks about trying to stop Deathstroke, but every time he stares at his Nightwing suit, he just…can’t. He killed a man. He killed a man. And maybe, if he stopped immediately afterwards, maybe he could have put the suit back on. But he had stayed Nightwing. He had fought villains with Tarantula and returned to Gotham and pretended, and then he’d gone undercover with the mob. And somewhere along the line, the illusion broke, snapped, shattered into a million pieces that dug deep into his skin. When it came time to put on his suit, he couldn’t manage it. He stared at it. Ran his hand over the Kevlar. Held it up to the light, but all he could see was blood.

So he pulls out of the operation. It’s a slow process, and he ends up having to plant evidence and set Black Mask up, but he does it. It won’t hold for long, will only put Mask out of the running briefly. But it’s enough that Dick is able to leave without anyone the wiser.

Dick rents an apartment. His lease is for one month. He thinks about signing another lease at the end of the month and he feels sick. Nightwing is dead, and Dick Grayson is empty.

He should be in jail. If he was in jail, if he served his time…at least that would be justice. Even if Dick can’t take it back, at least that would be right. The proper consequences. But Amy wouldn’t allow him his atonement.

Dick runs that series of thoughts in his mind over and over again, as he lies in and stares up at the moldy ceiling, listening to the sound of the rain outside. He wishes he could set things right. He should be in jail. He tried to put himself in jail, and it didn’t work.

He could frame himself. It’s not like it would be difficult. Dick is a murderer already; all he has to do is make sure others see his true face. Find a body someone dumped somewhere, make sure his fingerprints are on a conveniently-placed weapon with a record of his purchase, and then call 911 with a voice modulator describing himself as the attacker fleeing from the scene of the crime. There are more sophisticated methods, of course. Any would do.

But Bruce…Bruce wouldn’t accept it. Bruce would know that Dick wouldn’t just go out and kill someone randomly, even after Blockbuster. Bruce would at least know that Dick wouldn’t be that sloppy, if he did decide to commit murder. He’d find a way to prove Dick’s innocence.

So then how can Dick do it? How can he make the world see him for what he really is? How can he show them once and for all that Dick Grayson is dirty, despicable, poisonous?

Really, it’s a wonder he didn’t notice earlier how everyone in his life seems to suffer. He corrupts everyone around him. Hell, if he hadn’t left, Jason never would have died in his colors and Bruce never would have had to grieve his son. It’s a wonder he hasn’t managed to destroy Tim yet.

And Dick had known what he was capable of. He can still feel the sting on his knuckles as he beat the Joker again and again until the laugh was frozen on his face and his heart. Stopped.

Sometimes, Dick wishes that the Joker had stayed dead.

Of course, there’s something he could do about it.

Dick shudders, but he can’t push the thought out of his head. He’s a murderer. His soul is already dirty, his hands are already drenched in blood. Bats don’t kill, but he’s not a Bat, not anymore.

If there’s one last thing Dick does as a nominally free man, it can be this. He can put an end to all the suffering and pain the Joker has caused and bring himself to justice. Dick won’t pretend that it’s right. But he’s already wrong, and he can’t betray what he’s already broken.

Dick watches as his roof cries thick drops of acid rain and decides that the Joker will die.

---

The thing is, Dick knows he could get away with it. He’s been hunting criminals for almost two decades; he knows how to commit the perfect crime. He could hide the evidence, make sure the Joker’s body was never found, frame someone else, anything he wants. Bruce might be suspicious, but Dick thinks he wouldn’t be. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to prove it.

If Dick didn’t want to hide from Bruce, he could set up a situation where killing the Joker would be considered self-defense. Right place, right time, a registered firearm, and no jury in Gotham would convict him. He probably wouldn’t even be charged. He could go back to the Blüdhaven Police Department, draw the Joker there, and kill him in uniform. Amy would give him back his badge, if he tells her that he quit Nightwing—she already tried that with Blockbuster and he hadn’t even quit then. It would be easy enough to draw the Joker to Blüdhaven. Easy enough to find him on a raid. Internal affairs wouldn’t bat an eye.

Hell, if Dick promised to draw the Joker out of Gotham, Deathstroke would take care of him easily. He’d probably be thrilled that Dick is going down this path.

It would be so easy to get away with it.

But he won’t.

Dick Grayson will kill the Joker in cold blood. He will confess and take the first plea deal offered. And then he will go to Blackgate. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll survive there, as a former police officer and the former ward of Bruce Wayne. Justice will be served. Dick won’t poison anyone else, and the Joker won’t destroy his family again. A parting gift, if you will.

It takes Dick only a few days to plan the operation. Arkham has improved, but it still remains disturbingly reminiscent of a cardboard box, given how frequently its inmates escape.

Dick feels his stomach turn as he pulls out his suit. He feels like he swallowed something slimy, and it squirms around in his stomach. He doesn’t ever want to see this suit again. Just a little longer, he tells himself. He brings the suit to an abandoned warehouse, treats it with some chemicals, and burns it.

It should feel horrible. Dick created Nightwing. Nightwing is his. It should feel like burning a piece of himself.

Instead, it’s liberating. As Dick watches the flames eat away at Nightwing, all that’s there is relief. Dick hates it, with the blue bird spread across its chest like some sort of symbol. Like he’s worthy. He’s so glad it’s gone. Dick has never been anything close to worthy.

He returns to his apartment. The stairs creak on the way up. He eats his last can of soup cold. Dick drifts off to sleep and awakens with phantom gunfire ringing in his ears.

---

Everything is in order. Nightwing is gone, with no evidence left to trace Dick to the vigilante, and thus nothing to connect Bruce to Batman. Dick hasn’t had contact with Bruce for long enough that he doesn’t think Bruce will have to deal with anything more than a brief police interview. This will be on Dick, and Dick alone.

Dick needs to make sure that the way he breaks in doesn’t imply that he’s Bat-trained. He can get away with a reasonable display of skill, as a former BPD officer and a former world-class acrobat, but nothing that indicates access to other resources.

Dick’s plan is divided into three segments: enter Arkham, reach the Joker, and kill the Joker.

Part One is relatively easy. Gotham city’s government is corrupt enough that it leaks like a colander, and it’s easy enough to find a full map of the sewers. If you know the right places to look, it doesn’t take any more than an SQL injection for login information, a homemade browser plugin, and a couple URL guesses. It’s an unnecessarily complicated method, too clunky for a Bat to ever consider, but Dick isn’t a Bat anymore.

He leaves the public library, resisting the urge to wave at the cameras, and takes the subway to the edge of central Gotham. Dick enters the sewers as close as he can get to Arkham Island. It smells absolutely foul, even with the cheap Wayne Enterprises rebreather he has over the bottom half of his face, but he’s smelled far worse than Gotham City’s waste.

Dick moves as quickly as possible, disabling all of the sensors that were marked in the sewer plans and checking for extras every few feet. It takes an hour, but he eventually reaches his destination. Dick takes the time to slowly disable the alarms on the manhole cover and climbs out under the grey sky.

From here, it gets more difficult. If Dick had his grappling gun, he could scale the building easily. Unfortunately, all he has is a regular gun. That’s why he disabled the alarms; he’s going to need time.

Arkham Asylum is old building, and the wear and tear on its stones is just enough to let Dick inch up its walls in one of the cameras’ few blind spots. It’s slow-going. If he falls, Dick knows that there will be nothing below to catch him, and he can’t die before he finishes this. Hand over hand, he balances on the tiniest of footholds. The wind whips at his hair and the cold bites at his ungloved fingers. He thinks it would have been easier to bribe a guard, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t have just turned him in for a reward. He isn’t a Rogue. He isn’t frightening. No one knows how poisonous Dick Grayson truly is.

He doesn’t enter through the first window he reaches. Dick knows that he’s no match for bulletproof glass and steel bars. So he keeps climbing. Up, up, up. The grey sky grows darker and darker as night draws near. His fingers are turning numb. He climbs.

When Dick reaches the rooftop, he knows that he’ll register on the cameras. It’s unavoidable. But from here, he doesn’t need much in the way of time. He throws himself onto the roof and clocks the single guard in the face before she even has a chance to react. She falls unconscious and Dick catches her before she hits the rooftop. No need to cause further damage.

He takes her walkie-talkie, and reports that a figure in an orange jumpsuit was seen fleeing towards the bridge. There’s enough turnover at Arkham Asylum that no one questions the difference in voice. No one knows who’s supposed to be where, and that works well enough for Dick.

It’s easy to find the guard’s keycard and the small note tucked into her pocket with the code to the door. There are too many codes at Arkham for most people to memorize, and it’s been a safety consideration that Bruce has been working on. Apparently, he hasn’t found a solution yet.

Taking a deep breath, Dick enters the Asylum. He’s probably going to be noticed soon, even with the distraction, but he’s able to get into the elevator, swipe the keycard, and then override the protections to go straight to the maximum security ward. Dick clenches his fists and waits.

He expects to find guards when he steps out of the elevator. Instead, he finds Robin.

Dick freezes, watching as Tim’s face sets itself in determination. The kid has his bo staff extended, but he isn’t attacking, not yet. Just…ready to.

For the first time, it hits Dick that he’s not just betraying Bruce and Batman. He’s betraying everyone. Alfred. Tim. Even Jason, who had looked up to Dick in life. Is he going to make his little brother fight him?

If he has to. Dick needs to do this. He has known for a long, long time that someone has to kill the Joker, and it couldn’t be a Bat. He’s the only one with the skills and will who is already tainted. This is his duty.

The Joker won’t hurt anyone else. Dick may be betraying Tim, but only to keep him safe.

“Dick. You don’t want to do this,” Tim says slowly, as the two stare at each other.

“I do,” Dick says. Can he convince Tim to back down? Surely Tim, with his brilliant and practical brain, can understand why Dick has to stop the Joker.

“The cameras are off,” Tim pleads. “If you stop now, no one will ever know.”

Dick has avoided justice once. He won’t do it again. “Turn them back on,” he orders.

He watches as Tim’s grip tightens on his bo staff. “Bruce—”

“Don’t,” Dick hisses. “You have no idea what I’ve done. What I am.” He sighs. “I have to do this. Let me past, Tim.”

“I know you turned yourself in for Blockbuster’s murder.”

Dick nods tightly. “Then you know that I’m already a killer. Turn the cameras back on. When I’m done, Tim, you can arrest me yourself.”

“No,” Tim insists. “You didn’t kill Blockbuster. You didn’t shoot him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dick asks, tilting his head. He draws his gun from inside his coat. The magazine is full. The safety is on, for now. He doesn’t point it at Tim—first rule of gun safety, don’t point the gun anywhere you don’t want to shoot—but it’s a demonstration. Dick is carrying a gun and has carried a gun for months, even if his fellow Bats have tried not to think too hard about it. Tim’s confidence in him is baseless.

“You didn’t kill Blockbuster,” Tim repeats.

Dick sighs, tucking the gun away. “I let him die. That’s close enough. Amy disagreed.”

“I disagree,” Tim says. “Bruce, too. Come on, Dick. Stop this and come home.”

Dick laughs. “I killed a man, Tim. I failed Bruce, do you really think I’d be welcome?” But even then— “Do you really think it matters?” Dick doesn’t want reassurances. Doesn’t want Bruce to accept him, because even if Bruce was willing to put aside his morals, Dick would still know what he is: rotten to his core. “This isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone, Timmy.”

Tim inhales sharply. “What.”

“You watched me,” Dick says. He lets his stance open. “I beat the Joker to death.”

“That doesn’t count,” Tim says, but he sounds uncertain. Dick feels his heart twist in his chest. He hates that he’s hurting his baby brother, but it’s better this way. It’s better that Tim realizes what Dick is before he can get poisoned too.

“I beat the Joker to death, and I was happy about it. Bruce made a mistake when he revived him. I’m just going to correct that mistake.”

Something flashes across Tim’s face. “This isn’t you, Dick.”

“This is me,” Dick says. “I killed the Joker, I killed Blockbuster, and now I’m going to make sure the Joker dies permanently.”

“You’re going to regret this. I can’t let you do something you’ll regret.”

“You don’t have to let me,” Dick says gently.

“You won’t hurt me,” Tim insists. “And I’m not going to let you past.”

It’s true. Dick won’t hurt Tim, not really. But they both know that Dick can incapacitate him without doing any significant damage.

Tim’s face falls. “If you really think that letting Tarantula shoot Blockbuster makes you a murderer, how can you expect me to let you kill the Joker?”

It’s a good question. But the answer is easy. “Because I could have stopped her.” Dick takes a deep breath and forces his hands to unclench. He hadn’t even realized that they’d formed fists. Dick looks up and meets Tim’s eyes through the lenses of Robin’s mask. “But you can’t stop me.”

“I have to try,” Tim says.

Dick watches as his little brother finally moves his bo staff into a fighting position. He could stop here. He could accept Tim’s offer and go back to the Manor and see if Bruce would forgive him.

But he’s a murderer, twice over, and he’d always know that. And he knows that he can never be Nightwing again. There’s only one way left to atone.

“I know,” Dick whispers, and Tim launches forwards.

The fight is far more fierce than a spar, at least on Tim’s part. Tim is willing to do damage, anything to stop Dick from moving forwards. He thinks he’s saving Dick. And Dick, well, he appreciates it, but doesn’t Tim know that it’s already too late? Dick is a murderer. This is nothing new.

Meanwhile, Dick is trying to pull his punches. It’s not a fair fight, not in the slightest. But Dick has almost fifteen years of training on Tim, and while Dick is determined to win, he can tell that Tim’s heart isn’t in it. As much as the kid has the obligation to try and stop him, they both want the Joker dead. After all, if Tim really wanted to beat him, all he’d have to do is turn the cameras on, and Dick wouldn’t be able to plausibly beat Robin. But the cameras stay off.

Dick doesn’t call him out on it. Tim probably just hasn’t let himself think of it, and Dick will never give Tim the guilt of knowing that he could have won.

Dick dodges Tim’s first strike and dances around his second. He redirects the momentum of the third and tries to sweep Tim’s leg. Tim leaps out of the way. Dick ducks a blow to the head. Tim might not truly want to win, but the kid fights viciously.

It’s difficult. Dick doesn’t have the time to just keep dodging, so he throws out a light punch. Tim twists away, but can’t avoid the kick that throws him sideways.

“So you’re serious about this?” Tim asks, panting. Tired, surprised, but not injured. The Robin uniform should’ve caught most of the force.

Dick still feels bad about it.

It’ll be better in the long run. The Joker will die. He will never kill another Robin, never tear another family apart. Tim will be so much safer. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never forgive Dick for this, because the Joker will never be able to hurt Robin again.

Tim throws out another strike with his bo staff. Dick catches it and rips it away, taking the kick to his stomach and letting himself fly backwards. He slams into the wall, and oh, that hurts. But it’s fine. Tim flies at him again, and Dick neatly sidesteps. With an elbow, he’s able to throw Tim off balance and catch him in a chokehold, wrapping his arm around Tim’s throat.

Tim tries to tuck his chin down, kick Dick in the shins, claw at Dick’s arm, but all it takes is a few seconds and he’s out like a light. The utility belts are keyed to their gloves, so Dick snatches one of Tim’s gauntlets and removes the handcuffs from his utility belt. He cuffs Tim, and then uses the zipties he brought for good measure. If Dick was being particularly careful, he would use a tranquilizer from the belt and lock Robin in a cell, but he’s absolutely not going to leave Tim in Arkham, unable to defend himself. This is supposed to keep Tim safe, not put him in more danger.

Dick waits a few more seconds and watches as Tim stirs. He can’t help the relief that washes through him when he knows for sure that Tim is okay, that he didn’t hurt him. Even through the mask, Dick can tell that Tim is glaring.

“You can get out of that,” Dick says quietly. “But I’ll have a head start. If you don’t want to watch me kill him, you should wait a couple minutes. I’ll stick around in the cell so you can arrest me. Now, how do I turn the cameras back on?”

Tim tilts his head to the side. His face shifts from annoyance to confusion. “Do you want to get caught?”

Obviously. Dick shrugs. “I’m breaking the law. I kill the Joker, and then I go to Blackgate. Seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”

Tim shakes his head. “Dick, you’re not thinking this through. You can’t be Nightwing from prison.”

It’s obviously a delay tactic while Tim works on the handcuffs and zip ties, but the statement is so out of place that Dick has to respond. Does Tim seriously think that Dick would go back to Nightwing after committing cold-blooded murder? “Tim,” Dick says. “I’m not ever going to be a vigilante again.”

“But you made Nightwing!”

Dick did make Nightwing, and he’ll regret it until the day he dies. “Nightwing is dead,” Dick says harshly.

Tim flinches. “Then what is this? What are you doing, Dick?”

Dick turns around and starts walking down the corridor. He doesn’t want Tim to see the way his face twists. “Call this my funeral.”

---

A minute later, Dick stands outside the Joker’s cell. He’s not going to be able to guess the twelve-digit code, even with a UV light, so he just takes his gun and slams it into the keypad. The thing cracks, but the door doesn’t open. Well, security did at least one thing right.

Dick pries the keypad away from the wall and takes a look at the wires behind it. He fiddles with it for a few minutes, recalling training sessions with Batman standing over him as a timer ticked the seconds by. Dick could do this in his sleep. He refuses to let his hands shake as he crosses the last pair of wires and the cell door slides open.

Dick takes a step in, only to find that someone else beat him there.

The Joker is lying on his cot in a white straightjacket, but standing over him is a figure in a black motorcycle jacket. When the figure turns around, the harsh florescent light reflects painfully off of his bright red helmet.

Dick runs through the list of known Gotham villains in his head before drawing a blank. His knowledge of skilled mercenaries that operate in the United States likewise doesn’t have a match. The only thing he can think of are the whispers he heard while working for Tommy Tevis. Rumors from Gotham occasionally make their way into Blüdhaven, and among them was the Red Hood.

Red Hood. Former alias of the Joker. Possibly a current up-and-coming drug lord, said to be operating out of Crime Alley. Or a really messed-up vigilante. Or a mercenary. Whatever he was, he had “rules” that no one was happy about. And he supposedly delivered a duffel bag of heads to someone, although no one can agree if it was to fellow drug lords, the Gotham Police Department, or Batman himself. Dick personally hadn’t believed that particular rumor.

Red helmet, operating in Gotham, standing in the Joker’s cell…and the clown’s still breathing. This is, without a doubt, the Red Hood. And it’s not easy to guess why the guy is here.

“What the fuck,” the Red Hood says. His voice is mechanical, leading Dick to guess that there’s a modulator hidden in his helmet. Dick can fight a random drug lord, but the Red Hood does not seem to be a random drug lord. And Dick is unequipped, unprepared, and still bruised from his fight with Tim. “What the fuck, what the literal fuck?”

Well, this is awkward. Right about now would be the perfect time to bury several bullets in the Joker’s brain. It is not a good time, on the other hand, to be fighting a Joker fanboy bent on breaking his idol out of Arkham Asylum.

“You here to stop me?” Hood asks.

Well. Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, but he is here to kill the Joker. And he supposes that is mutually exclusive with rescuing him, so…yeah. “Yep,” Dick says.

“Dressed like that?”

“Yes?” Dick’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he doesn’t see why his clothes are a particular issue. The Red Hood presumably thinks he’s an off-duty guard who got called to deal with an alarm.

“Right then,” Hood says, amusement trickling into his tone, and before Dick can react, he leaps forwards.

Dick dodges his punch, just barely, and returns with a kick of his own. It sinks into some kind of body armor, and Dick narrows his eyes. The Red Hood, whoever he is, is well-funded. Another blow. This one strikes Dick in the face and he reels back. Hood’s punches are fast and hard, and it’s all Dick can do to avoid the next one.

The two dance. Dick is well-aware that they’re both on a time limit. If Hood gets caught, he can probably disappear. If Dick gets caught, he won’t have his chance to kill the Joker ever again.

Dick thinks he might be able to win this fight, but he doesn’t have the time. His fist glances off Hood’s helmet, so he changes tactics, launching himself through the air and sending a strong punch straight into Hood’s throat. It’s not what a Bat is supposed to do, it’s dangerous for the target, but right now, Dick can’t bring himself to care.

“Wow, Dickie,” Hood says, breathing ragged. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Wait. Dick isn’t actually that recognizable, despite Bruce Wayne’s fame. Why the hell does Hood know his name?

Dick doesn’t have time to worry about it, because Hood’s next kick comes out of nowhere and catches him in the stomach. Dick flies across the room, crashing into the wall.

The Joker cackles from his cot. “All this fighting over little old me?”

“Shut up,” Dick says, only to hear Hood’s mechanical voice snap in unison with him. He pulls himself up to a standing position. “Not a Joker fanboy then,” he observes, launching himself at Hood again. Why else would he be in the Joker’s cell, though? “Mercenary?” Dick had thought the crime lord story was more likely, but he supposes a mercenary is plausible. Though obviously not a very smart one, if he was making deals with the Joker.

Hood dodges his blow and throws a punch that glances off Dick’s cheek. Dick’s elbow catches him in the jaw—not that it seems to make a dent on his helmet—and Dick redirects Hood’s next punch and makes several successive blows towards the man’s gut. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” Hood asks. Dick gets the distinct impression that he’s missing some very vital information. “Did he?” Hood repeats. “Bruce didn’t tell you. Hah!”

A punch strikes Dick in the jaw and his head snaps to the side. Copper blood fills his mouth, but Dick’s up before Hood has a chance to press his advantage. He kicks out, catching one of Hood’s arms just as he misses a punch. There’s a distinct crack and Dick grins, blood dripping from his teeth.

“You’re good,” Hood says, launching himself forwards. “But I’m better.” In a single fluid motion, he hits Dick’s shoulder, knocks him off balance, and then presses him against the wall in a chokehold. Unlike the way Dick choked Tim earlier, this is an air choke. Painful. Painful, but slow. The Joker laughs, and this time, no one bothers to cut him off.

Dick slams a knee into Hood’s groin and then uses the wall to launch both feet into his chest, kicking him back. His throat aches. “No, you’re not.” The way Hood moved…Dick’s only seen that from one person before. “You’re League-trained, aren’t you?” If Hood is, then he likely already knows Dick’s identity. And he recognized Dick on sight, asked him if he’s really going to fight dressed like that, mentioned that there was something Bruce hadn’t told him…yeah, he definitely already knows.

“Maybe,” Hood says. He’s slower, now. From the way he’s moving, his arm is definitely at least fractured.

In the background, the Joker continues to laugh, reminding Dick why he’s here. Dick doesn’t need to win this fight. He just needs to complete his objective and render Hood’s null and void.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Hood asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I realized I’m going to win.” He flies forwards, pulling himself into a somersault and slamming both feet into Hood’s chest. The man flies backwards and Dick rolls away, pulls out his gun, and flicks the safety off.

“What—”

Dick practiced this in the police academy. He knows how to shoot a gun. He knows how to hit his target.

He forces his eyes to stay open as he aims the gun at the Joker’s forehead and pulls the trigger. A bullet flies through the Joker’s brain and he goes silent, his last laugh ringing in the air.

There are fifteen rounds in Dick’s pistol.

He shoots again and again and again, until every single bullet has buried itself in the Joker’s corpse.

And then he turns to face Hood and smiles.

Dick doesn’t know what happens now. Sooner or later, Tim will burst into the cell to arrest him, or the guards will come to do the same. But Hood—Hood wasn’t part of the plan. And he doesn’t know what the man will do next.

Hood stares at him, unmoving. Dick steps forward and presses two fingers to the Joker’s neck, checking for a pulse. There’s nothing.

The Joker is dead. Dick killed the Joker.

Dick killed the Joker.

The last time he killed someone, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything.

This time, he just feels vaguely numb.

Hood pulls off one of his gloves and Dick watches as the man checks for the Joker’s pulse as well, before turning his helmet to face Dick. “He’s dead,” Hood says, shock audible even through the modulator.

Dick swallows. “Yes.”

Last time he killed someone, Tarantula was there. This time, it’s the Red Hood. At least the Red Hood isn’t his ally. At least the man will be more likely to want to kill him for ruining his payday than anything else.

“Yes,” Dick says. “I killed him. I killed the Joker.” He leans against the wall, lets his back slide down until he’s crumpled on the floor, his pistol hanging loosely from his hand.

“He’s dead,” Hood repeats. “What the fuck, Dick? I didn’t think you were even capable of this.”

Dick stares at the ground. “Do not,” he says, voice hard, “presume what I’m capable of.”

“Yeah,” Hood says slowly. “I’m getting that.

Dick looks up tiredly. “You should probably go. Your employer won’t pay you for breaking out a corpse.”

“My employer?” Hood echoes, as Robin bursts into the room.

Dick watches Tim freeze. Watches his face flicker as he takes in the Joker’s bullet-riddled corpse, Dick crumpled against the wall, and the random mercenary standing in the middle of the cell.

“Fuck,” Tim says. Dick thinks it’s the first time he’s heard his baby brother curse.

“Was the Pretender in on this too?” Hood asks.

Pretender? Hood has to be referring to Tim. “No,” Dick says. “No, Robin tried to stop me.” He hopes that will be enough that Hood won’t be upset at Tim for ruining whatever he was here for.

“Did he now?” Hood’s voice sounds dangerous. Tim looks—not scared, but determined in that desperate way Robin always does when facing a fight he knows he’s not going to win. Mouth set into a hard line, tension etched into every line of his body, stance defensive and far too steady.

And Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, he may be looking at a life sentence, but he’s not going to let anyone hurt Robin. “If you touch him,” Dick hisses at Hood, “I will end you.”

“Will you now?” Hood asks.

Dick stands up, bruised and battered but still a protective shield for his little brother. He gestures at the Joker’s corpse. “Yes,” he says resolutely. “I will. I will fight you, and I will win. Robin might be here to stop me from killing again, but I know better ways to make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

Hood holds up his hands. “Crystal.”

If Hood does try to get revenge, then Dick will defeat him, but it would be far easier if Hood just leaves now and Tim takes Dick to the nearest police station. The cameras are still off, so there isn’t much evidence, but… “You can take me to Gordan,” Dick tells Tim. “I’ll confess.”

“Fuck,” Tim repeats.

“You know it has to be like this,” Dick coaxes, holding out his wrists. “Just bring me in, and you won’t ever have to see me again. I killed him.”

“You better not,” Hood says. Dick’s not entirely clear on who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hands clench. He’s holding his bo staff aimlessly by his side.

“Robin…” Dick says softly.

Eventually, Tim sighs. “Fine. Put your hands behind—”

“Don’t you dare,” Hood interrupts.

Tim whirls around. “I’d like to hear any better ideas!” He snaps.

“Oh, I have several,” Hood says, voice dark. The underlying threat is clear.

“Trust me on this,” Tim says.

“That’s rich.”

Dick has no idea what’s going on. Robin and the Red Hood keep arguing, though it sounds more like bickering interwoven with some very creative threats. Do the two know each other or something? Is this like a Deathstroke situation?

His eyes keep flickering back to the Joker’s corpse. The blood is pooling over the cot, now, staining the thin sheets scarlet red and dripping onto the white floor.

“He won’t hurt you anymore,” Dick whispers. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hand fall on his shoulder and Dick can’t help but flinch. Tim withdraws, as if burnt.

Dick is making this easy for him. Tim doesn’t have to fight, doesn’t have to do anything except drop Dick off at the nearest police station. So why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Agreed,” Hood says roughly, and Dick looks up to where Tim and Hood seem to have reached some sort of consensus.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Tim shakes his head. He turns to Dick. “I may not have been able to stop you from killing the Joker, but I’m not going to let you get yourself killed over this.”

“Gotham doesn’t have the death penalty,” Dick says, even though that’s not really the point.

“And I’m supposed to trust you’d defend yourself from the other inmates?” Dick doesn’t answer. “Yeah. I thought so.” Tim leans forwards. “And you can hate me all I want, but I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t hate—” Dick feels something pierce his neck, and then cold liquid enters his bloodstream. He twists around to see Hood standing over him. “Tim?” He asks, voice shaking. “What’s—what’s going on?” Whatever he’s been injected with, it’s fast-acting. Dick can already feel himself starting to slip away. “No,” he hisses. “No, Tim, what—”

“It’ll be okay,” Tim says. “This was the fastest way. I’m sorry.”

Dick’s vision goes fuzzy and he stumbles away from Hood. The man lets him, and Dick nearly crashes into Tim. “Wait—” His lips move, but they feel like blubber. Everything is numb. Everything is spinning.

The world fades out.

---

Dick wakes up with a headache. Someone—multiple someones—are shouting with sharp, angry voices that pierce his skull. Dick groans.

What happened?

He remembers—

The wall, Robin, the Joker, Hood, no—

Dick struggles, heart racing as he tries to force his eyes open—

“Dick.” That’s Tim’s voice. Dick can see a very blurry Tim standing there, still dressed as Robin but without his mask, and. And someone else? Whoever they are, they move out of Dick’s vision before he can register them. “Dick, you need to calm down.”

“Where am I?” Dick asks, pulse thundering away, but it comes out more like “wh’re’m’i.” He knows he’s not in a jail cell, not where he belongs. His hand brushes against what feels like a couch cushion. Not the cot in his apartment. Not a motel bed. He blinks, and his vision clears, somewhat.

“You’re at a safehouse.”

“C’n’t be ‘ere,” Dick mutters. “B’m’n wou’n’t wan’…” Though, he realizes, Tim hadn’t said whose safehouse. If Tim hasn’t taken him to the police, then he probably hasn’t taken Dick to one of Batman’s safehouses either.

Where the hell is he?

“Wh’re ’m I?” His words are separating a little more. Dick blinks again, and Tim sharpens into focus.

“A safehouse,” Tim repeats.

Dick can feel his face scrunch up. He shifts, slowly moving to a seated position. He’s definitely on a couch. The grogginess is clearing rapidly—he must have been given an antidote to the sedative.

Tim kidnapped him. Why?

Wait, there was another voice. Tim and the Red Hood kidnapped him?

“Okay,” Tim says. “So. Hood’s going to come over here, and you need to…not freak out. We’re not dead.”

“We’re not dead,” Dick repeats, a bit lost.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

And then Hood enters his vision and, well, Dick understands why Tim felt the need to clarify that they’re all still alive.

Because that’s Jason.

“Little Wing?” Dick whispers.

Jason winces. “Yeah.”

“How long?” Dick’s eyes desperately scan over him, drinking in every detail. The white streak in his messy hair, the wrinkles in his shirt, the way his fingers tap at his thigh like they always did when he was nervous.

“Bruce has known he’s back for a few weeks, but he’s in denial,” Tim says.

“I had a plan,” Jason says. “I was going to…I was going to kill the Joker. I guess you beat me to it.”

#batman fanfiction #dick grayson #batman #dc comics #dcu #dc #batfamily #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #dc fanfiction

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bippot · 4 months

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Oooo I love you sooo much!!🙇‍♀️💜 Can I please request an Adrian Chase x fem!innocent!reader where a bad guy had taken her and being in a lot of danger, she ended up killing him in self defense, and Adrian (as Vigilante, while on his nightly searches for criminals to kill) happens upon a traumatized, covered in blood Y/n, shaking and crying with her head in her hands, muttering about not wanting to be a bad person and she’s just in shock of what happened to her and what she had to do. She’s the type of person who wouldn’t even hurt a fly, she has never even so much as held any type of weapon. Vig kneels down to her height and promises to “take care” of it, him attempting to comfort her in his own Vigilante way, also carrying her to his car and bringing her to his apartment. He would definitely be trying to assure her that she did nothing wrong in his eyes, he takes care of her injuries and takes care of her as she starts to pretty much live in his apartment, and what was supposed to be a few days, turns into months of her living with him, as neither one of them wanted her to leave. She feels safe with him and fell in love and he wants to protect her and is feeling in love for the first time 🥹

Bacon and Bloodshed

Patrol could get boring. As Vigilante became more well known for hunting in certain areas, criminals would stop being in those areas. Of course they would! Being out in the open doing in Evergreen and doing shady stuff guaranteed a bullet between the brows. Only someone from out of town would be so stupid to attempt to kidnap a woman when they were firmly in the 'Vigilante Zone'.

Dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, a thug who used to run around Gotham doing his misdeeds - and only left when he got on the bad side of Two Face and was lucky when a coin was flipped to see whether he got to flee or be shot in the eye - found himself in Evergreen. He lurked in the backseat of a completely dark car, waiting for the woman who owned it to finish her shift.

Fate was kind to some. A bitch to others. All of Adrian's life had been filled with hardship, maybe it was time for his luck to flip.

As soon as she sat down in the driver's seat, his hand came around the headrest to hold a knife against her throat. The criminal expected her to scream. To plead for her life. To cry. But she didn't. She was quiet in shock before she saw an opportunity as he was adjusting his position so he could hold the knife more comfortably and there was a brief moment of time when he moved his arm just enough away that she could bite down really hard into the fleshy part of his hand.

"You bitch!" He yelped in pain, dropping the knife into her lap and jerking his arm away.

Y/N picked it up and darted out of the car, running as fast as she could for the closest building that had a light on and people in. Most shops were closed. People were asleep. The corner store she'd had a late shift had its shutters down - she knew that, she did it - and the only option left was to dart down a dingy alleyway as the thug was hot on her heels.

She was going to die tonight, Y/N was sure of it at that moment. But not before she fought. She wasn't going down without kicking beforehand.

The alley was dark, the only light coming from a flickering red neon sign with a really disgusting logo for what she assumed was a tattoo studio. It was quite apart from the sound of the man's heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him breathing heavily and knew he was gaining on her.

And then he caught up to her. He was so close Y/N could smell him, see his shadow looming over her. So, she stopped and turned around, the knife held out in front of her like a sword. "You're not going to kill me, pretty lady." He laughed. "You don't have a chance in hell."

That wasn't true. She was a lot faster than him when he lunged for the knife, and while he was bigger than her and could easily wrestle it out of her hands as soon as he got the chance, he didn't get the chance. The thug was no match for a big cut across the neck she gave him, and he collapsed on the ground, gurgling blood.

Staring down at the man who had tried to kill her for no apparent reason, her hands shook and her knees felt weak. She stood over him as his arm raised, almost as if he was asking her to help in some way. "Oh no. No. No. No..."

In an instant, she dropped the knife and slumped to the ground, her palms pressing down on his wound to try and stop the bleeding. It was a futile effort, but it was all she could do. The man gurgled again, more blood dribbling out of his mouth and splattering all over her clothes and arms until he just stopped. No movement. No twitches. No rising and falling of his chest. Nothing.

Despite what she originally thought, Y/N was going to live. And was going to live with this for the rest of her life. A lump filled her throat and she began to cry, her hands wiping away tears and replacing them with streaks of blood. She stayed there for so long, her body shaking and racked with sobs that it felt like she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried.

"Aw, I missed all the fun!"

Jolting to point the knife at whoever had just spoken, Y/N looked like she was about to puke. Her eyes were red, her nose runny, her face was covered in blood, and she was shaking like a leaf. Once she realised Vigilante was the one who spoke, she held her hands up in surrender and was babbling, "H-he, uh, he tried to kill me! He had a knife! I don't know - I really don't- I don't why! I don't know why he did it! It was all just a mistake! Please, I just, I j-just really want to go... Can I go?"

Slowly, so slowly so he didn't spook her, Vigilante got closer and lowered the weapon with the tip of his forefinger. He squatted down in front of her until their noses were practically touching - well, if he didn't have his mask on, they would've booped. "Miss, you okay?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Y-yeah," she managed through her tears. "I-I just, I t-thought I was, uh, I was going to die."

He poked the dead guy with his boot to push the body fully onto his back and fully examine the damage. "You sliced this guy up, good job," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. "He was a big guy too. Damn, you're good with that knife. You really got him."

Adrian had intended to be a compliment, but Y/N's face scrunched and she began crying again. "Did I say something wrong? Please don't cry. I'm not good with that sort of thing. I'm sorry," he added, reaching out to touch her shoulder in the hopes it was comforting.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" she asked, sniffling. "You're going to kill me 'cause I did that."

"Why would I do that?"

A small laugh escaped her mouth but it was dry and humourless. With a whimper, she wiped at her nose with the back of her wrist. "I'm a killer... oh my god, I'm a killer. I fucking killed that guy. Like, I knew that but - Jesus fuck! - I'm going to hell," she exclaimed, burying her face in her knees. "I don't even believe in hell!"

"Eh, it was self defence. No big deal."

Her crying continued unabated and he knew he needed to get here out of the alley before the police came. "Hey, hey, look, don't cry," he said, trying to get her to look at him with her wet, beautiful eyes that he wished he could see without the red glass of his visor obscuring what colour they were. "Look, you're just a girl who had a bad night. And, yeah, that bad night involved killing a guy... if there's one thing you should take away from this experience it's that you are a badass!"

"A badass?"

"Yeah, and since you're such a badass, I think we should get you away from this crime scene so you don't get put in jail," Vigilante explained, getting to his feet. "It's okay, I swear. I'll make it look like I killed him, no sweat."

Holding his hand out, he helped her to her feet. She hesitated for a moment before she placed her hand in his, her eyes darting around the scene again. Surely, her prints would be all over this place. Even if she fled, there'd be remnant DNA to place her at the scene.

"I can tell my boss that this guy had an alien in his head and she'll clean this up." He looked down at the body again. "Wait, hang on. Lemme just -" Vigilante unsheathed his gun and shot at the dead guy's head. "We really have to go now. Bring the knife with you."

Without another word, Y/N grabbed the bloody knife by the blade and followed him out of the alley, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. She was shivering, scared out of her mind, and following a masked hero to his car that he called his 'Vigilante-mobile'. The second her butt hit the comfy seat of his Sebring, all the adrenaline that was barely keeping her together finally depleted and she passed out with her head against the car door, her body exhausted from her near-death experience.

When Y/N awoke, she was safe and sound and under a warm duvet. She wasn't in her house, that was clear. And she'd definitely never seen the jumper she was wearing. Whoever had put it on her (she assumed Vigilante but she couldn't be sure) hadn't removed her bloodstained shirt and, therefore, ruined his own clothes. Y/N tiptoed as silently as she could out of the bedroom, unsure of whose house she was sneaking around.

Maybe he thought he wouldn't fall asleep when he lay down on the couch for a breather. Or maybe he would wake before she did. Or maybe it was just that the mask was uncomfortable to sleep in. Because his face was out on display as he slept. Full display. His mouth open. His hair wild. And his gear at a pile by the leg of his sofa, just in case.

And she saw him in all of his handsome glory. Without a doubt, that was the awkward busboy from Fennel Fields. On the few times Y/N had been there, she always let her eyes linger on his bespectacled face despite how much her friends teased her about it. It felt weird knowing who Vigilante was, even if she didn't know his real name. When he woke up to realise she was gone and had gotten enough of a look at him to be able to point him out on a lineup, he would hunt her down. Y/N had decided she'd done enough running the previous night and, yeah, it would be harder to get away from Vigilante.

So, she didn't run. She gently tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey," she whispered, leaning over and poking him in the chest. "Hey, Vigilante."

Adrian startled awake, almost falling off the edge of his sofa as he scrambled around for his mask.

"There's no point. I know what you look like."

"Shit."

His search stopped. Then, he just stared at her as he tried to figure out what to do. He'd killed people for less. But it was his incompetence that caused this situation and she should have to die for something that was his fault. There was a secret other reason for why he didn't want to kill her. One that was superficial and totally not logical at all. His cock was the one who created that reason and this was not the time to be thinking with dick.

"Do you want breakfast?" He offered like they were pal's and this was a completely normal thing to happen between them. "I make a mean bacon sandwich."

She nodded slowly, unsure if she was going to be poisoned or have a nice meal with a crime fighting vigilante. It seemed it was the latter since he got to frying the bacon in no time, whistling an upbeat tune as he flitted about his kitchen. "What's your name?" Adrian asked, trying to get a read on her. Was she going to run? Would she try to attack him? Or would his ultimate dream play out and she'd totally be enamoured by his cool and super suave lady saving ways?

"Y/N. You're the cute busboy from Fennel Fields."

Most people on the FBI's watch list would focus on the fact that she knew an aspect of his life he hadn't told her. She could recognise him and that was potential information she could tell law enforcement. Adrian didn't focus on that, though. The goofiest smile she'd ever seen on anyone ever came over his face as he replied, "You think I'm cute?"

"...Yeah."

"YOU think I'M cute?"

"Whenever I eat there, I try to hype myself up to flirt with you but, I don't know, you're at work - I know I hate it when guys hit on me while I'm working - I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Being hit on by strangers isn't part of your job description," Y/N explained, her voice a little quick and rambly like she was trying to get all her words out before he got weirded out.

Adrian's smile somehow widened even more. His eyes flitted over her body before he went back to looking at the bacon as he started pushing around the pan. "You think I'm cute," he repeated again, this time smugness replacing his initial doubt.

"I do."

"I think you're cute, too." He smiled a little bashfully to himself, then confirmed that, "If you wanted to hit on me, I wouldn't mind."

"Oh, okay then. Maybe I will."

Mirroring his, Y/N also got a huge smile on her face as she rested against the countertop and beamed up at him, inquiring, "What's your name?" while he tried not to keep all his focus on her. He didn't want to burn the bacon but it looked as if that was what 2as going to happen.

"Adrian."

"Adrian?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm... you do look like an Adrian."

"Is that a good thing?"

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous giggle tumbling from her lips. He rolled his eyes, but found himself laughing along with her. He'd never been particularly good at flirting, but somehow with Y/N, he was finding that he really wanted to try. "You look like a Y/N," he added, his voice lower, his eyes flitting up and down her form. "I've always thought Y/N was a name for someone pretty and you've proven me so right."

Her cheeks flushed at his compliment and she ducked her head to look at her shoes. Adrian couldn't grasp the fact that he'd successfully made her blush. It was a miracle. A jolt of pride went through him at this victory of making her blush, of getting a reaction out of her, of being more successful than ever before.

They ate their bacon baps, conversation bubbling up as they got to know each other. Bit by bit, Y/N revealed some details about herself and Adrian did the same. It was almost as if they had stumbled into an unexpected breakfast date. They were fairly similar - both living on the nerdier side of life and accustomed to being alone - but there was one glaring difference, Y/N was practically harmless (except from the night before).

She'd reprimanded Adrian for trying to kill a spider and ensured that it was safely placed outside with a glass and a discarded takeaway menu. When he told her all about his misdeeds in gruesome detail, she asked him to tone it down a bit. It was just too gross. And, even though they should've spoken about it just a little bit, Y/N changed the subject immediately when he brought up the thug from the night before. She didn't revel in her violence in the way he did. It was a momentary blip. An act of self defence. And it would be something she'd think about for the rest of her life.

Breakfast turned to lunch and they were still talking. Adrian discovered that it was nice to be listened to. Actually listened to. He was so used to being brushed off and dismissed, but Y/N didn't do that. She sat at the dining table, her head resting on her fist, and laughed at his jokes and encouragingly nodded and asked follow up questions. It was weird, but a good weird.

"Oh, is that the time?" Y/N finally noticed how long she'd been in his apartment for. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you had a bunch of stuff to do today and I just got in the way. I'll get out of your hair now."

"No!" He didn't intend to sound so eager. Adrian coughed. "I, uh, I mean... you could stay if you'd like to. I mean, if you don't have anything planned. You can stay in my hair, y'know, hold tight to those follicles if that's what you want."

More giggles came out of her thanks to his words and he found himself grinning and biting his tongue to not say something even more stupid. "Would you like me to stay?" Y/N asked, looking at him with her big, soft eyes.

"I mean, if you don't have plans or something."

"I'm free. For the whole day, if you'd like."

Adrian felt a grin spread over his face. "I would like that very much, yeah."

She leaned in close to him, her face only an inch from his, and whispered, "I can stay all night, if you're interested in that too?"

Those words shot through him with the speed of a bullet. The smile that had spread was now practically splitting his face in half. "I'm interested." He heard the squeakiness of his voice but couldn't do anything about it. "I'm very, very interested."

His hands found her waist and he pulled her closer to him, pressing his hips against her. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the tempo increasing the closer he got. Her hand slid up his arm and into his hair, fingers wrapping around the back of his head.

"Good," she let out, her lips so close to his that he could feel her breath on him. "Because I'm interested too."

"Can you stay forever?"

"I can try."

Their eyes locked, hers twinkling, his wide with laughter and something that looked very much like giddiness. He felt his heart thudding in his chest and his ears were filled with the beat. He wanted to close his eyes, to press his nose into the side of her neck, to bury his face into her hair, to kiss every inch of her, to cherish her company for however long fate allowed him.

#adrian chase #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x female reader #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x y/n #peacemaker

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ghostfanwriter · 1 year

Text

🔥✨ Safe with him ✨🔥

Part two to Safe✨🔥

🔥 Pairing: Raider!Joel Miller x afab!Non-innocent Reader.

✨Synopsys: Joel is trying his best to stay away, but you're also doing your best to break him. When one of his men try to hurt you, you understand why his people respect fear him so much. And just how safe you are with him.

🔥 Features: 🔞 content — Attempt of sexual assault (not graphic), violence, murder, teasing, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, riding Joel's face, choking, praise with degradation (my favorite 🌟), creampie (he does it twice), a bit of cockwarming at the end.

✨ Word Count: Over 6k.

🔥 About this: First part of this felt so organic, so natural, it was hard to write something that felt like stood up to it. This part is more packed with smut, with some story in-between. Also, make sure to always read the alt text of the gifs I use, in this one I explained the face I imagine him doing sometimes.

✨ Author's note: It took me forever, but it's finally here. Hope you like it as much as you did the first one. The reception to it was insane, and I can't thank you enough for all the love 💕. Once again likes, reblogs and comments are very, highly appreciated 💖

Good reading ✨🔥

🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨

"Joel, Joel... Joel."

Some days it was the only word you'd say out loud besides 'Yeah, I'm alright. Don't need anything.'

You called, but he seemed to never listen. To never feel you call, to never come back.

You just hoped he would if you actually needed him.

🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨

You thought Stockholm syndrome needed some time to settle in.

But apparently not. From day one, you're into this.

You're into him.

You honestly don't even think about the people back home. How scared and worried they must be for all of you, looking for you and hoping to find you all well one day.

You sometimes think about your people who are here, but The Man always reassures you.

"Told you, doll. They're working. Helping us build, cook, hunt. They're all alive and safe."

Was it true?

Maybe, maybe not.

But you were blocking all of those places in your mind. It was easier if you didn't think.

If you focused on making The Man happy.

If he were happy with you he wouldn't hurt your people, because you cared for them.

Right?

You could only hope. Only trust him somehow.

So you do what you can.

You keep him happy.

You clean, you cook, you wash his clothes. You brush your hair, put on pretty clothes he got you and use some perfume he told his men to find for you on a run for supplies.

You make sure to let him watch you. To finish cooking when you know he's coming home, always when the sun is setting, because you know he likes to see it. Clean — specially low places — when he's around, so you can bend over and give him a glimpse of you underwear.

Those were his favorites: domesticality and profanity.

Playing house with you while enjoying the view, while fantasizing about you.

The problem was...

He never let you touch him again after that night.

He'd look, his eyes always on you, but he wouldn't come close, he wouldn't give in again.

But each night you needed him more, you craved him.

So you used your weapons.

✨🔥′

Today he only left once, first thing in the morning for a couple of minutes, before coming back home and staying for the day. He had lunch with you, talking and laughing as you did, played his guitar on his porch, and watched you while you cleaned his wardrobe.

His favorite hobby.

"I thought you never wore anything under your dresses, baby." He said from his bed as you bent down to clean, giving him a full view of your covered ass.

"You never check." You responded, an edge of disappoinment on your voice.

"Thought I could trust you, sugar. But apparently not, will have to see for myself everyday now." He said, and you stopped cleaning, and, keeping your knees straight, slowly removed your panties, throwing it at him.

He took it with a grunt and slowly started stroking himself, just from looking at you. When he was getting close, he called you.

"Fuck, baby, come here. Don't wanna make a mess for you to clean." He panted, beckoning for you to come over.

You walked to him, seeing that your panties were in his hand, around his cock, wet, covered in his precum.

You kneel in front of him and he grabs the back of your neck, pulling your mouth down on him.

"Just the tip, baby. Just enough for you to take it." You happily do as you're told, sucking his tip for a couple of minutes, while he pumped himself deep and slow, his other hand holding your hair up so he could watch your face, your eyes never leaving his.

His hand was there also to prevent you from taking him in deeper. Which you try to do.

"I said just the tip, baby. Be good for me, don't get greedy on me now."

So you behave. Just the tip, just enough to not let it fall on the floor.

He cums with a grunt, filling your mouth twice before being done, softly pushing you away from him.

"So pretty." He praises as you lick your lips.

Panting, he looks at you and hands you your panties. "I think you should keep it, you'll make better use of it." You say with a smirk as you get up.

"There you're right, angel. This only knows how to stay on my way. But put it back on, there's men around the house today, don't want them seeing what's not theirs."

You lift your right foot, mentioning for him to put it on you. He smiles and passes it through both your legs, caressing and squeezing your thighs as he went up.

His face, close to your pussy, watching it as his thumbs lightly part the front of your folds. He grunts and shakes his head once with a sigh and a smile, pulling your panties all the way up and kissing your clothed mount before adjusting your dress and lightly slapping your ass. "C'mon, finish what you were doing."

You do so, finishing his wardrobe and turning back at him, finding him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out the window.

"Can you tell me your name?" You ask and he looks at you, without turning his head, just his eyes. "Why do you need to know?"

"I'd be good to put a name to my moans, so you know it's you I'm thinking about." You say with a sweet smile, and now he turns to look at you, shaking his head, smiling and grunting the same way he did while looking at your pussy. "You're the price I pay, angel. Now I get it. You're making me pay for all the things I've done in this life, making my life so fucking hard."

"You know, you could just do it. I don't understand why you think it'd be so bad." He scoffs. "I told you. Don't want your daddy, or your mommy, or your boyfriend to come over later and try to bother my people. We have women... pregnant women. And children. Don't need that right now."

The fact that he is being so true to his word, that he's really not doing anything to not harm his people, so you could go back home one day, just makes you want him even more.

How he never tried anything, how even when he was getting hard from watching you cook, you wouldn't feel bad like you felt when his men look through the window.

You liked how he looked at you. It felt different.

It all makes you wanna keep pushing him.

"You kidnapped me. Us. You think my people aren't looking for us already?" You ask.

"But I'm letting you go. Told you, if I have you, I won't want anyone else to. Will keep you here, with me. Mine." He said, a hint of pain in his voice, and you notice a volume returning to his pants, your own core burning with his words.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I don't have a mommy, or a boyfriend... Or a daddy to come after your people." You say, touching his shoulder and internally moaning — at least this one you managed to hold back — at how he stiffens under your touch.

"I just want to make you feel good." You say, that low and aroused voice back on your lips. "Want you to make me feel good too." You whisper, now running your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes, indulging in the gesture.

You caress his hair for a few seconds, and he hums, moving his head onto your hand for you to reach new places.

"Joel." He says with his eyes still closed. "The name you should call is Joel." You run your fingers over his hair one more time, pulling it away from his face and kissing his lips softly, holding his head from both sides.

He doesn't pull away, allowing you to touch his lips for the first time.

"The man I'll call is Joel. And I hope you listen. Hope you come when I call you. When I need you." You whisper over his lips, his eyes opening to look at you.

You let him go and walk away, his eyes following you.

✨🔥'

"Joel."

Joel was not soft.

That he wasn't.

But a pretty girl is any man's perdition.

And when your voice calling him sounded so sweet, so nice, so needy, he couldn't not come to you.

"Sounds like a fucking angel, baby." He said, standing by the door, that you convenently left open for him. You whimper when you see him, your eyes dropping to his pants.

"Don't get any ideas, though. I'm just here to watch. C'mon, take this off you." He said, walking towards you and removing the blanket you covered yourself with — knowing he'd come and remove it. Your knees are bent, so you palm yourself, closing your legs and looking into his eyes.

He sits by your feet. "Open them, baby. We both know you're not shy." But you don't, just looking into his eyes, smiling and biting your lower lip, and he laughs.

You want him to touch you.

"I see. Won't work, though." He spreads your legs, then pulls your hand away. You lift your hips, trying to brush on his hand, and he grunts, seeing you all wet and swollen, pushing your hips back down.

Knowing it's all for him, right in front of him, makes him almost fall mouth first on you, makes him want to taste you and make you cum for him.

But he knows he can't.

"It's because of you." You moan, and he shoots you a stern and scary look, his eyebrows low and his eyes dark. "For you." He swallows, sitting further from you onto your bed and opening his belt.

You mention to go to him, but he shoots you that look again.

The look that simultaneity makes you want to behave and misbehave. To be good for him so he'll praise you, and to be bad to see what he's gonna do about it.

But you know that, slowly, you're gaining him. So you sit back down and spread your legs.

"Good girl."

He pulls himself out of his boxers, already hard and wet. You lick your lips and return your circles around your clit, inserting one, then two fingers inside yourself.

He grunts and groans softly as his own movements become more desperate. His eyes never leaving your pussy.

You're dripping onto the sheets. There's a puddle forming underneath you, and he can't take his mind out of how good you must feel. How nice and tight, warm and wet you have to be.

He moans once and you retribute the sound. You fasten your circles, being as deep on him as he is on you. Thinking about how nice and painful it'd be to take him in, how thick and big he is. How much you crave to feel him twitch and pulse inside you. How rough he'd be with you, how he'd care for you after it.

That's the thing with him. You know how rough he can be, but you've also seen his softer side. You want him to heartlessly pound you, be mean to you, make you cum until you're dumb, whisper things in your ears, call you names.

And then call you his angel, tell you how good you were for him while he caress your hair until you fall asleep on his chest.

The thought makes you cum, a loud and shameless "Joel" leaving your lips, then being the only word you can put out. Calling and crying out for him, needing him.

He touches your thigh, making you look at him. Your eyes hazed, showing him how far you were, how high he took you before even touching you.

"I'm here, baby. Come here to me." He coos, and you craw until him, lowering yourself in front of his dick, his hand coming for your hair, helping it up.

He doesn't say anything about how deep you can go, so you start sucking just his tip, careful and tight, feeling his precum drip and leak into your mouth. He thrusts into your mouth and you take him in further with a moan, going as deep as you can, opening your throat to make room for him.

He grunts and you can already feel him pulsing on your tongue. "So fucking good, baby. Gonna cum in this mouth."

You moan as you taste him flood your mouth, drinking it like you haven't seen water in weeks.

You keep sucking him after he's finished, and he lets you, caressing your hair and moaning as you do so.

"You know this could end up really bad for your people, don't you, baby?" He asks, stroking your hair as you run your tongue up his length.

"I know, Joel. But I think I want to see it. Watch you keep me with you." You say right before licking around his tip like a lollipop and taking him in your mouth again. He furrows his brows, piercing his lips together.

"You have no idea what you're saying, sugar. Not something you'd like to see." He says, pulling himself out of your mouth and fixing his pants before getting up.

He gives you a light and sweet peck on the lips, grabs a towel on your bathroom and comes back to you. He opens your legs, cleaning you. "I would love to see it, Joel. Not to my people. But I'd love to see what you'd do."

You say as he kisses your forehead and walks outside your room, never turning around to look at you.

✨🔥'

Joel was not soft.

That he wasn't.

So when he spent his days thinking about you — not only wanting to come home to see you, but actually started to think about you, to wanna come home to see you — he knew he had to go away.

Your people were of great help for his people, so it still wasn't the time to let you go, but he needed distance.

So he called some of his men on a few days long run for supplies and food.

He left men watching his house. "I want one of you by this fucking door every second I'm not here. She tells me anything happened to her, anyone, any of you, fucking looked through the window and I'm killing every single one of you." You heard him tell the men.

Then he came to you, holding you on a loose embrace, removing the hair from your face. "You need anything and they get it for you, okay? Anything. Just ask. Keep the curtains closed and don't give them any smiles or looks. These men are animals, they don't know how to behave close to a pretty girl like you."

And with that he left.

For days.

Days where you called him, desperately, breathy, over and over again. Your bedroom walls tired of the name, tired of your whimpers, your moans, your cries.

"Joel, Joel... Joel."

Some days it was the only word you'd say out loud besides 'Yeah, I'm alright. Don't need anything.'

You called, but he seemed to never listen. To never feel you call, to never come back.

You just hoped he would if you actually needed him.

✨🔥'

"Joel!"

His name, always so passionate and sweet on your lips, was now a desperate cry for help. A prayer, a beg.

His men never dared to try anything with you. They'd knock on the door and you'd answer without opening it, saying you were alright and didn't need anything. But not today. Not this one.

You screamed his name as one of his men, the biggest one that he left to keep watch on you, pinned you down on your dinner table, your hands behind your back and your face painfully pressing on the wood.

"Keep screaming, bitch. He won't fucking hear you. And no one's gonna come to help you. No one's gonna fucking dare walking inside his house." He says with a laugh. "The more you scream the longer this will last."

You keep screaming, calling for help and calling for him.

Then the man let's you go, a heavy thud following.

You turn around, finding Joel. His eyebrows low and nostrils wide, his lips pierced and his hair disheveled. He's holding a thick piece of wood.

He looks at you and his eyes soften instantly, coming towards you to cup your face. "Did he hurt you?" He asked, his eyes attentively watching your face for any bruises or scratches.

"No, no he didn't. He just walked in, I... I asked him for some things and when I opened the door he— I should've waited for him to walk away before opening the door, I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry, you told me to not do it." You cried, burying your face on his chest and blaming yourself for giving the man the opportunity to invade his house.

"Don't, hey. Don't fucking say that. You could've smiled at this piece of shit, talked to him. He shouldn't have tried anything. Shouldn't fucking hurt you like this. It's not how I fucking work around here." He says, his voice and expression darkening at the end, when he hears the man grunt under him.

He carefully lets go of you, turning to the man and grabbing him by the colar of his shirt.

None of the tenderness with which he held you left on him.

"Stay away from the windows." He tells you sternly while dragging the man on the floor.

The man's twice his size. But still he pulls him out of his house like he's nothing. Anger boiling inside him, making him straddle the man on the floor, punching his face once, twice.

Again and again.

The man is screaming, pushing him, begging him to stop, trying to get way.

But he's not himself. He is an animal, he is consumed by his darker self.

The man drags himself around on the floor and he holds him in place, punching him.

His backpack and rifle still on his back.

He could just shoot the man, but that wouldn't make it.

He had to do it. With his bare hands. He wanted to feel it, to take his life away from him.

"You like screaming, don't you, son of a bitch? Wanted to hear screams? Then fucking scream!" He shouted louder than the man, the people around him just watching.

The man's body goes limp, blood pools around them and runs on the floor, but he keeps going, until there's not a man under him anymore.

Until there's not a face, not anything but a puddle of meat, bones and blood.

He gets up, his face like you've never seen before, his eyes wide, fully black, eyebrows low, nostrils widening as he breath, his mouth open and his teeth clenched. His hand hurt, blood from the man and from himself dripping from it.

"This is not how I fucking work!" He shouts, turning around to look at everyone. "And you don't fucking fuck with what's mine!" His voice coming out as a snarl. Like a feral dog, spit flying from his mouth.

Now you see it. Now you understand.

That's why his people are so lawful.

Not only because he's brutal.

But because he's brutal to protect.

The ones that don't respect or trust him, fear him. They know what he's capable of.

He killed a man twice his size with his bare hands to keep you safe.

He killed a man he probably trusted, considering he trusted you to him. All to keep you safe.

And you loved it.

You loved it and part of you wants to see it again. To see him act so brainless, to kill a man like it's nothing. All to keep you safe.

To hear him call you his.

He sees you through the window and worry invades his face, making him rush back inside. His heavy and loud footsteps sending chills down your spine.

He finds you by the window and stops on his feet. Your eyes are wide and scared, your chest raising and falling with force.

"I told you not to look out the window." He says.

This.

This is what he never wanted.

He never wanted you to see this part of him. The part he knew would push you away, would make you never want to see him again.

Would make you afraid of him.

He holds his hand up in front of him, letting go of his backpack and rifle. "I'm sorry. None of this should've happened. I shouldn't have left you here alone, with these men. This was why I kept you here, with me, so they wouldn't hurt you." He says. "I'm sorry you had to see it, I couldn't let him go any other way."

This.

This is what you wanted to see. Him feral, protective, caring for you.

Keeping you safe.

You run to his arms, climbing on him. Your lips looking for and crashing against his.

It takes him a second, but when he realizes what's happening, he groans and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight and close to him. Like he's afraid you'd snap out of it and push him away.

You lick between his lips, right where they meet, and he grunts, opening his mouth for you, taking your tongue in his and letting you explore his mouth before pushing his tongue inside your mouth and rolling it around yours. His beard scraping your cheeks, making you moan and press yourself further onto him.

Wanting to finally feel all of him.

Your arms are tugging and squeezing around his torso and his arms, sometimes pulling on his hair and earning grunts from him. His arms are pressing you against him, his heart beating against your chest. He squeezes your waist and your hips, firmly holding the back of your neck and your cheeks.

Your hands not satisfied with touching just one place at once. All the desire and hunger emerging to your surfaces.

You stay tangled like that for what feels like hours before he pulls away, out of breath, staring at you.

"I loved watching. You were so... Brutal. I loved it." You say as his eyes roam around your face.

"You don't have to do this." He whispers, giving you a final chance to step away and not regret this later. "I want this, Joel. It's all I think about. You. Called you everyday, every night, since you left. Couldn't finish sometimes without you with me. And when I did it was for you, all thinking about you." You say, snuggling your face on his neck, pressing your nose against his vein.

"I need you, Joel. Please."

He's gone.

He did his best to avoid it, to please himself with you without actually touching you. But he can't deny what he craves since he first saw you.

"You beg so nice, baby. Should make you do it more often." He says right on your ear, making you shiver and moan softly. Turning into a puddle under him.

He bites your neck, sucking and licking, your perfume guiding him, making him want to crawl under your skin, to merge his body with yours.

You're drowning on him, dazed and high, indulging on the way he holds you, grunts against your skin and how open your whole body is for him.

But when you're starting to fully get lost...

He pulls away.

"My room. C'mon." He pants, turning and pushing you towards the stairs. You giggle and run upstairs, him laughing and following close to you, his long steps enough to not let you get too far.

When you reach his bedroom, he grabs the back of your shirt, turning you around and taking you in his arms, his mouth all over your jaw, neck and collarbones. "Please, Joel. I need more of you."

"Always so impatient, baby." He says before pulling your shirt out of you and skillfully unclasping your bra. He stares at your boobs for a second, his mouth hanging open while he breaths heavily. He grabs them, kneading them and grunting. He squeezes them a bit too hard and you whimper.

He groans and takes you back in his arms, still squeezing your boobs and kissing you again.

He tastes like cheap alcohol and cigars, and you drink every drop of him like he's the thing you needed all along.

You could live off of just him. Just looking at him, just smelling him, just eating and drinking from him.

Your hand goes to his belt, but he pushes it away. "I ain't tasted you yet, baby. Not fair that you get it again." He says, pushing you on his bed.

You fall and start removing your skirt. He helps you and falls down to his knees, kissing a path from your bellybutton to your lips. "Can't wait to taste you baby. Know you taste so good for me." He whispers while kissing your throat before kissing his way back down, stopping only at your nipples to suck and roll his tongue around them.

He stops when he reaches your mount, going to your inner thighs, his hands keeping you spread, squeezing the skin of your thighs. "Always on my fucking way." He growls at your panties, roughly pulling them out of you.

Then he gets paralyzed. His gaze never leaving your pussy, his mouth open, his jaws moving from side to side.

"Joel, please." You beg and he hums against your skin. "Right here, baby. Won't go anywhere." He says right before licking a — painfully slow and strong — streak up your folds. From your entrance to where they connect at he top.

"As good as I dreamed." He licks you again, returning to your entrance and inserting his tongue on you, rolling it around inside you, making you sink yourself down on his face. "Even better, actually." He sucks on your clit, humming against your skin as you pull his hair.

"Want you to do it, baby." He says pulling away and grabbing your arms, sitting you up. He lays with his head on his pillow and beckons for you to come over, which you do, going for his belt again.

"No, baby. C'mon, up here." He says with a smile, and you move up higher, straddling his chest. "You know I could kill you like this, don't you?" You say, going higher and hovering above his face.

"Sweetest death a man could have in a world like this, angel." He breathes before pulling you down on him, practically french kissing your pussy, his tongue rolling around your entrance and your clit, going inside you and rolling around. Sucking, licking and even biting everything he could reach, his hands squeezing your ass, your hips and your thighs.

You pull his hair and roll your hips, sinking yourself, his eyes snap open to watch you as you moan and whimper, your whole body shaking as you feel your insides burn, ready to release what you craved to give him for so long.

"Joel." You moan, feeling yourself get closer and closer, and he groans as you grind yourself harder on him, swiping his nose and only pulling away to let him breath. But he quickly pulls you back down, sinking you on his tongue.

The closer you get to your orgasm, the further you go from reality. The deeper you dive on the man underneath you.

Hunger and desire marking the route of his tongue all over you, finding all your favorite spots.

He holds you down as he sucks on your clit, your hips rolling circles on his chin, his beard scratching your entrance, making you pull away.

He groans and sinks you back down, his hands squeezing your hips and keeping you steady as you cum, your insides convulsing around nothing, his eyes open, focused on your face as it contorts and your body tries to stay up.

He grunts as he dries you, sucking every drop out of you as your body twitches at how sensitive it feels.

He lets go of your hips and you collapse back on top of him, laying on top of his belly, breathing, your body going up and down as his own breath moves his chest up and down.

You feel high, like you're on a boat, his breath like the tide. You move up and down, slow and deep, swimming on him, in awe of the fact that this is actually happening.

You're actually with him.

He inserts a finger inside you and you feel his dick twitch inside his pants, against the back of your head.

"So fucking tight, baby. Gonna feel so good."

You try to flip around, wanting to taste him again, but he holds you by the knees and goes on top of you, kissing you again as you eagerly undo his belt and remove his pants.

He finishes them off and climbs back on top of you. You grab him and stroke him deep and slow, getting lost on how hard and thick he feels on your hands, whimpering just to imagine the stretch he'd need to go inside you.

"Think you're ready, baby? Waited for this for so fucking long." He says with his mouth glued to your throat, kissing and nibbing at your skin. "Please, Joel." You moan, fastening your movements on him.

He grunts, thrusting into your hand for a while, groaning as your other hand pulls on his hair.

He removes your hand from his length and guides it to your folds, running his tip through them a few times to gather some of your slick — and tease you.

"So nice, so wet for me. All for me." He pants before teasing your entrance with his tip, rolling it around it and thrusting it in slowly, your insides engulfing him. "So — grunts — fucking tight too." He smiles on your neck, and you lower yourself, trying to get more of him in.

"Joel, please." You cry, and he raises himself to looks at you. "Please what, baby? You keep saying it but you don't use your words."

"Fuck me, please. I need you inside me." You say with a smile, your voice a mix of arousal and almost pain. "Good." He smiles, kissing you, rolling his tongue around yours and pushing in, your legs spreading further apart in an attempt to make more room for him.

The air inside your lunges freezes, and you can't exhale while he's moving.

He goes all the way in, grunting at how good you feel around him. How warm, tight and wet you feel. How your arms held him tight on top of you, how your nails dug into his skin. Things he hadn't felt in forever.

Things he knew only you could give him.

Things he wanted only you to do.

"Doing so well, baby. Opening up for me like this." He praises when he bottoms out, giving you some time to adjust as you twitch and pulse around him.

You move your hips, and he corresponds the movement, slowly thrusting out before going all the way back in, setting a deliciously passionate pace. Slow and deep, making your insides move and readjuste to receive him.

You whimper when he supports himself on his hands, missing his weight on top of you. He starts moving faster, harder, even deeper somehow.

His eyes fixated on your breasts, on how they move with the force of his thrusts. "You like them?" You ask, keeping your voice sweet and low, and he looks at you through his lashes, his low eyebrows and his smile making his expression almost sinister.

It makes you go back to when he was on top of that man. To remember how feral he was, how violent and visceral he was. How much you want him to use that on you, to fuck you with as much voracity as he killed the man.

Thinking about it makes your pussy clench around him. Makes your eyes falter and your heart to pound faster against your ribs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself and holding onto him, his strong arms keeping both of you away from the mattress. You bite his neck, his pulsing vein too welcoming to deny.

"I loved watching, Joel. How you did it, how you did it with your hands. I fucking loved it." He grunts, his own orgasm feeling just a thrust away. "Being inside you makes me want to go back there and fucking kill him again, baby. You feel so good, he'd have hurt you and I don't know what I'd do if I let that happen."

You moan, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier. "But you did, Joel. You kept me safe, like you said you would. I loved it." You say between moans, the burn on your core about to snap. You reach for your clit and draw fast circles around it, almost immediately cumming around him, squeezing and almost expelling him out of you.

He grunts, your pussy milking him, making his orgasm hit him hard, probably harder than ever.

He fucks his cum inside you, rough and deep, as you fall back on the mattress and become a puddle underneath him. He holds your knees up, going even deeper and making you scream his name, the tip of his dick hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your eyes close shut and your mouth hang open.

His pace is anything but tender now. He's fully lost on how good you feel, how much he thought about you, how good it feels to finally give in, to finally be inside you, to finally claim you as his.

Another orgasm crashes over you, his name falling from your lips in a way that shows he's the first one to make you feel this, to make you feel this much. In a way that shows that he's the only one you'll ever think about, the only one you'll ever need and crave after this.

When you manage to open your eyes, you find his stare on you. His nostrils wide, his eyes dark and passionate, his teeth clenched and his neck looking like it would burst.

"Joel." You cry. "Right here, baby. Looking so pretty all dumb like this for me, just saying my name, calling me like I'm ever gonna leave your — grunts — fucking side again." He says, your belly fluttering with his words.

He flips you both around, laying on his back and holding you on top of him, your body doing it's best to not collapse over him.

"C'mon, ride it, baby. Want to see you." His words fuelling your muscles, making you roll your hips around him, gathering the conscience to move up and down.

You support yourself on his shoulders, his muscles flexing as you squeeze them. You moan when he pulls you down into a kiss, one of his hands on your hips and the other going from the back of your neck to your clit, drawing overwhelming circles around you.

"Joel, I can't." You cry out when your clit throbs on his fingers. "Course you can, angel. Do it for me, c'mon, give me another one." He asks, and you focus on him, on his muscles, his face, the way he fills you, the way his rough fingers work you, the way his hands is hurt from what he did, the way he brutally punched the man, the way he yelled, called you his.

You feel your orgasm approaching again, and your body starts to give in. But as soon as it hits you and your body softens, one of his hands leaves your hips and come for your throat, squeezing tight. Your eyes snap open, your hands holding onto his forearm.

"Joel." You whine.

"Just holding you up, baby. Just keeping you steady." He says with a smirk, your insides convulsing around him, trying to hold onto him, as if to never let him go.

It hugs him so nice, so deep and so tight, he can't help but allow his own new orgasm to hit him. He maintains his hand around your throat, but his body jerks up, and he pulls you down enough to kiss you.

He grunts as his tongue rolls around yours, his lips sucking yours, his beard burning your face.

A burn you already love.

His thrusts get rougher, deeper and faster as he empties himself inside you again, grunts and groans leaving his throat as you feel him twitch inside you.

He lets go of your neck and you fall on top of him, breathing and praying that this isn't just one of the dreams you've had with him. Praying that he's here, underneath you, still inside you, holding you around his arms, his warmth comforting your exhausted body.

You snuggle your nose on his collarbones, right on the middle of his pecks, and he strokes your hair.

"As bad as you thought?" You ask with a laugh. "Fucking devastating, baby. Don't even want to get out of you." He replies with a smile, and you clench around him, so he knows you're in no hurry to be empty again.

"Mine. My good girl, gonna be all mine. Can't wait to always find you home. Won't ever let you go." You smile, you don't wanna go anywhere.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, Joel. No one else I'd rather be with." You confess, your head buried on his neck. "No one would keep me safe like you."

"Would do anything to keep you with me, baby. Anything." He says, hugging you tighter.

You hope so.

You're counting on it.

🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨

So... Did you like it? Writing the last sex scene was so hard, it always felt like there was something missing to it. But at end I was happy with it.

Let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your feedback 💖

💌

@https-hann 🫶🏻

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #ghostfanwriter #pedro pascal's characters #fanfic #smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of uf hbo fanfiction #pedro pascal

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ageingfangirl2 · 8 months

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I Hate You! Do You Really? Shanks (OPLA)

You finally have enough of Shanks playboy ways and confront him. But why are you confronting him? Do you really hate him? Shanks will find out. Shanks x Reader (Female) Fluff

SHANKS

'LET ME PAST BENN!' y/n shouts outside the door to my quarters, 'I KNOW HE'S IN THERE BECAUSE HIS LATEST CONQUEST JUST LEFT!'

'Think this through y/n, take a deep breath. Hongo says stress is bad,' Benn speaks calmly trying to calm down a mad y/n.

I was confused and intrigued, and still a little hungover from the night before. Was something wrong with y/n? They had been off a little lately. I'd known y/n since Rogers's execution and convinced them to join my crew. y/n was deadly with a sword, but their real weapon was their beauty and charm which could de-escalate situations. I wasn't a jealous man, I just didn't like random men hitting on them, and if that meant I was the only man they slept with then so be it. y/n was loyal, but recently they had been getting sick of my playboy ways and childish antics.

y/n and I weren't 'official', we slept together a lot because it could get lonely on the sea, and maybe I valued their opinion on the same level as Benn which made the crew tease us about being a power couple, but I'd never heard them be this mad at me before.

The door swings open and y/n storms in. Benn grimaces at me before closing the door leaving us alone. y/n's usually calm eyes were pissed, their fists clenched, and now I could see them closer they looked a lot paler. I open my mouth to speak but they stop me.

'Don't come near me while you still smell like that bitch,' y/n seethes.

I raise my hands in mock surrender and smirk, 'Is this because they called you fat last night? I thought you didn't care what others thought of you y/n.'

The anger leaves y/n eyes and my smirk falters seeing their eyes water, lip quiver, and one hand goes to their stomach, 'Do you think I'm fat? Am I ugly? This is all your fault, Shanks.'

y/n wasn't an emotional person so to see them this close to tears was scary, and they were blaming me for something I didn't even know I'd done unless it was bringing up the fat comment as a joke.

'How is this my fault y/n, please explain. You're not fat or ugly. Are you ill? you look pale. What did Hongo say?' I ramble.

y/n sighs and bows their head, 'because for years you've made me feel loved and special. But these past couple of months you've slept around more and ignored me. I need to know what I am to you Shanks, I need to know so I can do what's best for me and the...'

Okay it was true we hadn't slept together in two months, and I had slept around more to make up for it, but why was y/n suddenly bringing up the same thoughts they had after we last slept together? This was kind of why I ignored them, because I didn't like serious talk about relationships, call me selfish but it's who I am.

'You're my y/n. You call me out all the time. You hold me to a higher standard. You always know what I need to hear. Why do you suddenly care who I sleep with?'

y/n raises their head and locks eyes with me, I could see the wheels turning they were thinking so hard, 'If I asked you to stop sleeping with other women would you? I know it's hard to answer without any context but I'm really conflicted right now Shanks.'

My eyes widen at the sudden question, 'Like never sleep with another woman again...'

y/n nods, 'Yes or no Shanks.'

I shake my head and stand my ground, 'you won't get an answer until I have the full context y/n. You might be angry but I'm still your captain so show me some respect.'

y/n rubs their stomach, 'You're also the father to our unborn child. Hongo puts me at just over eight weeks along. Now answer my question captain. Say yes and I'll stay, but say no and I leave.'

My legs give out and I fall to my knees shocked, 'SHANKS!' y/n screams, and rushes towards me full of concern.

I reach out my hand and rest it on their stomach, 'you're really pregnant, no joke. Are you sure it's mine?'

I feel the slap across my cheek but keep my eyes focused on their stomach which did look bigger up close, 'you're the only man I've ever slept with Shanks, you prick,' y/n growls.

I can't help but laugh a little as I look up at y/n who looks down at me confused, 'Okay now everything makes sense. Don't worry you're pretty head I won't sleep with any women, does that include you?'

y/n inhales sharply, 'I hate you, Shanks.'

I raise a single eyebrow, ''yes, we've established that.'

y/n puts their hands over mine, 'fuck you!' they mutter.

I wiggle my eyebrows, ' we've done that, too. Care for a refresher?'

y/n cracks a smile and the tension leaves the room, 'You're a dork Shanks. I'm sorry if I made things weird for you. Do you think we can do this?'

I get back to my feet and pull them into my embrace. I'd changed my clothes when the girl left so y/n couldn't get mad. Unless women's senses heightened when pregnant, something I'd ask Hongo about later, 'we can do this y/n. Some things will have to change but we'll adapt.'

EXTRA

Being pregnant at sea came with some challenges but Shanks and the crew had your back. You'd made Shanks leave the room when he came close to passing out.

'Congratulations y/n, here's your baby boy,' Hongo says excitedly, handing you a bundle of blankets, 'I'll get Shanks.'

You nod and stare in awe at your baby boy who already has some red hair like his father, 'I'll get my money later, I knew it would be a boy.'

Hongo laughs and leaves. Only you, him and Benn thought it would be a boy while Shanks and the rest of the crew bet on a girl.

Shanks comes into the room and you hold out the bundle, 'Say hello to your son Shanks.'

Shanks holds his son and smiles down at him, 'Just what this ship needs y/n, another me running around. At least we know he's mine,' he laughs.

You flip him off. This was going to be an interesting next chapter for the three of you.

#anime fanfiction #anime imagines #opla #one piece fanfiction #one piece imagines #one piece live action #one piece #one piece live action imagines #one piece live action fanfiction #anime blog #opla shanks #one piece shanks #one piece shanks imagines #one piece shanks fanfiction #opla shanks imgaines #opla shanks fanfiction #red haired pirates #red haired shanks

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unfortunately-obsessed · 3 months

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I'll love you like a dog (you'll betray me like a man)

A/N: Not proofread. Rushed this before the gym tbh. Hope y'all guys enjoy. AO3 link

"Why do you need to punish yourself this much?"

Most houses and apartments on Earth-42 rest in darkness, so you glance down the street, eyes straining at the neon of rooftops. It's pouring. Miguel didn't had the chance to put up a fight when you are being this cruel.

The pressure is unbearable, his shoulders tense. You watched him send Gwen back her universe despite the probability of her having to confront homelessness there. You watched Miguel try to hurt a kid, and now you're watching as he sets teams to hunt Miles.

"I need to fix this," he tells you, staring and fists clenched. His voice's flat. It's the same answer everytime. You're used to it.

And you know why, of course. It's the reason why every Spider-Man must suffer.

It's the tenderness of grief. Tender like a bruise.

Miguel suffers and weeps. It's sickening to watch how much pain can make you aggressive.

You're more than aware you're a bad person. Never a hero, never sure why you were accepted among them.

(The truth about the multiverse is that they don't know it enough. The canon theory could be right. It could be wrong. They will never know in their lifetime.

It's cruel and merciless and they will never understand it fully.

You're never fast enough to save a person. You are fast enough to watch them die.

Grief comes in waves. Miguel will never see his daughter grow up.)

"Years dedicated to this job," you lament, voice clear through rain, "It all comes down to letting people die."

In another life, we bump on each other at the grocery store. There, we are meant to a happy ending.

Never this one. Here, Miguel looks at you with dread despite all else.

He stiffens further. And you're on his side, he knows it, because you will always be, loyalty outweighting what you know is wrong.

"I don't need your approval," he says. Miguel looks at you strange, eyes fiery red as if glowing with contained rage.

You inch closer to him. Miguel keeps dooming himself. It always going to end up like this.

"I'm just saying," you start, and there's something horrible inside you, "there's no coming back after this."

It's the awareness that you will let Miguel ruin you. Besides that, you would dissect him to know what's happening in his brain, gut him like a fish.

Grief comes in waves. It outweights reason, born from love. Gabriella's laughter is so loud in his head, right now. Not one day passed that he didn't want to take the his heart out of the chest.

You enable the worst in each other. It's true, you had watched him bite off the neck of a person, blood dripping from his fangs. He had watched you punch someone until your own knuckles scratched open.

"I know," Miguel snarls. Life brimming with sorrow. "But you will be on my side."

Jeff Davis has been dead since the beginning. This can go only one way.

Yet, what were Miles supposed to do? Stay still and watch his father die?

And what were you supposed to do? You'd chose Miguel over anybody else. You were never a good person.

Miguel is, though. Despite everything else, he is trying to do what he finds right. Despite the bitterness, the grief.

Somewhere else, I try harder to stop you. Here, I don't try at all. Here, I will meet you halfway.

It rains. It had been raining. The truth is that you are better a weapon than a person. Never letting go of violence like a mother's hand.

"Always," you say.

"And you understand why," he croaks out, solemnly. Taking a shuddering breath.

You purse your lips. "I do."

Loving Miguel had made you worse. "You will regret this," he waves, leaning closer.

You cannot save. You can only try. In another universe, we grew up together. The grief doesn't end but so does the love.

"Maybe." You smile to him, it's not a happy sight. He doesn't falter. "But you can do anything and I won't leave you."

Miguel is making the wrong decision. It's okay, good people also make bad things.

You stand in front of Miguel, and he loves you too. That's why he allows you to be here. "Just don't go where I can't follow."

Everything's sacrificial– you'll make Miguel's massacre holy until there's nothing else to sacrifice.

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #atsv #arwrites #me!spiderman2o99

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nicki0kaye · 4 months

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random Kallus hc inspired by someone else's post #2

man he's gotta hate that he lost his bo-rifle to fucking Thrawn

like so the moral of the Honorable Ones to me was Kallus realizing he has nothing of value in his life--he has TWO personal items to his name; this fuckin glow rock and his bo-rifle which he has just learned is his by right. Regardless of what he did to Lasan, regardless of all the awful reasons he should never be accepted by any of his enemies, that fucking bo-rifle is his and no Honor Guard of Lasan can argue otherwise. There are a lot of reasons he turns on the Empire, but this is where it starts. The realization his life is so small and so empty, and he just limped back to it. Why? Why is this life worth living? And with more research, it stops being a selfish desire to ditch and becomes an informed hatred of the Empire, BUT

lets go back to that kernel of rebellion. Kallus' life is small and empty. He's got a Rock and Bo-Rifle. That's all that defines him outside his identity as a ISB officer.

He just acquired the Rock. He's been living with bo-rifle as his single defining trait for maybe a decade at this point. It's an extension of his beef with Lasat in general, which started on Onderon when one blew up his first Big Boy Mission. It makes sense he'd fixate on such a traumatic event but it's not JUST that. You don't get to have personal hobbies or a sense of fashion or really any kind of identity within the Empire outside who you personally want to fuck up. Kallus chose the Lasat and got fucking spiteful about it, which led him to the Siege of Lasan, where he won his bo-rifle.

but like, it's more than that. It isn't just hatred--if it were, I don't think Zeb would have gotten to him. I think that Kallus has had a buried respect for the Lasat for a long time, if only because of how much time and effort it took to win and then become proficient with the bo-rifle. Then there's the layer of it being the only true outlet for identity he's allowed. THEN there's the fact the bo-rifles are a Force weapon. They've got kyber crystals inside them. And I personally subscribe to the idea that everyone can sense the Force, thus be guided by the Force, it's just that not everyone can recognize what is intuition/one's own emotions and what is the Force, nevermind having an ability to influence other shit with the Force.

What I'm trying to say is I wanna believe Kallus bonded with his bo-rifle in a cosmic way. He is the Warrior, hunting the future; the Force always had plans for his ass and saw that a Force-conductive weapon made its way into his hands, that he then spent years becoming deadly with. That fucking weapon is connected to his soul.

and he lost it to Thrawn.

Thrawn didn't beat him in a fight while Kallus was armed with his bo-rifle, but he super beat his ass in a fight. Even if Kallus could argue he didn't earn the bo-rifle, Kallus couldn't retrieve it before having to gtfo. It's still somewhere on Thrawn's stupid ship--my assumption is that Thrawn goes and adds it to his collection of stolen artwork.

Regardless, Kallus doesn't have it anymore. This thing he poured what little identity he was allowed to maintain, years of hard work and practice and countless battles where he relied on it to keep him alive as his primary weapon, nevermind a Force connection, anyone would become attached to a weapon after years of service. This reminder of Lasan, this piece of history, its fucking gone now.

I don't think he'd think he's allowed to mourn that, considering all he's done, but you can't logic away your feelings, and now he's with a group of ppl who actively find that kind of coping pretty fucking unhealthy. At some point he's gonna have to process what that weapon meant to him and its not gonna be pretty.

imo, he gets a tat of it on the forearm of his dominant hand. He'd think about it for a long time but only go through with it after finally discussing all his mixed up feelings with Zeb, who would super approve of him paying his respects to a sacred fuckin weapon this way. It was his, by right, by soul, by will of the Ashla.

#nik v sw #kallus

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 1 month

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 27

MASTAPOST

His sister knew.

His sister knew, and she joined his parents on a hunt. She joined his parents to sabotage them, because she knew they’d catch up to him. She freed him.

His sister saved him. The tears that she helped stop broke through again. His sister knew, and she saved him. She still loved him, even if he was a monster.

Danny took one more look at the deck of his parents’ boat, and he jumped. He’d never been so happy to be in cold water in his entire life. Scales climbed over his skin. His legs snapped together, bones melding into tail vertebrae. The weapons systems on the SAV were down. Thank you Tuck. It had to be him.

Danny looked up at the hull of the boat, clean and free of barnacles. He turned to the vast depths in every direction. He should be running. He should be getting as much of a head start as humanly or inhumanly possible. There was no way he could come back. No way at all.

He didn’t do any of that. He just felt so… so tired. His body sank down to the bottom of the sea, which was admittedly not far down. His glowing scales and lines lit the way down. On the sea floor, he curled into a ball, clutching himself tightly.

What was he to do now?

His mission was complete. Damian Wayne was reunited with Bruce Wayne. Jazz knew about Danny’s true nature, so there was no way she’d not know that the spitfire of a green guppy was Damian. One quick explanation was all it would take for everything to end well. Bruce Wayne would bring his son home. And his parents-

He palmed the spot on his chest over his heart. His parents didn’t know. What if he just went home, pretended like he’d been rescued by someone.

Danny’s scales shivered like goosebumps.

The Amity Island sirens were probably long gone. Maybe they’d come back for more trouble next year, but maybe not. For all he knew, Danny Phantom was no longer needed in Amity. No longer welcome, if he was ever welcome in the first place.

His lateral line tinged. The light of his scales illuminated a small guppy swimming in front of him. Danny stared at Damian, the boy crossing his arms and looking over his body. How did he get out?!

“You are uninjured.” Damian said. It was the first he’d heard from him in over 24 hours. Danny would have cried in relief, if he wasn’t already trying to wipe the tears away from his earlier cry.

“D-Damian! Why aren’t you on the boat? Your dad’s right there!”

Damian sat down on the sand in front of him, fingering one of his fins. “This reunion is not amenable to me. You were right. My father is influenced by the Fentons. It would be safer to return to our original plan. I have more reasonable family members to go to in Gotham.”

Danny blinked. “But I thought you hated me.”

“I am still angry with you. And I have not decided whether I have forgiven you or not.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Regardless, nobody deserves to have done to them what the Fentons intended with you. I would have done away with them myself, but entrusted Jasmine Fenton to the job. You’re welcome.”

That was strangely heartwarming. Despite himself, Danny felt a small smile form. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence. Despite being in sonar range, the SAV did nothing. Probably Tucker blinding their systems. The idea that Damian would throw away this chance shook him, but-

Danny recalled the terror. The fear. The overwhelming dread underneath the shadow of a man who could snap his skinny body in two. Perhaps Damian had a point.

Damian scraped a bit of dirt on his arm fin. The two of them were looking worse for wear every day. “If you are unable to continue, then I understand. I will go through the Panama Canal on my own. Thank you for bringing me this far.”

He grabbed the boy’s arm, stopping him from leaving. “What do you mean on your own?!”

“I will not blame you if you choose to abandon this quest.” Damian’s fins drooped.

Danny shook his head. “You’ve got no supplies, no food, no weapons. We’ve got nothing.”

“I will find more.”

“I can’t abandon you.”

“Even after I caused your capture?”

Danny hunched his shoulders. He filled with determination. “I made a promise, Damian.”

The boys stared into each other’s eyes, searching. Their fins flared, an unconscious fight for dominance. Damian loomed over Danny, defiant. Danny held firm.

“Very well. Are you ready to go now?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t wanna linger around here much longer. Do you?”

Damian flipped himself so he was belly up. The boy glared at the ship above. “Not particularly. Let us go.”

It was morning when Jazz woke up. Her head lay on a towel and icepack. Warm sunlight streamed into her room. The back of her head numbly throbbed, a reminder of what had happened last night. Emotions simmered. Vestiges of adrenaline, anxiety and stress coursed through her system. Alongside them, relief. She had done it. Danny was safe.

A tear fell through her eye. Would it be the last time she ever saw him?

Jazz pulled herself out of bed sluggishly. The floor in her room and just outside still bore stains from Damian’s mucus. Honestly, boys.

She glimpsed the vast ocean outside her window. They were near the Panama Canal. That was probably where Danny and Damian were headed. It seemed the boys had a plan all along. Danny was strong. Not his superpowers, but his heart. Her little brother had persevered this far, and she hoped that knowing that at least one member of his family loved him for sure would allow him to make it.

For now, she had to face the music. What would her parents to do her?

“JAZZIE!”

Jazz jumped out of her skin. Her father’s feet stomped thunderously through the room. He scooped her up in one motion, crushing her ribs with a tight hug.

“D-dad!”

“Jazzie we were so worried!” Her father sobbed. “We’d just finished fighting off those abyssal abominations when we realised you and Brucie weren’t there! And then we looked in the lab and- and- and-”

Jazz patted her dad’s back. “There, there, dad. It’s alright. I barely even felt anything.”

“Jazzieeee!” Her father cried.

Her mother walked in soon after, a tray of food in hand.

“Honey, you’re smothering her.”

“Oh, sorry!”

Right as her dad let her down, her mother rushed up and engulfed her in another crushing hug. Lots of points in the ‘not smothering’ department there. “We were so worried. How are you feeling? Honey? Is your head alright?”

“Just a bit of a headache, that’s all. I’m fine, mom, honest!”

“Come here now.” Her mum pushed the tray on to her atop a wooden stand that had been lying in the room. “I’ve made you some chicken noodle soup, and I’ve got you some Tylenol for the headache. We’ve also screened you for any remaining siren influence.”

“I can’t believe it! That tiny green kid had it in him to mind control our dear Jazzie!” Her dad cried loudly, tears streaming down. “Are you sure you’re ok, sweetie? We can do some more tests.”

Jazz shook her head. “Dad, I promise I’m fine. I barely even registered anything happening. Just a blur in my head, then suddenly I’m awake in here. Where’s Mr Wayne?”

“We put him in the guest room. Your mind controlled self did a number on him! Guess we won’t have to worry about any human creeps getting the jump on you, eh?”

Jazz’s face twisted in (mostly performative) guilt. “I’m so sorry! Is he ok?”

Her mum shook her head. “Don’t worry about him, honey. He’s just got a bit of a bump on his head now. He’ll be fine.” Served him right for terrorising her little brother, be it intentionally or not.

Jazz rubbed the back of her head, still throbbing.

“It’s not your fault. It was the fault of those damn crafty fish.” Her mother’s face sank.

Jazz leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “What’s the damage then?”

Her dad sat down. “Well it ain’t pretty. The engines are gonna need recalibrating. Then the rudders fixed. Thankfully we’ve got all the spare parts we could need and more, but it’ll take a day and a half, maybe more, before we’re seaworthy again.”

“Can’t believe all that crying was just act.” Her mum muttered darkly. “Just buying time for his friends to show up.”

Jazz put her noodles down, and gulped a handful of pills. “What did Phantom do?”

“Mostly he tried to lie to our faces. Then put on a show of being scared and helpless. I can’t believe we fell for it.”

Jazz stared into her mother’s eyes. And what she saw shocked her. Instead of the conviction, the hatred and the determination that usually backed those words, Jazz found vulnerability. At first she thought it was because her mom thought she’d lost her chance to get Danny back. But none of that occurred in the days leading up to this event. Not once during this expedition had she seen such uncertainty.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

The uncertainty disappeared underneath a mask, underneath her red goggles. “I told you not to worry, sweetie. Get some more rest. Your father and I have a boat to fix.”

“That’s right! I don’t wanna see you running around trying to help us, got it?”

Her parents filed out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

Jazz went for her phone.

Tucker blinked himself away at the morning sun. Immediately he went for his laptop. He went into the Fentons’ systems, went into their cameras and detection equipment, breath baited.

The lab was empty. The sonars were clear. The radar was clear. He wanted to cry. They had done it!

“Yes!”

Sam groaned beside him. Right, he was in her room. “Please celebrate quietly, Tuck. You’re killing me.”

Tucker winced. Sam looked not much better than last night. She was swathed in bandages like some anime main character. “Sorry Sam.” He whispered.

“Did we do it at least?”

He lifted his laptop to show her. “Danny’s like 400 miles away. And with what Jazz did, he’ll be getting much farther.”

“Good. I’ll return to the land of the dead now.”

Tuck waved his hands in front of her. “Wait! What about changing your bandages?”

“Ugh.” Sam stayed lying down, but her eyes remained open.

Tucker got to work. His hands moved carefully around Sam’s tender spots. Her skin had regained most of its colour overnight, but was still sensitive. At some point, he put on the news on his laptop, like they had been since Danny left.

“Your grandma’s gonna kill me for letting you do this.”

“Not before she kills me first.” Sam muttered. “And not before I kill Danny for giving me this killer headache.”

Tucker snorted. “Be a waste of blood to kill the person you spent it all saving.”

“That’s why I’ll suck out all his tasty fish blood. Like a vampire.”

“Hah! I’m pretty sure Hamon and vampirism don’t mix Sam.”

Sam whacked him in the head with a pillow. “It’s the Focus, not Hamon.”

The news feed switched to a familiar image. Sam pulled herself to a sitting position. “Turn it up, Tuck!”

‘On to other news, it has been over 96 hours since Damian Wayne, heir to Wayne Industries, was viciously attacked by sirens. Only a day later, Bruce Wayne, father to the boy, set off with local siren hunters Jack and Maddie Fenton. They have not been heard from since. We interviewed government experts, Operatives K and O for their statements,

The presenter gestured to a large TV screen showing two of the smarmiest bastards Tucker had ever met (second only to, ugh, Vlad).

“We share our condolences to Bruce Wayne for his loss. The siren menace continues to plague this country and others.-‘

“Bullshit!” Sam shouted.

“As a result, we are calling for all citizens in coastal areas to be on high alert. These fish freaks are living among us, seeking out the weakest and most suggestible, and then luring them to the bottom of the sea to be eaten, or worse.’

“And what of Damian Wayne?”

Agent K lowered his head. He placed his hand on his heart. Tucker heckled at the terribly stilted and overwhelmingly dishonest display.

‘We regret to say that he was torn to pieces, and eaten. We will be pursuing his killer, a siren dubbed Phantom, to bring to justice.’

Sam clenched her first. “The only justice we need is for your entire organization to burn and every single one of you in The Hague!”

‘If any of you see or suspect Phantom, we implore you to contact our offices immediately. This specimen is no Little Mermaid, but a vicious predator who will take away everything you hold dear.’

The newscast cut away from the two men. The presenter continued with a constant cool composure, despite the grim subject matter.

‘Indeed, the attacks on Amity Island have gained national attention as a result of Damian Wayne’s death. However, there has nonetheless been pushback against the narrative presented by the GiW. In Baja California, Mexico, residents of a small fishing town were shocked to find an entourage of Atlantean soldiers escorting a group of illegal whale hunters. The poachers have since been deported to the United States, but not before they claimed to be attacked by a siren matching the mysterious Phantom’s description, in addition to another small green siren. Our correspondent in Mexico has the scoop.’

The newscast cut to a female Atlantean soldier and a young reporter.

“The boat was covered in ice, like it was the Arctic or something. So were the poachers. One guy was covered up completely except for his mouth. I’m sure we accidentally ripped off a layer of skin or two breaking it. Feel kinda bad, but they’re poachers so meh. Not to mention all the slime.” The soldier shuddered visibly.

“And what do you think provoked the sirens to attack the ship? Are the sirens just very conservationally-minded?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know. My guess is the humans were creeping up on their territory.”

The news segment droned on to less interesting details. Tucker and Sam had heard enough.

“Damn, Sam! Looks like your ways are rubbin’ off on Danny.”

Sam chucked another pillow at him. Tucker dodged. “You mean he’s giving himself away. I hate poachers as much as the next guy, but he has invisibility for fuck’s sake. Why did he let himself get seen!?”

Tucker shrugged, mimicking the Atlantean woman on the video just then. “I’m sure he’s got a good reason somehow.”

“Or he forgot he could do that.”

Tucker shut his laptop closed. “Welp, if that’s all, I gotta run back before my mom doubles my grounding.” He winced.

The boy clambered out Sam’s window, and waved her goodbye.

“Thanks Tuck. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We’re Team Phantom, baby! We’re riding high or dying, and there’s no in between!”

Samson Skulker stood over the edge of his yacht, a beautiful glass of red wine in hand. Below him, his trusty dolphin cohort surfaced, chittering information. The wound on his leg was healing nicely, and his suit was ready too. It was incredible. Simply incredible how much poor little Phantom could swim in a single day. Faster than any other sea creature in the world, except for his own species. It was an exhilarating hunt, even if he had to upgrade his engines over and over just to keep up.

“Panama Canal, you say? Well, well, well. This will be interesting.”

Skulker pulled out his phone and dialed the number he’d seen on TV.

“Hello? I’d like to report a Phantom sighting. I saw him heading towards Panama. I think he’s making Panama his next target.”

Let’s see how the little fishies squirm when there are a couple dozen more sharks in the water.

The water had been getting shallower, brighter. It tinged with the smell of wood and metal and oil. Seagulls cried from above. Damian knew where they were. Knew they were close.

To be continued…

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skyloftian-nutcase · 1 month

Text

First Meetings (Hero’s Shadow backstory!)

The highlands were particularly chilly today as Link looked out into the dunes of Gerudo territory. It was strange how he could be so close to barren heat while also freezing his butt off.

Trilling his lips, the half-Sheikah warrior stretched lazily, gaze drifting from spot to the next. He had been transferred to guard duty along the Hyrulian-Gerudo border for his new assignment. It was his first time truly far from home, and it was honestly pretty thrilling. Link loved to see and learn new things, and the Gerudo Highlands were so vastly different from the lush, wet valleys and mountains of home. Kakariko Village was tucked away near Lake Hylia, and Link had spent most of his youth swimming and rushing to the large Cracked Mountain - legend said an earthquake had caused the large split along its center, and it held mystical treasures within its belly, but all Link had managed to do as a child was get stuck halfway through and give his elders a heart attack.

Either way, he loved exploring, and this place was all entirely new. The Highlands were visible from the capital on the Royal Plateau, but he’d never really known what to expect of any of it. Now that he was assigned here, he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of the place.

But at the moment he was on duty, and so he stayed in his position.

It wasn’t as if the Gerudo were particularly hostile. They were not part of the kingdom and needed to be watched, and they were a warrior people, making them more threatening than others, but still… they hadn’t really caused problems for Hyrule, nor vice versa. There was definitely a wariness between the factions, though, and it created tension.

Movement caught Link’s eye, and he turned, wondering if maybe it was another lizard (he had already collected three), when he realized it was a person. Small, far in the distance, but someone nonetheless. Curious and a little wary, Link crept closer, hand slowly resting atop his katana, and then he got a closer look.

It was a Gerudo. A teenager, from the looks of it - maybe even around his age. She had twin scimitars, and she was practicing with them, slicing hydromelons with ease. Link watched her a little while, watched the way she moved so fluidly, the way her muscles rippled with each twist and turn, the way her hair reflected the sun far more than the sands did. He felt himself staring a little too long, his heart fluttering a little, and he stepped back, a little overwhelmed. The girl seemed to sense his scrutiny, stopping and looking around before glancing upward at him. Link swallowed, throat dry.

She—she was—she was beautiful.

Link heard a sandal on stone, and his adrenaline immediately spiked, every nerve on high alert, just in time to see a shadow cast over him. He looked up and saw a large figure seemingly falling out of the sky towards him, large mace in hand, and Link gasped a little, rolling out of the way as the weapon slammed into the earth.

Grabbing the hilt of his katana with his left hand, the thirteen-year-old immediately went into action. The initial removal from the scabbard was a wide slash, pushing the figure—a man who bore Gerudo traits (but weren’t all the Gerudo women? That’s what he’d heard)—back a little to avoid getting eviscerated. The sun shone behind the man, blinding Link a little, and he changed his position, breaking the kata in order to get a better view. It gave his opponent an opening, and he took a large step forward, swinging the mace horizontally. Link ducked, thankful for his small stature, and jabbed his blade directly forward. His enemy twisted to the side to dodge, and Link’s flank was wide open, giving the man an opportunity to do a one-handed swing with his weapon.

It hit true, slamming Link in the ribs.

The young warrior went flying, hitting the cliffside and falling to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath. He heard the person walk towards him, and then heard under his breath, in a bemused tone, “A child?”

Link gasped life back into himself, ignoring how his ribs protested, and he sprang back to his feet, gripping his blade with both hands as he did another sweeping cut to drive his enemy back. He jerked a little at the end of the fluid motion, hissing in pain. His ribs were definitely broken.

Did he have a fairy? An elixir? He didn’t remember packing anything, but—

Link’s eyes widened as the man strode forward purposefully, both hands around the leather handle of the enormous mace, and he swept it right where Link’s head was. Clapping his hands together, the teenager channeled his magic, feeling the air sucked out of his lungs as he disappeared before the weapon could land a hit.

Ganondorf stared, blinking at the blank space where the child had just been. Despite being caught off guard by the Hylian’s age, he was still armed and he’d still been watching his daughter, which merited a swift response. The Gerudo king looked around a moment, confused, before hearing clothes fluttering. He turned around wildly, still seeing nothing, and then the sun reflected off something bright just above him, and he looked up and—

The child was about to stab him in the head.

Hissing, Ganondorf pushed hard with his right leg, jerking his body to the side just in time for the Hylian to slice his blade across his shoulder and part of his chest. Ganondorf bit back a yell, his blood pumping faster than it had in ages, and when he’d finished dodging, he’d almost had to laugh.

He didn’t know how this child was actually managing to put up a fight, but this was actually kind of invigorating. The boy had even landed a blow!

Ganondorf knew he’d won, though, based on how the boy struggled to breathe, so he paused before continuing the fight. “Who are you, child?”

The boy immediately hesitated, clearly caught off guard by his change in tone, and he stood hesitantly in a ready stance. “My name is Link.”

“Link,” Ganondorf repeated, humming and putting the mace on a strap on his back. The Hylian hesitated, red eyes curious and hopeful and far too trusting. In an instant, Ganondorf pulled out his spear, slamming the boy’s abdomen with the blunt end. The child gasped, falling to his back, and the fight was over. Ganondorf approached him slowly, watching his chest heave as he struggled to breathe. He pulled out a red potion, plopping it on the ground next to the boy, and dug the sharp end of his spear into the earth beside the child’s light blonde hair. “Don’t watch my daughter again.”

With that, the Gerudo king walked away, wondering what in the world Hyrule Kingdom was doing sending children to its borders anyway. But he had to admit… he was impressed by the boy’s fighting prowess.

Link grimaced, turning enough to grab the potion and chug it, wondering what in the world just happened.

Despite reporting the incident to his superiors, not much was really done. Apparently, there was concern that this was the actual King of the Gerudo himself, and no one would dare cause problems by claiming the king had attacked a lowly Hyrulian guard. Link wasn’t important enough to merit a war. He also felt immensely guilty he’d even managed to bring about any concern for one.

Sighing, the teenager resumed his post the next day, a little more wary and more than a little put out.

When he heard a foot scuff on stone, he immediately drew his blade, wondering what kind of insanity he was going to deal with now.

Instead, he saw the girl he recognized from yesterday, carrying a basket and looking apologetic.

“Hey,” she said softly, holding her hands up to appease him. “I don’t mean any harm.”

“This is the Hyrule border,” Link warned, not moving.

“Yeah. I know.” The teenager replied dully, as if it were obvious. Well… it was, but still. What else was he going to say?

“That means you can’t be here,” he explained, though there was less force in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl replied dismissively. “Technically I can’t cross the line. That’s somewhere between you and me. I’m still in Gerudo territory.”

Link lowered his sword, growing confused. “Yeah, but… what do you want?”

“I wanted to say sorry,” the girl replied, lowering her arms and gripping the basket with both hands. “My dad is… overly protective. But… yeah. You want food?”

Link blinked. Blinked again. “Uh… sure?”

The girl smiled, trotting over and grabbing a stick. She traced a line in the dry earth, easily creating a division between them. “There. There’s the border. I won’t cross this line. But we can have a picnic in the meantime.”

Link stared at her, then at the line, then back at her. And then he giggled. “A picnic sounds nice.”

The two sat across from each other, the center of the basket placed directly over the line, and slowly they started to eat and chat. And if they stayed there for hours until the sun started to set, neither really commented on it.

And if they saw each other the next day for another picnic, neither complained.

And if a King and Queen of the Gerudo stood exasperatedly at the bottom of the cliff the tenth time it happened, neither of them noticed.

#writing #Hero of shadow #totk #Ganondorf #hemisi #Gan: *thinks some grown man is being a creep on his 13 year old daughter* oh I’m about to break ALL the treaties #Gan after realizing it’s a kid: Oh. Well. He was looking anyway so I’m teaching him a lesson.#Gan after realizing this is a kid who can FIGHT: Huh. Ok. I’m intrigued.#Hemisi and Link are cute <3 #I love them #legend of zelda #No editing my honor dies like Shadow #Poor baby T-T

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