#tell me to never do it again and I won’t otherwise you get that every week now

[wrathfulmercy]

Similarities I found in towl about the way I write Rick part 1

Obviously these are all just my opinions and interpretations but I wanted to share them since I write Rick since 2019 now and had all these things in my head before the series even released. Beware! Spoilers for episode 1 underneath the cut! And tw: heavy topics and long text

- Rick mentions his father was a farmer (what I didn’t expect cause I always imagined him being a sheriff or something too) and that he got disappointed by him as he bluntly lied into Rick’s face. He did it to protect the family in his point of view, but Rick was shocked and hurt by the dishonesty. I always imagined Rick’s father as someone who drastically damaged his general trust and “helped” develop Rick’s trust issues and lack of self esteem cause when he couldn’t trust his father, he wonders if he himself is someone to trust or who will sooner or later be like his father and lets people down. (To be fair I imagined his father as a strict asshole xD but that’s just overdramatizing it for writing purposes and cause it fits to my rick)

- At the beginning of the episode Rick tries to kill himself or at least has suicidal thoughts he doesn’t go through with. I always imagined Rick as someone who struggles or struggled with some kind of self harm (simply because I feel so similar to him that it would fit) and that for him it was more or less a blessing as the world fell to change his auto aggression into external aggression he could let out on the walkers or someone else. Many of you know I studied psychology and know a lot about it from myself as well and in the past self harm was often mistaken with suicide attempts in treatment. It’s not the same! People who self harm often don’t want to die, they self harm because they want to keep themselves under control so they don’t kill themselves. Self harm and suicidal tendencies are not the same! Some people self harm to feel alive again, to feel themselves again (that’s why mindfulness in therapy is such a big topic), to control their overwhelming feelings or to feel the pain in a physical way instead of the emotional way (cause you can somehow control physical pain by treating it - a wound for example that’s why many people who self harm take extra good self care of it - but you can’t control emotional pain. I describe Rick often as a control freak and even if I think that in this scene his suicidal tendencies were indeed real, it showed definitely a part of him I always expected while others often told me like “what Rick? Never would he think about suicide or self harm”. Oh yes he does. He likes the pain and thrives from it cause it makes him feel alive. Thats why he goes absolutely savage without a second thought cause he can let it out there and fight like a monster and it doesn’t even bother him cause he only feels alive then. You can even see how his look changes and he comes back to life after he cut himself and realizes what he was doing. Great acting as well! Cause often you end a dissociative moment where you could easily unalive yourself by inflicting pain so you come back to reality then and often you can’t even remember how you got there. Thats why people who blame others for suicide cause “it’s selfish” are absolutely in the wrong too cause no one in the right mind would do it if they would be able to think that far in that moment. You’re not cause you’re in an absolute exceptional circumstance where your brain chemicals are not working anymore. Pain or the caused adrenaline after it can help bringing it back. Sorry for the Ted talk.

- he writes (love) letters to Michonne and I always imagined him as a reader and writer who likes poetry and wouldn’t only write beautiful letters but also nice poems for the ones he loves. He’s a romantic and I’m glad they showed that. (And yes again I feel so connected to him that since I write, I thought he has to write too haha)

- He admits to Michonne in the dream sequence that he’s late and I always imagined him as an over sleeper due to his insomnia and someone who sometimes is a bit tardy. Even if he tries desperately to be a morning person to get things done, he needs a lot of strong coffee and some time to pass before he functions and talks properly (and yes he loves staying in bed all day). He’s still super reliable and will always be there when you need him, but it might happen he is a bit late 🤣 and the insomnia and nightmares from his ptsd? Also well represented.

- In my head he always was a sweet tooth and a junk food lover and surprise: we got the pizza quote and how much he loves that xD

Bonus:

Also do I have to mention how I imagined the crm working with the ranks and everything years ago with my partners already? Also the A and B thing? My first verse for my OC Alex was the crm and I created her when I first wrote Rick in that world, imagining a character like her fitting there perfectly and teaming up with him. How funny that Thorne exactly fits that badass female character and how she is played by the love interest actress of the face I used for Alex. 🤣 damn I was so close with getting her actress right as well.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances

Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.

Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)

DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)

Word Count: 4.8k

Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.

Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.

He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.

This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.

He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.

He recognizes that voice.

Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”

Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.

Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?

You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”

“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”

He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.

It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.

He is never getting back his security deposit.

You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”

Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.

Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.

Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.

As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”

Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.

To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”

“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”

Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.

“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.

There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.

It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.

Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.

Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.

His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.

Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.

Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach

He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.

You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.

Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”

You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.

Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.

After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.

“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”

“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”

Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”

You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”

Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.

The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.

Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.

The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.

He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.

Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.

“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.

Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.

And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.

It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.

“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.

You shrug. “Running late.”

Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.

And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.

“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.

“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”

You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”

You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.

You and Robin share a guilty look.

Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.

It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.

“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”

Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”

You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”

“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.

“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.

You look up and wave.

Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…

As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.

You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.

It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.

“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”

“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.

In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.

Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.

Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.

Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.

He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.

“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.

He groans. Drops to one knee.

Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.

That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.

He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.

The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.

Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.

Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.

The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”

Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.

Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.

Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.

Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.

But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.

You don’t listen. You just drive.

Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.

Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.

“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.

“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.

He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.

Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.

The Pit surges.

After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.

Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.

His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.

“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”

The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—

Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”

“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.

He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.

“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”

“They’re not.”

“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.

Something clicks behind them.

Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.

Robin lets out a low cry.

Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.

Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”

Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.

Robin freezes.

“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.

Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.

Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.

Now you’re breathing and alive.

It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.

Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”

“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?

You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”

Oh.

“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.

“Which is technically true—”

“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.

“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.

The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."

Jason bristles with indignation.

Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."

"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."

"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"

"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.

"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.

It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.

When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."

All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."

You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."

Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"

"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"

Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."

"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."

"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.

Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.

Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"

Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.

"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."

Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"

Your face flushes and you look away.

It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."

"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"

You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.

He definitely will.

"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."

Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.

Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see with Jason in the future. My requests are open!

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in the Bottle - Chapter 9

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Elain Bashing, Rhys is trying to be a supportive big brother, This is officially the penultimate chapter of this story, but the series will eventually go on!

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“When was I supposed to tell you?” Eira asked Feyre calmly. “You said you were busy with more important things. You were busy with running this court.”

She didn’t give her sister the fault for that, but…

“I would have…” Feyre protested but then cut herself off. “No, I wouldn’t have,” she sighed. “That’s on me. I gave you no opportunity to come to me, no reason why you should ever trust me again…” Feyre said softly, trailing off, staring at Eira with wide blue eyes. “I am sorry.”

“For what? Saying what you were thinking?” Eira asked her sister, her eyebrows furrowing. “You are allowed to do that, Feyre. Even if I don’t like to hear it.”

Even when she didn’t want to hear it…even then.

“Talking to you like this,” Feyre pointed out, reaching out for her hand.  “When I told you that I had more important things to do when you were only trying to be nice to me…or when I put my nose into what happened between Azriel and you.”

Eira swallowed at that. 

“Don’t be,” Eira assured her sister, forcing a smile on her face.  “It was time for me to…to realise that he’s completely uninterested and that any hope of him changing his mind is a fever dream.” Azriel wasn’t interested and he never would be. It would be better for everybody if Eira just accepted that. 

She would get over him. Find somebody else…maybe somebody that she wouldn’t annoy… maybe some long-suffering male… who was willing to take pity on her.  “You don’t need to worry about it anymore, Feyre. I won’t try and talk to him again,” she promised her sister. 

Feyre had enough other things to worry about. Eira’s feelings weren’t going to inconvenience anyone any more. 

“No!” Feyre exclaimed and she stared at her sister. 

What? 

This was what Feyre had wanted, wasn’t it?

“No?” she repeated questioningly, a hand still gently running over Nyx's back that was happily cuddling with her, playing with her fingers. 

“What Feyre means is that…you have every right to…handle your relationships as you see fit,” Nesta hurried to add. 

Her relationships?

“There is no relationship. There never will be a relationship. I’ll get over myself,” Eira promised. Eventually. “You don’t need to worry about it. I won’t annoy him any longer or inconvenience you.”

You’ve never annoyed Master, the shadows hissed at her, suddenly appearing and wrapping themselves around her hand. 

“It’s very sweet of you to say that, but we both know it is a lie,“ she said quietly, blinking back the tears that threatened to run over her face. It was so sweet. So sweet of them to do that…but it was useless. 

Don’t worry, I’ll find somebody else,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. Somebody that…somebody that maybe wanted her…somebody that she wouldn’t annoy…somebody that… “Is everything alright with Elain’s wedding planning?“ she asked, changing the topic. Eira hoped everything was alright with that, otherwise poor Elain would be so stressed once again and…

“Eira, forget that fucking wedding for a moment,” Nesta snapped and she flinched, worriedly looking at Nyx that didn’t seem to care one way or another about Nesta’s cursing. What was wrong with the wedding? Had something gone amiss? Was it her fault? Was it something that Eira had done?! “Look at me,” her older sister said with a sigh. She did. Eira’s eyes met Nesta’s, silver and grey, so similar. “I am sorry,” Nesta told her earnestly. 

“Why are you apologising?” Eira asked. What was…

“Because I threw everything I could think of at your head when I…during those weeks and you still came to visit me every week. You wouldn’t have needed to do that but you still did,” Nesta said quietly. 

“You’re my sister. Of course, I came to visit you,” Eira said fiercely. Of course, she had come to visit Nesta. She would have…otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself. ”You don’t need to apologise,” Eira assured her. It was fine. Nesta had…had a really bad time and…

“Yes, I do,” Nesta snapped. “You should be angry with me!”

Furious…Angry…But then Eira had never really been angry quickly. She had never…And even when she had gotten angry, it had never held for very long…even her anger at Elain had gone away in a few hours. 

It sparked and then it went out again.

“You should be furious with me! For belittling you, for telling you that all the dresses you make are ugly, for behaving like I did!”

She repeated the words, and something deep inside Eira curled together once she heard them again, even when Nesta was sorry about all she had said. 

It was fine. Nesta could… her dresses weren’t as perfect as some that one could buy maybe…maybe Nesta was right. Maybe she should keep to hemming them and shortening sleeves and alterations and stop making things from scratch…maybe she should…“You are entitled to your own opinion,” she said softly. 

“Not when I use it to hurt you on purpose!” Nesta yowled. “You never told me you made me a wedding dress,” she said, her voice dropping, sounding weak. 

How did she…

For just a moment it felt like Eira’s heart was stopping. Then she swallowed, and she looked down at Nyx, still cuddled up to her, as she answered.  “You wouldn’t have wanted to wear it, so what did it matter? It’s ugly.”

Not good enough. Not pretty enough. Worthless.

“It’s beautiful,” Nesta responded, her voice splintering. 

Eira just closed her eyes. 

She couldn’t stand it. She could deal with the harsh words but she could not deal with the outright lying. She could not… “You don’t need to tell me that to spare my feelings, Nesta. I understand,” Eira said weakly. She did understand it. 

It was alright. It was…

“I am not lying to you!” Nesta snapped.” “Be angry at us. Scream at us. Throw us out, Eira. But don’t just…accept it. Don’t just turn the other cheek. Don’t just…”

What good could that possibly do?

“So I am angry and then what, Nesta?” Eira finally asked, for the first time feeling so utterly tired. “Is screaming at you supposed to make me feel better or you?” she asked, for the life of her not understanding what Nesta wanted from her. “I love you, but I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I think it may be better if you all take a break,” a voice came from the doorway and she looked up to see Rhysand there. 

Gods, couldn’t she at least be spared that? 

At least…

“I am not…” Nesta started, but Rhys cut her off quietly. 

“Nesta. Please.” She had never heard the two of them talk to each other like that. 

Never. 

But now they did. And to Eira’s shock, her older sister listened. 

“Fine,” she agreed with a sigh, as Feyre scooped up Nyx, who gave her a toothy smile as she waved at him. 

Both Feyre and Nesta left the room, leaving her alone with Rhys. 

“If this is about my ill-hidden puppy crush on your spymaster, you don’t need to worry about that,” she told him, trying to make her voice seem frosty and probably failing horribly. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want so that he’s not uncomfortable.”

Maybe then she would get out of needing to have a conversation about it with Rhys…maybe then he wouldn’t start making fun of her or laughing at it…

God, it must be utterly ridiculous to a man who was over 500 years old. She probably was just…

The last thing she had expected was for him to watch her with his dark violet eyes and then say three words: “I am sorry.”

Why was everybody insisting on apologising to her today?

And why was Rhys of all people apologising to her? Was it because of him looking into her mind? Seeing her deepest darkest secrets? Stripping her mind naked for him to see and gawk at? 

Was it that?

“About taking a peek into my mind? Weren’t you trying to keep my pain at bay?” she asked, crossing her arms, ignoring the pain that appeared again in her ribs. 

“I was,” Rhys agreed. “But I should have known better. I was arrogant and not careful enough. You have a right to privacy, Eira, and I violated that. And then I violated it further when I told everybody what you felt when they were talking to you.”

Oh great. It just got worse and worse. 

“It’s fine,” she said, waving him off meekly. She didn’t have the strength to argue with him right now. 

“It’s not,” Rhys disagreed with a sigh. “And that’s not the only thing that I am sorry about either. I am sorry about the role I played in making you feel like you have no place here in Velaris,” he continued and her head snapped up to him. 

How…of course. He had seen everything. 

 “Like you are worthless…that you don’t matter,” Rhys continued softly. “I should have never talked to you like that, and I should have realised that we have taken you for granted a very long time ago,” Rhys said. “Even now you are wondering why Feyre and Nesta even bother to apologise to you. Eira, it wasn’t right how we treated you. When I finally got to pull myself from your mind, I threw up, because I was so utterly disgusted with what members of our family said to you. And I am counting myself onto that list as well.”

She didn’t even know what to say to that. 

She didn’t…

It was everything she had ever wished anybody would tell her…Everything right there offered to her on a silver platter. 

She could feel the tears burn into her eyes because she was…”What do you want?” Eira finally choked out. “What do you want, Rhysand? You wouldn’t say that if you didn’t want something. So what is it?”

What did he want that…

But she hadn’t expected him to reach out, one warm broad hand settling on her shoulder. 

“Oh, little one,” he breathed. “I don’t…I don’t want anything from you. This isn’t me manipulating you into giving up even more of yourself. The only thing I want is for you to be happy. I want you to know that we love you. I want you to know that none of us took for granted what you did…that you took this knife for Nyx. You were willing to give your own life for my son, Eira.” 

She had. 

“I am sorry for the role I played. I am not expecting you to forgive me now, but I would…hope that you may let me earn your forgiveness. May let all of us work for it.”

She had no idea what to think of that, didn’t know what to say about any of that, as the tears ran over her cheeks and he handed her a handkerchief from nowhere, his magic easily answering his call. 

“Think about it?” he requested softly. “If you don’t think you can ever forgive us…we’ll figure out somewhere else for you to stay…you won't ever need to worry about money or anything else…but if you were willing to give us a second chance…I know that Feyre and Nesta would be so happy to have you here.”

She didn’t want to go anywhere else. She was too connected to her family for that, she loved them too much that she thought that she could be happy anywhere further away from them. Maybe a smarter person would have taken Rhys’ offer with both hands, would have made herself a nice little life somewhere near the Summer Court maybe…but…

So finally she just nodded. 

She would give them a chance to fix things. She could try. 

And if it didn’t work out…maybe she would find herself somewhere else then. 

“There is…something else, I need to show you, if that’s alright, though,” Rhys continued quietly. “And it’s not..going to be…nice,” he warned her. “Elain had a vision.”

A vision? A bad one? “When?” Eira asked tonelessly. Were they in danger? 

“Close to two years ago,” Rhys answered gently. “Soon after you were made…and since then Elain has…manipulated circumstances so that it wouldn’t come to fruition. She didn’t tell anybody about it.”

This didn’t sound well. This didn’t sound like her sister either. 

“Is she alright?” Eira demanded and Rhys nodded. 

“She’s fine,” he promised her, his voice even. “I think it’s better if you see it if you’ll let me show you.” 

She nodded her agreement, swallowing…steeling herself for death and destruction and then getting…neither. 

Actually, that vision was…the softest, sweetest thing she had ever seen. 

It was…It was everything she had ever wanted. 

A little girl with her caramel brown hair…dark eyes…hazel and green…and wings. She had wings? Illyrian wings?

Eira watched herself with the little girl…watched them pull the carrots out of the ground…watched the little girl grin at her, gap-toothed and beautiful…everything she had ever wanted. 

And then…then she saw these violently scarred hands that had only ever touched her with so much gentleness…scoop up the little girl, her daughter…her mud-sprinkled dress decorated with little floral embroidery and settled her on his hip in a move that looked like he had done it hundreds and thousands of time. 

It was…

Azriel. 

What? How…why…the wings. It was his child? Her child? His child? Their child?!

He lifted up the basket that they kept their harvest in and then helped up her…the touch gentle and…intimate in a way that spoke of their…that…

One hand was pressed against the swell of her belly…another child slumbering inside her. 

A baby. 

Her babies. 

Their babies. 

No, this…this…

Her blood rushed in her ears, her breathing rapid as her vision cleared and Rhys looked at her quietly…nearly pitying. 

“The mating bond snapped for Azriel during dinner a few days ago,” he told her, his voice quiet. 

No. No. No. 

“This isn’t funny.” She wasn’t even sure how she forced these words out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure how she did that…How she…

“It’s not a joke,” Rhys assured her quietly. “It’s the truth, Eira. Elain saw that and decided to stop it from happening.

No. 

Not Elain. Not her twin sister. Not…

Azriel. Azriel?

At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!”

But you do need to realise, Eira, that that is never going to go anywhere. 

Azriel is completely disinterested. And it would be better for you if you finally realised that.

I want you to be happy. And thirsting after a male that will never return your affections you won’t do that. He’s not going to change his mind, Eira.

You should just stop your pathetic attempts to flirt with him. All you manage is to make him uncomfortable. 

There are plenty of fish in the sea… You’ll find somebody else one day.

It’s still never going to go anywhere!

He’s completely disinterested.

Her breathing came in sharp gasps. Blood rushed in her ears. 

Elain had said all of that. Elain. 

Elain, who had known that Eira had fallen in love. Who had seen this vision…who had seen her…her children. Her babies. 

Azriel’s children. These perfect babies? 

And Elain had tried to make sure that they never would exist?!

Her babies…

The first sob that broke out of her chest, the first fat tears that spilt over her face as she buried her face in her hands…as she cried. 

“I know. I know, little one,” Rhys whispered quietly. 

“Why did she do this?” Eira forced out, forcing a deep lungful of air into her constricting lungs. Why would she do this? Why had she…Why had Elain seen this and then…then behaved like this…why had she…Why…

“Shhhhh,” Rhys shushed her softly, gently brushing a hand over her hair, smoothing it over “It’s alright. It’s alright.” 

It wasn’t alright. None of this was alright.

And she couldn’t stop the tears or the sob that shook her…even as she didn’t know how long it took until Nesta crawled into bed with her, hauling her against her body and holding her tightly. Even as Feyre curled up next to her, holding her hand…until it was the three of them, just as it had been in that cottage…lacking one sister. 

[avtrbee]

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Nimona headcanons I wrote instead of sleeping

Sometimes the boys forget that Nimona isn’t human 

Like they’re used to the shifting into animals aspect of Nimona because she does it as often as she breathes

But sometimes she’ll do some really creepy shit like make her arms longer to reach something when she’s too lazy to get up

One time they shifted just their neck to be like an owl so they could turn their head 180 degrees instead of just turning around cause that was “too boring” 

Or he’ll mimic people’s voices without realizing it 

Sometimes he’ll tell a story and suddenly he’s using Bal’s voice 

The first time she did this Bal searched the whole house cause he was convinced that Todd has snuck in

Or she’ll grow an extra arm to hold more shit and they take a moment to realize “oh yeah we adopted a little weirdo” 

They get used to it after a while and the arguments surrounding it are always funny because both the boys will complain and say “I don’t sound like that” and they have to be told “No love you do you really do” 

You know those videos of babies reacting to their parents shaving their facial hair or putting on glasses 

That’s Nimona's reaction every single time the boys change their appearance even the smallest bit they cant shave or wear their reading glasses because if they do he freaks out 

Talking some “help me Nemesis I heard bosses voice but I can’t find him” while Bal was standing right in front of them 

It was the first time he shaved his face in years and he’s never doing it again 

Mostly cause Ambrosius kept telling him he looked like a teenager and it was freaking him out 

I feel like Bal and Ambrosius are those kinds of people who will tell people about the little injuries but neglect the big ones 

Like Bal mentioned that he thinks he sprained his ankle during the fight at the institute but he won’t mention that he’s pretty sure he got a concussion 

(BECAUSE THIS MAN HEAD-BUTTED TWO PEOPLE WHEN HE HAS A METAL ARM) 

(I’m bout to wrap this man in bubble wrap and give him a helmet because wtf) 

Ambrosius will complain the whole day about the fact that he has a paper cut

But will completely neglect to inform his doctors “Oh yeah I can’t move my left arm higher than my waist without pain and I can’t see that well out of my left eye or hear that well out of my left ear do you think that’ll be a problem?” 

It isn’t until Nimona makes an off handed comment about how this super weird that the laser did basically nothing to him that he told both of them

They literally dragged him to the ER because “Who thinks those symptoms are normal Nemesis what is wrong in that pretty little head of yours!!” 

When Bal tells Nimona she’s being a bit of a hypocrite (cause who refers to an arrow as a splinter?) she turns to him and says “I know you’re not saying something Mr. Human battering ram” 

It took literally everything in Ambrosius not to break down laughing

After that she forces them to have frequent checkups with the doctor because these dorks wouldn’t go otherwise

Honestly I'm fully convinced that some people in the kingdom don't know who Nimona is and are constantly confused why they let this little weirdo follow them around 

And finally the curiosity will eat away at them and they’ll finally ask 

Sometimes the boys will give some “normal” answers like “Oh that’s Nimona” and they won’t elaborate at all

Sometimes they’ll give funnier answers like “Oh that’s a raccoon we found in the garage who turned into a person one day” “I don’t know they just showed up in our living room” and their personal best “You see her too?” 

And their favorite that they only started using a couple of years down the line “Oh that’s our kid”

[yokohamapound]

How about some angsty HCs?? 😏

How would Kunikida, Dazai, Fukuzawa, Chuuya and Fyodor (or anyone else you’d like too) react to their s/o taking a hit for them that would have otherwise been fatal if they didn’t?? S/o ends up being okay but the gentlemen are all angsty in the meantime >:)

Thanks so much lovely! 🥰💕

Hello, my lovely! It's been a while since I wrote some good old angst, so this scratched an itch. I hope these are what you are looking for!

Characters: Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Kunikida Doppo

Contents: death mentions, suicide mentions, controlling behaviour, anger issues

Nakahara Chuuya

Ooh, it’s kinda difficult for him to deal with? He’s in two minds about it, really. 

On one hand, he’s strong enough that whatever blow was being dealt to him really wouldn’t have hurt him that much, or so he tells himself. All he can think about is that moment where the bullet/bomb/fireball, whatever it is, was coming toward you. Yes, you survived it, but he had to live through the nanoseconds of absolute hell when he thought he was just about to see another person he cares about die right before his eyes. 

His temper erupts afterward. He’s furious, yelling at you that you “didn’t fuckin’ need to do that!” You’d be forgiven for thinking that it’s his pride you’ve hurt, but it’s anger born of worry. Those few moments he thought you were going to die were harrowing for him. 

Imagine if he carelessly lost the person he loves the most, just because he was too slow or too stupid to see it coming? Shit, he could never live with himself if that happened. 

However, there’s the other side of the coin. Which is that you cared about him enough to intercept a blow aimed at him. Chuuya can’t remember the last time someone did that for him. He’s used to being the tank, to soaking up all the violence so the geniuses can get on with their schemes. He doesn’t really know how to handle someone trying to protect him, like he’s something vulnerable.

He likes it and he doesn’t. He’s grateful and he’s pissed. Chuuya’s a complicated creature. 

Once he’s done yelling and has calmed down a little, he’ll mutter something that sounds like a ‘thank you’, though he says it with his eyes mulishly averted and one arm wrapped tightly around your waist. He won’t be letting you out of his sight for a while, even while he’s being a grouch.

Dazai Osamu

While he might not show it on the surface, this has a rather profound effect on Dazai. Remember the last time someone he loved died in front of him?

While he pretends to be calm on the surface, inside he’s in turmoil. He should have seen it coming; you’re the self-sacrificing sort, always trying to save him in one or another. But before now, it hasn’t been literal. 

I feel like time moves very slowly for someone as fast as Dazai. He was able to process far too much information in those few seconds you were in danger. All of his mistakes, laid out for him as plain as day. 

He tends to convince himself that he can plan around every kind of incident but this is a start reminded that this isn’t always the case.

“Hey, bella?” His tone is unusually serious. His hand on your shoulder. “I’m going to need you not to do that again. Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you die in front of me.”

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice Dazai doesn’t make any more double suicide jokes after that. They don’t have the same appeal. Dazai doesn’t think he could stand to watch you die, even if you did want to join him. 

He keeps a close watch on you after that, turning up unexpectedly throughout your day without any explanation, his lanky form popping up like a weed.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

While he will never, ever reveal it, this will shake Fyodor’s iron-clad ego a little bit. He likes to think he is in control of everything, and he can predict every single action of yours down to the blink. For whatever reason, he didn’t foresee you getting in his way and taking a hit meant for him. 

You gain an element of unpredictability, which is both intriguing and alarming for him. 

There is also the fact that you stepped in to take a hit for him. While he’s used to having underlings who look up to him like a god (Ivan), he doesn’t count you amongst the peons. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, but in a way that promotes adoration and obedience, not self-sacrificing recklessness. He’ll have to step back and examine your relationship somewhat.

“My darling, what was the meaning of that?” he asks of you, his tone soft and a little dangerous. “I do not need you flinging yourself in the path of danger for me. I have everything in hand.”

He likes your devotion, but he doesn’t want you getting in the way of his plans. And he does care about you, love you in his own way—he doesn’t want to lose something he sees as his. 

If you were injured at all, he will have the best private doctors on hand to treat you. Be prepared for his love and attention to be a little stifling for a while. He won’t want to let you out of his sight. 

As for the person whose attack you foiled? Fyodor will turn the full weight of his enormous intellect to destroying them. They were dead the moment their attack came near something he cares about.

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Fukuzawa is very much the self-sacrificing sort. He’s said more than once that he doesn’t mind giving up his life in order to ensure peace in Yokohama, or to protect the lives of the younger members of the agency. He’s heavily bound by duty.

While he holds these values to himself, he doesn’t expect you to abide by the same code. In fact, he doesn’t want you to. You’re not a grizzled old samurai like him. (His words, not yours.)

He also heavily dislikes the idea that you were in danger because of him. Your relationship with him shouldn’t be a source of danger for you. As soon as he’s sure you’re safe and well, he will sit back and mull things over in his silent, intense way. He considers all options, from simply killing the person who tried to attack him, to ending your relationship with him to ensure your safety.

Thankfully, he comes to the conclusion that you are an adult who knows what is good for you. He’s never hidden the truth from you, and if you’re willing to face that to stand at his side, then Fukuzawa needs to respect that. He can’t make your decisions for you. 

“However,” he says. “I must ask that you do not do that again. I can accept my own death, but not yours.”

“Don’t you trust me to watch your back?”

“Obviously, you can be trusted,” he says. “Today is evidence enough, but know that I could not live with myself if you were injured or killed looking out for me. If death is coming for me, I have earned it.”

He can’t really be talked out of this mindset, but that’s part of why you fell for him in the first place. Just make him a promise that you won’t put yourself at risk on his behalf. 

Kunikida Doppo

Poor Kunikida.

One of his ideals is that he will never watch anyone die right in front of him if he can help it. The last time he had to watch an innocent person die, it almost shattered his psyche. 

If you were to die in front of him, it would break him utterly. Even though you’re fine, the close shave rattles him down to his core. Instead of blowing his top and then settling down, the way you’re used to him doing, Kunikida becomes grim and quiet. 

He refuses to step away from your bedside while you’re in the hospital for a check-up after the incident. His notebook of ideals is folded in his pocket, ignored. The fact he isn’t scribbling anything down is a little alarming. He’s not Kunikida if he’s not adding little notes to it every five minutes. He has his hands steepled together, his face grim behind his glasses.

“Are you going to yell at me?” you ask him. 

Kunikida lifts his gaze to you, almost as if he’s surprised to hear you speak. He breaks out of his reverie a little bit, sitting up and pushing his glasses further up his nose. The light hits the lenses, hiding his expression from you a little. His voice is sombre.

“I must thank you for saving my life,” he tells you, almost formal. 

“That’s not the only thing bothering you, is it?” You know him well enough by now. You reach out and take one of his hands.

Kunikida fingers tighten around yours, trembling slightly. It’s the only way that you can see how completely off centre he is. 

“Kunikida?”

“Don’t…don’t make me worry like that again. Please.”

[leighsartworks216]

Hii I saw ur reblog about the kiss prompts!

I choose - "if you win, i'll kiss you"

With nervous kiss and height difference! 😳🙏

I actually had a hard time trying to fit these prompts together but I think I did pretty well!

Warnings: knife throwing, height difference

Word Count: 1,327

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“What’s that make it now? 12 to…?”

“You’re such an ass.”

“Come now, dear, you’re being too harsh - my memory isn’t what it used to be, you know. How many wins do you have?”

Your glare could have burned a hole right through him, all the while Astarion looked every bit the smarmy bastard he was. He just loved teasing you. It satisfied him to no end to peer down at you as you fumed. Steam could come pouring out your ears and he’d still have that smug smirk on his stupid face.

You huffed through your nose, fighting the growing urge to throw the dagger right at his head - you’d miss anyway. This whole game started when you’d tried throwing a knife at a goblin as a last ditch effort. You missed horribly, and Astarion just couldn’t let it go. “Zero.”

He gasped dramatically and laid a hand on his chest. “Not a single one?! Well, this won’t do!” He leaned in, teeth showing as he grinned wickedly. “How about we make a little bet? Make things a bit more interesting.”

You scoffed. “So you can sweeten the deal in your favor and wipe the floor with me, again?”

“Hmm, I tell you what: in the interest of keeping things interesting, I’ll give you two throws. If you hit, you win.”

“Let me guess - you get three.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please, darling, I have some tact. I’ll get one throw. If I can hit the dummy square in the head, I win.” He accentuated the point by flipping his dagger in the air, easily catching it by the hilt by pure muscle memory alone.

You frowned, studying his face for any sign of deceit. You were getting really close to hitting… Gods, this is a terrible idea. You sigh. “Fine. What do you propose?”

A spark of mischief flickered in his eye, so quick it could have just been a trick of the light, but you knew him better than that. “If I win, you’re responsible for sewing up everyone’s clothes for a week.”

“And if I win?”

He smirked and lowered his face to be right next to yours, cold breaths tickling your ear as he whispered. “If you win, I’ll kiss you.”

Your heart raced as your face flushed. You could tell he noticed, too, when he pulled away with that self-satisfied look on his face. You cleared your throat, urging it not to shake as you grumbled, “It sounds like you’re making more out of this either way.”

“Yes, but one is certainly more desirable for you, no? Besides, what are the odds of you winning? You should have nothing to fear.”

You frowned, but he had a point. Resigned to your fate, your shoulders slump. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“Excellent.”

You both lined up about 10 feet away from the straw dummy. It had numerous marks in its head and body, all landed by the vampire spawn beside you. But you felt good about this time. You felt you could actually hit it.

You didn’t hate the idea of kissing him, especially if it meant saving your hand the cramping of patching up your companions’ clothes, but, well… You’d never been kissed before. There was no reason why, you’d just never been close enough with someone to warrant it.

Your heart raced thinking about it. Your face was as warm as Karlach by now. But you swallowed down the feelings and focused. If you just aimed very carefully, you might be able to get it.

“You first, love.”

Gods, now was not the time for endearing pet names.

“Hush, fangs.”

He chuckled softly, but stayed quiet otherwise. You held the handle of the dagger, just as he showed you, and aimed. You took a breath, lifted it up, and with a quick swing it was flying through the air… Right over the dummy’s shoulder. You growled in frustration.

Cool hands smoothed over your shoulders, urging them to relax. “Take it easy, dear. Keep your wrist locked and keep your elbow tucked in when you lift the dagger to throw.” He slid his hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he showed you how to keep your wrist straight and your elbow close to your ear. Then, he backed away and watched.

Shaking off the phantom feeling of him standing so close, you readied yourself again. You aimed, pulled your arm back so your elbow stayed tucked in, and steadied your wrist. With a deep breath, you threw the knife.

Time seemed to slow down as it flipped through the air. All sound faded away. You weren’t sure you were breathing. All you could focus on, all that mattered, was this stupid dagger.

In barely a second, the knife found its mark in the straw ribcage of the dummy.

A tidal wave of excitement and joy shot through your system. You cheered and pumped your fists in the air and gave a victorious yell that put Karlach’s to shame. And then, in the next instant, another knife flew by and lodged itself right next to yours. Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes were wide when you turned to Astarion.

He smiled, part genuine and part impish. “Congratulations, darling. It seems you’ve won.” His smile only grew more flushed you became. He crowded into your space, peering down at you like a fox staring down a rabbit. “Don’t tell me you’re going to back out of our deal now.”

You swallowed. “I…” You glanced around camp, but no one seemed to be paying attention. They were all too busy preparing for the next day. You met his eye again and lowered your voice to a whisper, meant for his ears only. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His eyes widened, brows raising minutely. He never thought the brave, compassionate leader before him would be so… inexperienced, to put it kindly. You’d always seemed to carry this sort of confidence, he just assumed…

“We don’t have to,” he back-peddled. He’d never have suggested it if he’d known. Well… Okay he would, but that look on your face - puppy-dog eyed and uncertain. It twisted his insides. He started to step away, out of your space, but you caught his arm.

“No, I…” You took a breath to steady your shaky nerves. “I want this.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, but he could still feel the anxious way you fiddled with the fabric of his shirt. It was cute. And terrifying. You wanted him to be your first. It was only fair - you were his first after all.

Moving slowly to give you a chance to back out, he raised his hands to cup your jaw, fingers brushing over your pulse and tilting your head up. You were shorter than him, enough that he had to hunch a bit to meet your eyes like this. You held onto his arms, too unsure to hold him anywhere else. He leaned down, noses almost touching. He could see your eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth; feel your heart beneath his fingers as it skipped with his proximity. In a final act of courage, you stood on your toes and met him halfway.

It was clumsy at first. You had no idea what you were doing, all you knew was his lips were soft and he tasted like wine. He gently tilted your head, smoothing out the initial uncoordinated start. His lips meshed with yours as he showed you exactly what to do. When you experimentally nipped at his lip, he almost groaned. It wasn’t perfect, but he was sick and tired of perfect. It was wonderful. He was almost reluctant to pull away. But you still needed to breathe, living thing that you were.

He chuckled as he pressed his forehead to yours, watching with rapture as you caught your breath, lips swollen so beautifully. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red

[carpentvrs]

The End — Mattheo Riddle

pairing :: mattheo riddle x reader

summary :: all things must come to an end, right?

based on the song the end by tom odell

warnings :: cursing (like one or two times), (mentions of) addiction & substance abuse & a toxic household, angst!! no use of y/n, tom‘s mattheo‘s brother, after hogwarts au, voldy doesn’t exist

a/n :: very angsty but i hope you like it anyway! again, english isn’t my native language so please don’t mind any mistakes. if requested, I’m up for a part two! biggest thank you to alex for helping me write <33 rebolgs are very appreciated

some things begin with the knowledge of them having an end. like watching a movie or reading a book, like going on a walk or on vacation. soon enough you will turn off the tv, close the book, return home, and tell your friends all about your summer days. if the movie is bad, you know it won’t go on forever. one more hour and you can walk out the cinema. if the book is good, you can reread it sometime, if it’s bad, close it. you can always or never again go on walks and if you don’t or do enjoy your summer trip, you know you’ll come back home either way. So many different possibilities, always the same fate. It has to end one day.

a relationship isn’t like that. it can either go on forever, until both lovers fall into the nothingness, trying to find each other even in the afterlife, hand in hand in every universe.

or it’ll end. in a peaceful or in a painful way. it ends with ’ i don’t think we want the same things for our future ‘ or with infidelity. it ends with different beliefs or with different lovers. it ends with one trying and the other giving up, it ends with one failing and the other failing to help.

mattheo riddle feels as though you two are growing apart, your usually interlocked fingers slipping through each others, no one reaching to strengthen the hold. he knows it’s his fault, he puts you through things you shouldn’t have to go through. he tries to get clean, but both of you know that with him, it’s always one wobbly step forward and three steady ones back. he tries nonetheless.

“uhm, hey, can we talk, maybe? go for a walk in the park if you’d like?”

you know what he wants to talk about. you hadn’t seen each other in a while, despite being in a relationship – if you could still call it that. not seeing each other for a month, that’s not usual, right? at least it shouldn’t be. you know it and he knows it, there’s no denying. at least you agreed to meet up now.

he puts on his leather jacket and grabs his keychain, the rattling sound of his keys and the many key rings and charms colliding together reminding him of your promise. if you make it through to next month, i’ll craft you another key ring. try for me, love. please. you did it just as a little reminder that you do care. but he’s never managed a whole month before. maybe the bottle opener attached to the key chain was a bigger reminder that eventually, one beer wouldn’t hurt him. or two.

you made key rings and charms for almost everyone. all your friends have them and your family does too. wether its an initial of their name or of their partner‘s name, a symbol or whatever else they wished for, you made it for them. and everyone loves them. so does mattheo, you thought. or did. otherwise he’d surely make more effort to treat them with care and most of them wouldn’t have scrapes and scratches all over them, and there wouldn’t be a crack in your initial either, which, to no one’s surprise, was another result of one-too-many drunken nights.

he wants to make things right, and he’s certain it’s gonna work. spending time together in the park you went to after your first date sounds nice, doesn’t it?

your first official date was in a small pub, a few months after your joint time in Hogwarts had ended. you still remember walking through the rose garden in the north side of that park after that date. the sky was painted in a velvety black, the sun‘s final farewell long forgotten and the gates were already shut. but you managed to sneak in anyway. he picked a rose for you and you appreciated the gesture more than anything, soon enough you and him both had a little rose charm attached to your keychains. he lost his, you still have yours.

looking at it now, you should’ve realized then that the way he stumbled on the way back home was already a warning sign that he didn’t hold back when alcohol was involved. And if he couldn’t keep it together on a first date, then why would he around friends? Why would he around his family, why would he around yours? And why would he not use it as a way to calm his nerves whenever life gets serious when he so obviously already did that for nothing more than a harmless first date with a person he’s known for almost longer than he’s not?

you know most of his problems go way back. they come from his father’s unloving and cold gaze and his mother’s absence whenever his father lifted his finger. as if that wasn’t enough, his brother tom would always be in the spotlight, while mattheo was kept hidden away in the shadows. if that’s how he felt, no wonder he had to find a way to forget all about it.

you tried to help. you always did.

but how were you supposed to help someone who didn’t want help himself? drugs surely aren’t the only way out. self control is a term long forgotten in mattheo‘s mind, and it was solely on him to change that.

hence you’re not as certain as him that this talk is going to help. mattheo has made too many empty promises, told too many lies and had too many accidents. sometimes even unforgivable ones. the hand that rested on that red haired girl’s lower back every time you’d meet up with your friends, that couldn’t just be a mistake. you’d love to know what he whispered in her ear whenever he had too much to drink, and you crave to know her replies, considering the relationship between you and mattheo wasn’t ever a secret. at least you didn’t make it one.

he’s already sitting on a bench in the park, carefully petting a dog that was busy sniffing the ground beneath him. mattheo sees you and immediately stands up to make his way over to you, leaving the dog behind to run back to its owner.

“they kinda look alike, don’t they?”

“who?”

“that dog and its owner, same eye and hair colour”

you smile slightly and look up at mattheo. your good looking, sweet and romantic matty. you used to be so deeply in love, one look at him and you were on cloud nine, swooning and giggling with nothing but pure adoration and love in your eyes. your little dates used to be fun, with deep conversation and lighthearted gossip sessions with moments of comforting silence filling the spaces in between.

and now? meaningless topics and useless small talk. Just the same as your last few meetups one month ago. It was more of a chore than it was enjoyable. some time has passed, the birds loudly chirping while you and him walked with slow steps, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, yours swinging slowly on either side of your body.

„i’ve been clean for almost three weeks now, actually. 20 days.“

your eyes widened and your head quickly turns to look at him. you’re happy for him, you truly are. but your heart still doesn’t feel as full as it usually would with mattheo, and if he managed to keep that 20 day streak during a whole month of almost no contact between you two, then he would manage it also when you’re not with him anymore. right?

„oh, that’s great! ‘m proud of you, mattheo,“

„you don’t sound as happy as I expected,“ he begins, „is something wrong?“

at that moment he knows he has to claw back his confidence. maybe you had already given up, and he just didn’t want to believe it. he know you well, without a doubt. it was the lack of his nickname that gave it away. your loving ‚ matty ‘ was replaced by a simple ‚ mattheo ‘ , no nickname, no pet name. 20 days, for him, is a long time. why aren’t you half as happy as when he told you about his one week achievement 2 months ago? is it because just a day after telling you about it, you found him asleep on his couch with a half empty whiskey bottle on the table in front of him?

„no- i mean, yes, actually. it’s just-“ you stumbled over your words. you don’t want to have to say it, don’t want to say it loud, don’t want to see his pained reaction and, most importantly, you don’t want to be the cause of it. but you know you can’t keep going like this, you had lost hope a while ago, and this is the only way out.

„do you think we can be friends?“

he blinks. „what?“

your voice is shakier than ever. „friends, mattheo. i can’t keep going like this. i want to break up, once and for all. our relationship has been going downhill for too long now, you know that.“ your eyes are fixated on your shoes, not daring to look him in his eyes.

he swears he can he hear his heart being shattered and torn apart and feels how a part of his soul is leaving his body, leaving the rest to grow tired and dark and empty. tears slowly fill his eyes as he reaches for your hands, making you look at him.

you do, but quickly pull your arms back. „you can’t do this to me! i- i need you, i can’t do this without you, i can’t!“ warm tears roll down your face, and you want to hug him so bad. keep his body close to yours and not let go.

but you have to let go.

mattheo hates it. but if being friends with you means he doesn’t lose you completely, then maybe it’ll be okay. and if he really loved you, and you really loved him, then maybe, if he gets better, you’d come back. he hopes.

„and if i change?“

„maybe, matty- mattheo,“ your voice trembles „but i need to be sure you don’t hurt either of us for now. i need time, but i don’t want to lose you. friends mattheo, please?“

„you wanna be friends? after all thi-“

„mattheo i‘m begging you“

he pinches his nose, tears streaming down his face. this is his fault. of course it is. this is the consequence he has to deal with. He should’ve realized sooner that his alcohol consumption wasn’t only his, but also the problem of the people around him. and now he loses you just because of his reckless and stupid behavior. he has to change. he needs to.

„alright! fuck, alright. friends. i‘ll make it better, i swear. i won’t disappoint you, not again.“

you nod, mustering up a smile as well as you could. you hug him one last time, feeling his hand wrap around you body with a tight hold on your shirt. you feel his tears falling onto your shirt, and he feels yours.

he hates it, but maybe he needs this wake-up call. he will change. 20 days and many more to come, he won’t go back. and he’ll do it for you.

the sun slowly sets and you’ve reached the same rose garden you’d come to after your first date. the memories flood back but it’s no use.

mattheo and you, you’ve now reached the end.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it wasn’t until two days later that you went to the same park again with your best friend alex. „isn’t that mattheo over there?“

your heart paused for a second as you looked over and saw the boys with beer bottles in their hands. draco took a sip as theo had already downed almost half oh his beer in one swig.

you felt your heart break thinking about how mattheo already started drinking again after only two days. until you actually looked at his hands, finding nothing but a simple can of coke.

you left out a sigh of relief, smiling to yourself.

your eyes locked and he smiled back at you, even his eyes seemingly lighting up. you blushed slightly, turning you head back to alex. 22 days wasn’t a lot, but it was great starting point. especially for him.

„yeah, that’s my matty.“

hope you liked it! requests are open <3

[simplyholl]

The Villain’s Weapon Pt. 1

Summary: When you hit your head and lose your memory, you fall into Loki’s clutches.

Warnings: Eventual smut. Memory loss. Villain Loki. Thanos.

The battle was never ending. You and the other Avengers were never going to defeat Loki. He had taken Clint and Dr. Selvig using them against you as he took the Tesseract. It didn’t help that he would only show up every now and then to taunt the team. Otherwise you couldn’t locate him.

Loki fought against you. “We have to stop meeting like this, little one.” Loki teased. You used your magic, a cloud of blue surrounding you as you fought back. You underestimated the power you put behind it, the aftershock throwing you back against a boulder. You hit your head with a loud thud as your vision went black.

When you came to, a large man towered over you. You studied his face trying to place him. You couldn’t remember where you were or what you were doing outside. You didn’t even know who you are. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you, little one.” Little one. That was familiar. You obviously knew this strangely dressed man. You look down at your own apparel. You were wearing a leather catsuit, so you couldn’t say anything about him.

You hear fighting all around you. You sit up, suddenly scared of your surroundings. What was happening? Pain surges through your head, you place a hand on it. You were bleeding. Your suit was torn like you had been fighting too. You stand up, feeling a little dizzy. You grab the man before you, pulling him in for a hug. You don’t know why, but you trust him.

He said he was looking for you after all. The term of endearment he used rang a bell. If you were fighting, you must be on his side. He looks down at you like you have lost your mind. Maybe you haven’t hugged before and this was out of character for you. You quickly pull away.

“I’m so sorry. I think I must have hit my head too hard. I can’t remember anything. But you seem familiar. You said you were looking for me, so I just assumed.” He looks at you incredulously. “You really don’t remember who you are or what you are doing out here?” You look around again, not recognizing anyone or anything, but him.

“There seems to be a battle. I assume I’m on your side?” You look into his bright blue eyes as a smile appears on his lips. “Yes, that is correct. Those people over there are the Avengers. They are trying to stop me - erm - us. I’ll tell you more about it once we get back to our lair.”

Loki couldn’t believe his luck. He was waiting for you to come to after the nasty fall you had taken when your magic threw you back. You were powerful, but you didn’t have complete control over your power. With his help, you would be unstoppable. And now, you were on his side.

“She’s dangerous.” Thanos told Loki. “Right now, she isn’t. She doesn’t even know she has powers.” Loki argued. “This is perfect. I will train her, we will use her to fight the Avengers.” Thanos shook his head. “What if her memory comes back? It’s too big of a risk.” Loki paces the floor, “Trust me, she won’t. She took a nasty fall. Just let me try this out before we send the Chitauri.” “You have two months.” Thanos stated as he cut communication.

Loki set up a room for you. He conjured clothes for your closet, shoes in your size, everything you might need in order to convince you that you actually lived here. He found you on the bed, looking out the window. “I’ve come to dress your wounds.” You nod, turning toward him. He examined the cut on your head, green flowing from his hands as he healed it. He explained that he could use magic and apparently so could you. He was going to start retraining you tomorrow.

“The other cuts aren’t as severe so I will clean them myself.” He explained. You slid the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to give him better access to the wound. You gasp when the alcohol wipe touches your skin, causing the area to sting. You watch him intently, long pale fingers working diligently to patch every scratch on you.

“Lay back.” He commands, reaching for the hem of your tank top. You had a large cut just under your breasts. You do as your told, he rolls the fabric up just under your nipples. You hold your breath. Your skin prickles, turning into goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your nipples harden as he patches you up.

Loki notices how you are physically reacting to his touch. How your nipples hardened when he placed his hands on your stomach. How your breath hitched when he pulled your shirt up. The worst part was he could feel his pants growing tighter. He wasn’t surprised that you had that kind of reaction toward him. He was a god after all. But he never expected you to have that effect on him. His hands grew shaky as he finished bandaging you. “Good as new.” He murmured, yanking your shirt down to cover you.

“Loki?” He stopped his retreat from your room, freezing in your doorway. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” You get off the bed, walking toward him, pulling him in for another embrace. He reluctantly pulls you closer to him. You can tell he isn’t a hugger. His large hand smooths the back of your hair. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was there too.” You bury your face into his chest, breathing him in. He looks down at you, expression unreadable. This is going to be a long two months.

Part Two

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

[soulofapatrick]

The Beauty and the Brawn - Emmett Cullen x Reader

Summary: You try to prove to Emmett that he won’t hurt you with his enhanced strengths

Words: 2k

Warnings: Oral (F!recieving) 

Notes: idk what this is really, just had the idea for a few days 

Y/N’s POV

Emmett is strong, stronger than most vampires having gotten enhanced strength when he was changed. He’s always seen it as an added perk as it’s not something drastic like Alice’s future telling or Benjamin’s elemental manipulations, it was just that he was a little stronger than the others. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Then he met me and now, as much as I tell him otherwise, he sees his strength as a curse. He gets scared he’ll get too carried away with me, forget I’m still human and accidentally hurt me or kill me. As much as I reassure Emmett that he could never hurt me he will still try and avoid the topic, kissing me the most he trust himself to do. Every time we get hot and heavy and I guide things on a little he backs up with that pained look in his eyes. Everything about him screams that he wants me back but the pain in his eyes tells me he’s scared which always catches me off guard as this is Emmett Cullen. Outgoing, loud and loving Emmett… too scared to even touch me at times despite how much his feelings were mutual. 

Today is no different and I decide to take a different approach, even if it doesn’t mean sex. I just want Emmett to see that he can trust himself with me and that I’m not as fragile as he thinks. We’re sat on his bed, a bed he got Carlisle to get without specifying why. The Cullen’s don’t know me yet except maybe Alice and Edward because of their gifts but they apparently haven’t said anything to the others. Emmett doesn’t want them to all bombard me and he’s also worried about how Rosalie will take it that he’s moved on already which I understand and I agreed to take it as slow as he wants with meeting them.

Emmett’s hand is on my thighs as we sit shoulder to shoulder, watching a movie on the TV he also had installed. I’m barely paying attention to it though, focusing on his icy touch on my bare skin, being in only shorts as it’s just us here for another day to two. Emmett said the others had gone on a hunting trip and he elected to say home. I say fuck it, it’s now or never so I’m turning my body to face him, reaching over to cup his cheek and I ask, “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do, why-“ He’s frowning until I begin shifting, moving onto my knees and turning my body towards him, “Y/N, I-“

“Just trust me baby,” I stroke his cheek reassuringly, watching him lean into my palm and those beautiful golden eyes flutter shut for a moment. With Emmett’s eyes still closed I shift my body further until I’m straddling him, legs either side of his thick thighs. His muscles tense as he realises I’m seated, arms resisting ever so slightly when I guide his hands to my hips, holding them there to show him that he won’t hurt me. The heat seems to rise between us as I lean in, lips almost touching his as I whisper, “Emmett, I trust you. I trust you with everything.” 

His eyes fly open at this, the confusion and fear in them until he sees I’m not lying to him, keeping my face open and honestly so he can see the trust and love and it works as his expression softens, “Y/N.” He’s whispering, voice filled with emotions that I can’t quite decipher so I just lean forwards again and capture his lips in a gentle and pliant kiss. The kiss is tender and slow, as if we’re exploring each other for the first time. My heart is racing as I feel the softness of his lips against mine, the taste of him sweet and familiar, the tension in Emmett’s body slowly melting away as he gets lost in the kiss so I take another risk and deep it. Emmett’s hands are moving up and down my sides and back, testing the waters cautiously and the feel of his hands on my skin sends shivers down my spine, knowing I want more. 

Too soon am I having to break the kiss as unlike Emmett I still need to consume oxygen. His golden eyes have darkened a little with love and desire, a soft sound leaving him when I caress his cheek gently, “Emmett,” My voice is a barely above a whisper, as if scared to break the moment, “I need you. Need all of you.” 

Emmett’s eyes widen in surprise at the bluntness of my words, looking at me intently as if trying to decipher if I’m really serious about what I said. I can see the mixture of emotions playing across his face - desire; love; fear and protectiveness. I stay seated in his lap as I wait for his response, letting him work through his emotions and letting him decide. He wants me but he’s afraid of hurting me, his hands retreating again so I catch them in mine and squeeze reassuringly. His eyes flick down to our interlocked hands before back to my face before he’s swallowing and mumbling out, “Start with a shower first?” 

“Whatever you want Pretty Boy.” I’m nodding, guiding one of his large hands to my cheek and pressing a kiss to his open palm before he’s surprising me and drawing me into another kiss. This one’s different, he’s not holding back as much, it’s hungrier almost. There’s an urgency to the kiss, his lips moving with more purpose as his moves to the back of my head, deepening the kiss. His other hand finds it’s way back to my waist, pulling me flush against him. It’s like he’s been holding back for so long and how he’s finally allowing himself to let go and now he can’t seem to get enough. I respond with equal fervour, my hands tangling in his hair as we explore each other’s mouths. 

Emmett’s breaking the kiss before me, standing up effortlessly and cradling me in his arms as if I weight nothing which I guess I really don’t for him. I’m wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, holding on tight as he carries me to the bathroom, feeling his muscles tense and flex under his shirt with each step. He’s setting me on the counter, a playful smile on his face and a rumble in his chest when I squeal at how cold the counter is. He’s stealing another kiss from me before moving to turn on the shower, letting it heat up and moving back over to me, standing between my legs. He’s looking at me with a soft expression, making sure this is what I really want, his hands running over my waist and pulling back slightly to ask, “You sure about this, honey?” His eyes are filled with concern and love, making me feel even more secure in my decision. 

To prove my point I pull my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor, watching Emmett’s lips part slightly in a hitched breath at the sight of me now bare except for a pair of shorts. Emmett’s eyes are skimming over my body, taking in every dip and curve and scar on display to him. His hands coming up to gently trace along my arms and down my sides, as if savouring the feeling of my skin against his fingertips. Despite his obvious desire he still checks with me if this is okay, eyes flicking back up to mine every few seconds until I’m guiding his hands up to my breasts, watching his reaction. He surprises me by dragging me into such a tender and loving kiss as he explores this new territory. 

Our bodies press together, Emmett’s hands now tracing circles on my back as he deepens the kiss, his very obvious arousal pressing into my thigh but he’s taking it slow as if he’ll spook me. His lips move down my neck as he murmurs against the skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His large hands grip my hips and I’m soon standing again, feeling cold fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts. 

“Please.” I’m practically begging and Emmett’s groaning into the crook of my neck, surprising me again as he sinks to his knees as he slides the shorts down my legs, throwing them aside before his gaze finds mine and I’m having to bite my lip at the sight of Emmett on his knees for me. His strong hands grip my hips as he begins nosing at my thighs, lips ghosting over them and teeth grazing until he’s nudging my legs apart enough blow cold air over my slickness, making me gasp and squirm. Before I can say or do anything those skilled lips are kissing my folds, nose bumping my clit before he licks a confident stripe up, gauging my reaction. His tongue flutters against my clit before he’s eating me like a starved man, hands gripping my hips tight enough that I can’t wriggle away from the pleasure. 

My hand is gripping his hair, the other bracing myself against the counter as he moans, sending vibrations through that oversensitive bundle of nerves. He’s dipping his tongue in and out of my core with precision and sloppiness before he moves back to my clit, my body trying to jerk away but his grip is tight enough to promise bruises and fuck that just makes everything more intense. All too soon I can feel myself starting to pulse around his tongue that hasn’t stopped fucking into me and my hands tugs almost painfully at his hair while my head falls back with a whine, my thighs trying to clamp around Emmett’s head as my vision partially whites out and all I hear is white noise, unsure if I’m crying out Emmett’s name. 

“Emm, fuck Emmett, too much.” I’m begging and he finally pulls back, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes and he looks fucking dirty, his mouth and chin shiny with my juices and his golden eyes have darkened even more. His thumbs caress my hips as he pulls himself to his feet moving to kiss me with a cheeky grin when I lightly push his face away saying, “No, clean your face first.” 

“I do believe a shower was suggested.” He agrees and I’m nodding, tugging at his shirt to which he complies, pulling it over his head and I can’t help wet my lips at how good he looks. Sure, I’ve seen Emmett change but this is different, he’s baring himself for me and me alone. His shirt reveals his chiseled abs and braid chest, my eyes roaming over his muscular physique with appreciation. His defined biceps and broad shoulders are evidence of the immense physical strength he possesses and the way his tone torso tapers down to his waist makes me want to run my hands over his hard body. As he undresses further, my gaze is drawn to his thick thighs, my heart racing against as he’s straining against his boxers and fuck, he is in no way small. The boxers barely able to contain him, the angry red head slipped past the waistband, precum wetting his v-line a little, “Come on lovely, eyes up here.” 

I tear my eyes away from his enticing bulge, feeling heat rising to my cheeks at being caught. But I can't help the desire that courses through me as I watch him step out of his boxers, completely naked before me. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel the anticipation building between us as we move towards the shower. As we step under the warm water, Emmett pulls me close, his hands roaming over my wet skin as we continue to explore each other's bodies. I know this is only the beginning, and I can't wait to see what other surprises Emmett has in store for me.

-----------

Twilight Masterlist

[storm-angel989]

Valentino x Reader (He Always Keeps His Promises)

I honestly can't remember if I posted this or not so apologies if there is a double post!

I snuggled against Valentino in our bed and closed my eyes. Tiredness, exhaustion. All of those things that came with working on my feet all day. Heck, if I was being honest, I was exhausted even on my day off.  The last thing I wanted to do was get up out of bed, but Valentino felt otherwise. 

He sighed and ran a hand through my hair, tucking back a stray strand. When he walked into our bedroom after coming home from work, he wasn’t surprised to find me in the same position he left me in- sprawled out, remote in hand, laptop propped on a pillow, sketchbook and table on the night table. 

“Princessa. Come on now, you need to get up. You need to eat. Even a little something,” he said as lightly as he could. “Come on now.”

“Sleepy!” I whined and snuggled into him. “No. Too Sleepy.”

“Princessa.”

There it was. The warning tone that made my stomach drop in both excitement and fear. 

“What was the last thing you had to eat today?” He cupped my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. 

I hesitated. “Uhm. I had a few chips. Pancakes- Vox made them and brought me one.”

“And what time was that?”

“I don’t know!” I whined. 

“Then up you go.”

His arms wrapped around me and yanked me from my cocoon of blankets. I whined again and was rewarded with a sharp grab on the ass. 

“Princessa,” he said sharply as he carried me out to the kitchen. “Behave.”

“You pulled me out of my blankets, and now you’re making me eat. I have every right to whine,” I protested. 

“Quit being a brat and sit pretty for me,” he said sharply as his hand caressed my bottom before he sat me on the counter. “You need to eat, otherwise you won’t have energy for the rest of the activities I have planned for tonight.”

I hung my arms around his neck. “Val, I don’t need food, but those activities…”

“Won’t happen if you don’t eat, mi amore. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but our bodies need energy. And we get that energy from food. And…”

“And Vox gave me the whole talk already,” I grumbled. I tried my best to mimic his words as sarcastically as I could. “Food goes in our tummies and makes us feel good!” 

“See? You understand the concept already,” Valentino replied as he added pasta to the boiling water. 

I heard him mutter something I couldn’t quite catch.

“Whatcha making anyway?” I asked, leaning over to see if I could sneak a peek. I reached over as if to stir the contents of one of the pots on the stove. 

He swatted my hand away. “It’s a surprise, princessa. Now tell me about your day.”

As we chatted, the amazing scent of my favorite pasta sauce began to fill the air. Valentino’s speciality. I felt my belly rumble and he turned and gave me a grin.

“Are we still going to insist we’re not hungry?” He asked teasingly. He stirred the cast iron pot with a wooden spoon. He scooped up just  a bit on the tip and blew on it before pressing it to my lips. “Open, princessa. What do you think?”

Flavor exploded on my tongue. Sweet, spicy, and absolute perfection.

“Amazing, as always Val,” I replied. “When will it be done?”

“Glad to see you found your appetite,” he replied. “Give me just a moment.”

I watched as he created a plate- salad, pasta, homemade sauce. From the oven came a few slices of garlic bread- made from the leftover Italian bakery bread. Four of my absolute favorite things. He leaned over and kissed my forehead as he handed me the full dish. 

“Eat every bite, mi amore,” he said with a dangerous grin. “And I promise you you’ll be rewarded.”

I felt a shiver run though my entire body, a mix between a jolt of desire and anticipation. After all, Valentino never broke his promises.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Return to Sender [6 of 9]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Murder, Canon Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Fluff, Friends to lovers, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: ooh you all are going to be saur mad at me, lol. i’m sorry. i promise, we’re coming to an end, one i hope is as satisfying as the journey has been. remember, the outcome of this story was one you all voted on (dark vs. fluff), something i’ve kept in mind as i’ve crafted the story moving forward. thanks for sticking with me! comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Andy’s voice sounds like oil even through the phone. 

“Well?” The expectant word rolls off his tongue. “I’m waiting.” 

It’s hard to speak, like the words are stuck in your chest. You lick your dry lips, casting a nervous glance around the phone store. 

“I want to talk.” 

“Yes, Honey. You said that already.”

“I—I want you to stop hurting people. You have to stop, Andy!” The phone trembles in your clammy hands as you readjust your grip on it. Ari is still asleep—or at least, he had been when you’d crept out from underneath his arm after he’d fallen asleep. Otherwise, he’d surely have stopped you. From across the counter, the employee gives you a frustrated glare. It’s almost closing time, and you don’t exactly have spare minutes to skip around the point. You’d also promised her a sale—which you absolutely were not going to follow through on either. 

“You know why I’m hurting people.” He sounds like he’s going to say something else, but the grainy sound of an infant’s cry derails him. Your chest clenches, and tears gather in the corners of your narrowed eyes. “See? Look who you’re hurting, Honey. All this foolishness, and all you’ve managed to do is hurt everyone around you. You hurt our daughter.” Andy sighs. “And yourself. You’re quite good at that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true, that none of it is true. It doesn’t matter that he’ll think it’s his idea. It’s better. Better if he does. 

“You’re right.” The words feel like glass on your tongue. “You’re right.” The sound of him clucking his tongue through the receiver is enough to raise your hackles. You want to hang up the phone, to press the end call button and leave. You want to say it’s your devotion to Dove that keeps you on the line, and mostly it is. But there’s the part of you that Andy owns—the part you expect he’ll own forever that believes him. “I… I’m sorry.”  You hate that part of you that really is.

“I’m sorry for everything.” There’s no response, but you know he’s still there—you can hear Dove gurgling against his shoulder. “It’s my fault. I got scared, Andy. I—I hate it, without you.” You hear his thoughtful hmm thought the receiver. 

“Then tell me where you are, Honey. So I can come and get you, and this whole ugly mess will be all finished.”  You don’t want to. 

“I—I will, but you have to promise me you won’t hurt anyone else. Promise me, Andy.” 

“Tell me something, Sweetheart, who is Ari Levinson?”

You’d called Andy with the resolve to give him nothing. To placate and pacify him until he allowed you to see Dove again. What you weren’t prepared for was him knowing about Ari. Your chest tightens as his words ring again in your ears—Promise me you won’t go back. Promise me.

I’m sorry, Ari.

Your non-answer is enough to make Andy sigh. 

“So you do know him.” The displeasure in his voice is easy enough to hear, and it fills you with cold dread. He’s trained you that way, made you hyper responsive to every one of his moods. You can’t help it now, your body tightening like a piano wire at the sound of his disappointment. 

“I really thought you would keep better company, Honey. Dishonorable discharge, manslaughter, criminal intimidation…” Andy trails off, clucking his tongue. Your heart is pounding, your trembling, clammy hands gripping the phone so tightly your fingers hurt. Manslaughter? Intimidation? Ari hadn’t told you any of that—but you suppose you hadn’t really asked. You know Andy’s only doing this to make you unsure, to shake up your footing and keep you guessing while he gathers all the cards—and he’s good at it. He chuckles at your silence. 

“Oh Honey. He didn’t tell you, did he?” Andy doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement. “I’m always telling you you can’t just trust anyone off the street, Honey. These people you’re with, they’re not good people.” 

You’re not good people, you think savagely, though your resolve crumbles as you hear Dove’s sleepy wail through the phone. She needs you, and your whole body aches at the thought of being unable to fulfill that need. Andy clears his throat. 

“I’m going to ask again, Honey, and I really want you to be honest with me when you answer. Who. Is. Ari. Levinson.”

“H-he just helped me, that’s all,” you mumble. “Ir—my contact, she… she knows him. I don’t really… I haven’t spent much time with him.” Andy’s always been good at knowing when you lie—and you wait anxiously to see if he’ll taste the mistruth in your words. The silent seconds tick by as you hear him quiet your daughter and sigh deeply. 

“If I send Robert to get you, Honey, you’re coming home this time. Understand?”

“I-I want to come h-home.” The word feels like acid in your throat, but you want to swallow it back down anyway, so he can’t hear it. “I need to come home. I-I miss Jacob.” You do—that part, at least, is true. 

“Honey I want that more than anything. It’s going to be good, better, Sweetheart. So much better than before.” His words do everything but reassure you. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.”  You imagine him in his office, standing in front of the fireplace. It’s so clear you can almost see it, instead of the dingy used phone store. “He’ll be there tomorrow morning, early. Train station.” 

“I-I’ll be there.”

“I know you will.”

“You promise if I do this—you won’t, you won’t hurt anyone else, right?” You hear the line clicking in his silence. 

“I promise.” 

— 

The walk back to the shop takes you twice as long, probably because you keep stopping, staring ahead of you silently as your thoughts boil over and out of control. You’d promised Ari—and you’d known, even then, that you would break it. The sight of Irene’s face, his wound, it had all made your decision as easy as it could possibly be:

You were going to get Dove yourself. 

You’d underestimated Andy’s connections, and two nights ago was proof enough of that. Pronge was proof of that. If you don’t go back now, you know they won’t survive another encounter. And Andy… you know he can spin it. Just like he had your disappearance. He wouldn’t let you go, he never would. He’d make it cost too much. It already cost too much, you think to yourself, clenching your fists angrily. 

It feels like no matter what you do, no matter what you choose or how hard you fight, you just. Keep. Losing. You come to the dead end street where Zemo’s abandoned-but-not garage sits—but you walk right past it. You can’t go back yet, you don’t have your story straight. Hell, you don’t even have your own fucking head straight. You can’t face either of them right now. 

How do I tell Ari?

You don’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be, how angry. You doubt he’ll understand—you can’t leave Dove with Andy, alone to twist her mind and shape her into God knew what. No, you can’t do that. You can’t even consider it. You didn’t want to leave Jacob either, but you knew you couldn’t manage two babies, not when Andy had barely let you escape with one. Ari will blame himself, you know that much already. 

But knowing he’ll hate you is far better than knowing he was dead because of you.

It’s a gray day, and the off-again-on-again rain has managed to soak through your borrowed sweatshirt. Once you round the large, empty park at the far end of the neighborhood, you decide to head back. You don’t really feel much better, but you know you can’t stay out by yourself much longer.  Once you round the corner and turn onto the block, you spot Ari standing outside, in front of the closed garage door bay. 

“What are you doing? Where did you go?” He asks, frowning down at you worriedly. “You can’t just—” Ari stops himself, and blows out a harsh, frustrated breath. “Mouse, you know he isn’t going to stop.” 

You look down at your feet. “I know.” He steers you back inside with his good hand. 

“Let’s go over the plan again.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. He can’t see you, but somehow, Ari knows. “Hey. Come on, humor me.” 

“Fine.” You lean against the dusty front counter as you watch him close the door and lock it behind him, lowering the security grate before bolting that, too. “Step one: Canada. Step two: new identity. Step three: Come back, get Dove.” You know this is what they want, what they say is best, safest. 

And you know they’re right, it is what’s safest—for you.

Andy has a long memory—and his patience exceeds that of a fucking saint. He’d waited eight years for you. You don’t want to know how long he’s willing to wait to put another bullet in Ari. And somehow, you know that if he comes to do it himself, he won’t miss. 

“Good. I know it’s hard right now. But I promise you, I will be with you every single step of the way, okay? We are not giving up on Dove.” Ari cups your chin with a tenderness that brings burning tears to your eyes. You blink them back, burying your face against his chest. 

“I know.” The rough fabric of his sling against your cheek strengthens your resolve, though. “Thanks, Ari.” 

“You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. “Not the biggest fan of Quebec but Montreal is nice. Maybe we’ll go there, first.” Andy’s voice echoes unpleasantly in your head. Dishonorable discharge. Manslaughter. Ari’s laughter falters. “What’s wrong, Mouse?” 

“N-nothing.” You shake your head, attempting to clear it of the ghosts Andy had put in it. “Did you go to Montreal while you were in the army?” You ask, and his expression darkens, just a little. 

“No. After, actually. After I left.” The why hangs unspoken in the air between you, and you hesitate to breathe it into existence yourself, no matter how desperate the desire. “I told you about my sister. Her husband.” He sighs. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t alright. When they died. I’m probably still not, but it… I was angry. I wanted to kill him, Mouse. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt them and I wanted him to know why.”

“Did you?”Ari doesn’t look proud. He looks… sad. Like he doesn’t want you to know, like he’d rather lie instead of letting a single shred of the truth pass his lips in this moment. But Ari isn’t a liar, you’ve learned that well enough. 

“Yes.” He’s looking at you but his eyes are so far away that you know he isn’t, really. You don’t know what he’s seeing, but you know it isn’t you. “I did. I know I should regret it—what I did. But I couldn’t. I can’t.” You aren’t afraid of him, even though perhaps, you know you probably should be. And yet, even amidst his confessions, all you feel is safe. 

So safe. 

“I went to Montreal after that.”

You don’t know what else to say, but you wrap your arms around him, the tips of your fingers barely touching around his broad back. It’s the only thing you can think to give him in this moment. Words may fall short, and you know that he will dwell on them tomorrow when you’re gone, dissect them with the same stubborn diligence he shows you at every opportunity. But this, this he won’t be able to deny, to spin. 

Ari hums, squeezing you affectionately. 

“Mind if I change the subject now, Mouse?” He asks, sighing the words into your hair. “Besides, if we stay out much longer, Irene’s liable to come looking for us.” 

“Too late.” Her irritated voice makes you jump. “Where did you get off to?”You swallow thickly, hoping Ari doesn’t hear it. 

“I just took a walk.” In the beat of silence before Irene’s response, you can practically hear her roll her eyes. You turn to see her doing just that, and you wonder briefly if your powers of prophecy might lend themselves to something more useful. She jerks her head toward the office. 

“Well, walk yourself in here a minute, would you? We’ve got to get these tickets sorted.” Ari snorts with laughter. “That was good, right?” She grins, carding a hand through her silver-blonde hair. Irene hasn’t been nearly as forthcoming as Ari with information—like she almost doesn’t want to know you, or like she’s afraid to get close. The disapproving look she fixes Ari with only further substantiates your theory. 

Reluctantly, you follow Irene inside. 

—

 Andy takes a long, slow sip of his scotch, holding the liquor on his tongue before swallowing. The ice clinks gently against the glass, and after a moment, he sets it down to ponder the object in his other hand. 

Your ring is beautiful—a classic marquis cut diamond, flanked by alternating long and short baguette cuts. It fit you perfectly—he’d had it made for you, so of course it had. Large enough that other women made a fuss over it whenever they saw it, but still classy, not ostentatious. 

You’d left it on the dresser, next to the ankle monitor you managed to slip off without tripping the alarm. Andy’s lip curls, and he downs another mouthful. 

Let’s see her take off a goddamn chip.

The sound of tiny footsteps outside his office door makes Andy turn, just in time to see Jacob poke his head around the doorframe. He’s nearly four now, and he can reach the handle without standing on the tips of his toes, now. 

“Hey, bud. What is it? You know you’re supposed to be in bed.” Jacob’s lip trembles. 

“Daddy, I had bad dream,” he replies shakily, rubbing his watery eyes with the back of his chubby hand. “Went for mommy but she not there.” 

It takes everything Andy has not to blame you, but he swallows the urge. You can’t help it—you don’t have his vision, his foresight. You don’t see how much he needs you, how great you could be together if you would just let him lead you. He’d tried to replace you with Laurie, and look how that had turned out. No, Andy had already tried back-up plans B, C, and D when what he really needed was just to try A one more time. 

“Daddy’s sorry to hear that, Jake. Would you like to come sit with me?”  He nods, sniffling. Andy hoists his toddler up onto his lap, rubbing his back with a gentle hand. “What was the dream about?” 

“The bad-glasses-man.” Jacob says seriously, turning his glassy, terrified eyes to his father. Andy’s face remains passive, but inwardly he rages. Pronge’s comings and goings are easy enough to hide from the rogue paparazzi and the plain-clothes cops he knows are lurking just beyond the property gate, but significantly less so from his son, apparently. 

“Who’s the glasses man?” He knows the answer, but he needs the confirmation. The question alone is enough to upset him, and Jacob begins to fret, his eyes watering as he shakes his head.

“I don’t like him. His face is red.” 

The night he’d brought Dove back, he’d been practically covered in blood—the only clean thing was the goddamn baby. Andy didn’t ask where the hired muscle was, and Robert did not volunteer the information. 

“You know that was a dream, don’t you, tough guy?” Andy says, wiping the tears from his son’s chubby cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “When you go to sleep, you have dreams. And what we see in our dreams isn’t real, remember?”

“I ‘member, daddy.” Jacob still looks rather upset, though, and Andy wonders what else he hasn’t managed to hide, what other loose ends he hasn’t managed to tuck. “Him’s scary.”

He’d been planning of disposing of Pronge anyway—passing along “new” evidence to his friends in the DA’s office in Florida  would be more than enough to have a needle in his arm before he could so much as kick dirt at Andrew Barber’s pristine legacy. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Bud. Thanks for coming to see me—that’s what dads are for.” 

“And moms.” Jacob adds seriously, and Andy smiles and nods in agreement  though his free  hand clenches against the seat where his son can’t quite see it. 

“And moms.” 

—

Dinner is takeout, with Ari meeting the delivery driver three blocks away, just to be safe. You can feel Irene’s eyes on you the whole time he’s gone. You wonder if maybe she knows somehow, if she’s figured out your plan just from plain experience and observation. Her face is still a mess of bruising, but the swelling around her eye has gone down enough for her to squint out of it,  which is what she’s currently doing as she looks at you. Her nose is still red and angry, the bruised, veiny skin peeking out around the bandage and splint—Pronge had broken it. 

“I’m sorry.” You feel compelled to apologize again—after all, you’re responsible. Sure, Robert had been the one to break it, but you feel like you might as well have driven your own fist into her face for all the difference it made. “I didn’t know Andy would… that he would call someone like that.” You’d thought you knew Andy, that you understood him, who he was. And that had been why you’d let him back in. 

But you hadn’t, you see that now. Not even a little bit. 

Irene snorts. “Robert’s a parasite. I’m not surprised he’s got himself mixed up with a big fish like Andrew Barber.” She crosses her arms. “He’s always had a talent for finding garbage.” 

“You know him?” You ask, grimacing. Irene’s scowl deepens with regret, and she looks away. She’s by no means a small woman, broad shouldered and tall—but she looks somehow diminished.

 “S-sorry, I, I shouldn’t pry. I—I know we’re supposed to keep the interpersonal stuff to a minimum—” You ramble apologetically to fill the awkward space your question has left, but Irene cuts you off. 

“He was my first partner. Before lover-boy,” she adds, snorting. Your cheeks heat. You can’t stop your face from contorting in confusion. “He was my transporter, till he turned one of my girls back over to her husband.” She looks down at her hands. “My last girl, before, well, you.” Irene’s laugh is dry, but not bitter. 

“I didn’t know I was your one last job,” you reply. “Where’d you meet Pronge?” 

“What can I say? Your email was very convincing.” Your chest hurts at this, bad. You want to tell her, tell her everything, your phone call with Andy, your deal—but you don’t. She’ll only try to stop you. She’s already suspicious of you, you know—you can’t be the first to think about going back, to weigh the pros and cons and find the latter holds more water. Instead, you watch her tug the chain out from beneath her collar with her thumb. 

“Military. Same place I met Ari,” she adds. 

“You were all there together?” You ask incredulously, and she actually laughs, shaking her head. “In the army?” 

“No, no. Six degrees of separation, type thing.” The chain link rattles as Ari pulls it up, and you turn to watch him duck underneath before lowering it back down and snapping the padlock into place to keep it shut. “Didn’t even know this prick till I needed an east coast cover.” She jerks her thumb at him as he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Talking about me again, ladies?” He says, putting the bag down heavily on the counter. “Don’t stop on my account.” 

“Wasn’t going to,” Irene retorts. “And we weren’t Army.” She scrunches up her nose with distaste. “That, there, darlin’,” she points at Ari. “Is a Marine.” She turns her accusatory finger back on herself. “Marine.” 

You offer her a wry smile. “I’m not sure what the difference is, but—” you hold your hands up placatingly as her face screws up with offense. “I do believe you that  there is a difference.” 

“Damn right.” 

Ari’s hand finds the small of your back as he passes by behind you, and you don’t jump at his presence. 

“There’s not really that much of a difference.” He murmurs cheekily, and you stifle a giggle, biting your lip. “Just so you know.” Ari’s lips graze the shell of your ear, and your whole face goes hot. 

“I heard that, asshole,” she snaps, jabbing her finger in Ari’s direction again. “There is.”  Irene eats alone, waving her hand and shaking her head as she shovels food out onto her plate. “No, no. I need time away from you two. No offense.” 

“None taken.” Ari replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You’re in a shit mood anyway.” You don’t have to see Irene flipping him off to know it’s happening, but you peek over your shoulder anyway, and snicker with laughter as she proudly presents her middle finger. Ari ignores her. 

You eat in companionable silence, before Ari, elbows you gently. 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, and your chest fills with that too-familiar-ache. “Really?”

“I’m fine.” You don’t know if he believes you, but he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he does something else entirely—Ari dotes on you. He reminds you to finish your food when you push it away half-eaten. If not for me, then for Dove, Mouse. Can’t make milk for her if you’re starving. And when you’re done, he takes your plate, tossing it in the trash for you. You’re still wired, however, electricity running under your skin as the hours wind down. It’s all you can do not to pace. 

Andy had taught you that you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too—but goddamn do you want to. You want your daughter, and you want Ari. It feels unfair that you can’t, mostly because it is. Andy gets to have it all. Do it all, and what do you get? To crawl back to him on your belly because he’s still. Fucking. Winning. 

Ari places a hand on your thigh, stilling it. You hadn’t even realized you’d been bouncing it nervously, staring off into space. His concern cuts through the noise of your anxiety. 

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy.” He grasps your hands.  You sigh. 

“I know.” You hang your head. “I—I can’t stop thinking about Dove,” you admit, hanging your head. “How she needs me…” Ari squeezes your hands together, his larger ones enveloping them. 

“You need you.” He strokes the backs of your hands softly with his thumb. “You realize that, don’t you, Mouse?” You try to resist when he tucks a finger underneath your chin to make sure you’re looking at him, and when you do, you find his eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Please tell me you understand.” 

“I understand.” 

You want to—but you don’t even know who you are anymore. Without Dove, you feel adrift; she’d been your anchor, your purpose and drive. You needed to protect her, to get her away from Andy and keep her safe and whole and good. You reasoned you could fix yourself after, duct tape was good enough for you. But now that he has her again and your plan lies in ruins around you, you don’t even know what you’re doing this for. The various splintered pieces of you held in place by thin tape are falling apart again, and you don’t have another way to make them stay together. 

When Ari pulls you to his chest you go willingly, tucking yourself against his chest. He smells like pine musk and rain and just a hint of sweat, and you bury your nose in the folds of his shirt. You want to remember him, remember every moment you’d spent with him because they were precious. Of course only you realize it as you stand upon the precipice of never seeing him again, but you can’t change that now. You’re okay with it, trading the feeling of Ari’s solid body against yours, the surety of his presence, for knowing he’ll get to keep breathing. 

He’s worth that to you. 

Ari presses a kiss into your hair. 

“I fucking swear I will do everything in my power to make sure that he never hurts either of you again.” It breaks your heart to know that no matter how hard he tries, Ari will never be able to keep that promise. 

I think I love you. “Thank you.” I’m sorry. 

“Let’s get some rest.” 

You swallow against the tide of words that threaten to come crashing out of your mouth, and nod instead. He leads you back to the makeshift bedroom, and climbs into the cot beside you. He holds you, tucking your head beneath his chin as, for the last time, you fall asleep beside Ari Levinson. 

—

“You look like shit.” Pronge’s voice is mocking. You glower at him from across the empty parking lot, but you don’t get any closer. You hadn’t been waiting there long when the sleek black car had pulled into the lot, with Pronge oozing out of the driver’s side door. “What? You get cold feet all of a sudden?” He doesn’t have to yell to be heard—there’s no traffic, no people. The train station is practically a ghost-town at this hour, so there’s no one to overhear, either. 

“No.” You narrow your eyes at him, before reluctantly stepping forward. You see no reason not to be honest. “I just hate you.” He grins at your admission. 

“Happy to see you too, Sweetcheeks.” Pronge throws open the door to the black sedan next to him, and jerks his thumb at the back seat. “Now get in. Your hubby’s eagerly waiting for you a three hour drive back to fucking Boston.” He sneers. “What, you deaf too? I said move it.” 

You’re halfway across the lot when the sound of your name makes your eyes widen. You turn, and behind you is Irene, leaning against the gate as she pants. Your own eyes widen with panic—she’s not supposed to be here. You swear she’d been sleeping not forty-five minutes ago, though the steady rise and fall of her chest in the dark had been your only indication. Ari doesn’t seem to be with her though, and you wonder if she’d rushed here straight  out of bed—she isn’t wearing any of her gear, and the knife you know she keeps in her belt is nowhere to be seen. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Irene looks from you to Pronge and then back again. Your chest aches as the realization crosses her face, betrayal settling in soon after. “You can’t do this.” 

“Oh but this is delicious,” Pronge drawls, stepping around the open door. His greasy hair hangs limply into his face. “She’s going home to daddy.”  

“The fuck you are,” Irene retorts. “You know you can’t.” She isn’t even talking to Pronge anymore, just you. “You can drink poison knowing it’s poison, but you’ll still die. Andy is never going to let you go, you know that. You told me what it was like in the basement. It’s going to be ten times as bad if he gets his hands on you again.” Irene fixes you with a pleading, earnest look. “Please—”

You’ve heard gunshots before—plenty of times, now—but this doesn’t sound like one. It’s why you don’t understand it when Irene’s chest erupts in a spray of dark, warm red. You can smell it, like burned, raw meat. It dribbles out of her mouth as she stumbles forward and then falls down onto the dark pavement, twitching. You clutch at your face with your hands as the scream that had built up in your chest emerges as a wheeze. 

You look at Robert, watching with horror as he stows a pistol with a long silencer attached back into his filthy jacket. The blacktop is slick with morning dew as you race across it, slipping and skidding until you reach her. 

“Help me!” Irene is gasping and twitching, her eyes rolling wildly as you push her onto her back, pushing your trembling hands against the hole in her chest. “What-what do I-I don’t know what to do, I—” Jerkily, she lifts a hand to your face, smearing your cheek with her blood. 

“R-ru-un.” She coughs up more red, darker, thicker. You sob as you attempt again to staunch the bleeding. It doesn’t help, though, bubbling up out of the wound and over your hands to pool on the ground beneath you. 

“No, no, please, he promised, he promised he—he promised,” you babble uselessly as she spasms again and then goes completely still, her eyes locked on the brightening sky above you. “He promised. Andy, he promised.” You look at Robert as Irene’s head falls back against the pavement. 

“I guess there’s one cherry that Barber didn't pop.” He is on you in an instant, closing the gap between you with a few careful steps. You can’t move, though, can’t think as his wiry fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder, dragging you to your feet. Irene needs help, she needs—

“No, no, I, I have to help her, I—” You’re babbling uselessly as he shoves you into the back seat, and when you go for the handles on the doors, nothing happens. “Let me—let me out! No, no, he promised, and—” Pronge ignores your wailing, sliding in behind the wheel and starting the car. If anything, he’s enjoying it, grinning as you sob and beat against the windows with bloodstained hands. You cry and scream until your throat is raw, watching her body disappear, eaten by the cityscape as you move away through it. 

After a while, you curl in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your knees and laying down on the cool, clean leather. 

He promised. 

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Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[lemonlover1110]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟏

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

Pairing: Suguru Getou x f!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie

Kinktober Masterlist

“Suguru, are you okay?” You ask your husband, who quietly eats his dinner. The man usually leads a conversation and won’t shut up, which is something you’re glad about because you never find yourself bored while you’re with him. But tonight, he quietly chews on his food tonight, not even making an attempt to speak.

“Yeah…” He answers but that isn’t convincing for you. His voice tells you otherwise. You continue eating your food, thinking of what could possibly be wrong. Maybe he had a long day at work… But he’d make sure to tell you about it. 

You continue eating, the thought of Suguru being mad at you for whatever reason in the back of your mind. You think of ways to make it up to him, although you’ve done nothing wrong. 

When you finish eating, you both stand up and begin cleaning. It’s something you’ve always done together, since the beginning of your relationship and luckily it carried on to your marriage.

“I got it, honey. You can go take a bath and relax.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrow before putting his arm up, smelling his armpit to check if he smells. But he doesn’t, on the contrary, he smells really good. 

“What’s up?” He questions when you should be the one asking him that. And then he realizes why you’re telling him that. He bites the inside of his cheek as he debates on telling you what’s bothering him.

“Are you tired? Or did I do something?” You respond, and the man sighs.

“I have something to tell you, sweetheart.” He begins. You put the plate that you’re holding down, before looking straight at him. He grabs your hand and begins to play with your fingers. He traces over them, feeling how soft they are. You patiently wait for him to speak again, your heart sinking. You’re thinking of the worst– An affair. No, Suguru has given you absolutely no reason to doubt him.

“What is it, Suguru?” You ask as you feel him playing with your wedding band.

“I want to try for a baby…” He confesses, and it lifts so much weight from your shoulders. You can’t help but smile at him, not exactly because of his words, but because now you know it’s not something that you did wrong. “You want to start trying for a baby?”

You slightly nod. “I do.”

That very same night, he fucked you senseless, but the man doubted one time would be enough. Every single night. Every single night for two weeks, he’s fucked you senseless.

He starts off slow. He kisses all over your body. He worships your body. Especially when he’s bottoming out. “Oh- You’re so beautiful now, and you’re going to look even more beautiful while pregnant with my baby.”

He looks down at you, so much lust in his eyes. You look so pretty while underneath him, taking all of his cock. Your legs on top of his shoulders. He can reach so deep while in this position, it has become his favorite in the past two weeks.

“So fucking tight, even after fucking you every night-” He hisses. The man just adores the feeling of your cunt and how it wraps around him. He’s beyond lucky to get this every night. The man starts to speed up, the sound of his skin slapping against yours intensifying.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. His cock hits all the right spots- and he’s always known your body well but he’s gotten to know it more the past two weeks. He somehow managed to learn some things about your body that you yourself didn’t know.

The tip of his cock kissing your cervix. He smirks as he looks down at you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your mouth parted. You look beyond beautiful, he can’t wait till you’re filled up with his cum.

“Gonna look so pretty carrying my baby.” His voice is deep while his hand goes to your breasts. He begins to pinch your nipple. “Your tits are going to be filled with milk. You gonna let me have some, right?”

“Oh, Suguru!” You moan. It’s the only thing you say at night. The neighbors can hear how your husband fucks a baby into you, and he couldn’t be happier. And that won’t be the only proof that you’re his and only his- The baby that you’ll carry will also show them all that you belong to him.

“So good, Suguru-” Your voice is so loud. You’re already squeezing around him, and his other hand 

“You gonna make me a daddy?” He asks. There’s no response as you bite your bottom lip, a moment of realization that you’re being so loud. He stops playing with your clit and slaps your thigh. He repeats his question.

“Yes! I’ll make you a daddy!” You yell back. Suguru’s thrusts speed up, and his hand goes to play with your clit. He chuckles, loving the way you’re moaning senselessly around his cock. You’re creaming around his cock, and he loves it. 

He’s always loved sex with you, but now more than ever. Your pussy feels somehow ten times better now that he’s fucking you with the intention of getting you pregnant.

“Can’t wait to see you all big and round with my baby. Gonna fuck you everyday.” He says. “Gonna give you every last drop of my cum, and you’re going to be such a good wife and give me lots of babies, right?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You chant. You hear him moan, which indicates he’s near his release. He always manages to keep moaning under control, but when he’s near his climax he always gets so vocal. 

“Gonna knock you up. You’re going to look so beautiful.” He’s groaning. You’re squeezing around him and he feels so good. He has to close his eyes as he stumbles over his words, “You’re going to be all swollen while pregnant with my baby.”

It’s so repetitive, but it always gets you so aroused. You have to close your eyes, your back arching while you get louder and louder. Your legs shake as you come around his cock. The man bites his bottom lip, trying not to come so soon.

“Fuck-” He mutters. He throws his head back, his thrusts slowing down as he releases his seed inside you. Your cunt milks him for every drop of his cum, and it feels like so much. Because it is a lot. Suguru always comes so much and his cum is always so thick.

He pulls out his cock and takes your legs off his shoulders. The man catches his breath for a couple of seconds before he begins to kiss your lower abdomen. He kisses all over your stomach, his eyes looking up at your fucked out face.

“That for sure was it. You’re definitely pregnant.”

🏷 @s-witch-bitch @dont-ask-me-pls @todoroki-slut @jhsuhx @witchblades666 @eatingasswithsomeclass @Kamikat @tojigirlfriend @miemielovesjjk @ushigushy3000 @im-a-killer-queen @monstaxs-bitchh @lightofmylifeisbts @iam-mia9 @Flamesforrengoku @S0ur.cr34m @i2ilakkuma @mysticchaosangel @onidomi @geltears @hottieluvr @lovemarvel16 @windexwanda @captainweirdo42 @weasleypottersblog @sweetiepiezz @valentinedays @nothisispatrick300 @heartsatoru @flamealchemiste @redrum-and-diamonds @hannadesimp @m0ch1nut @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @nobody289x @deccahh @siriusoswaldsupremacy @watyousayin @poetrylovingwerewolf-blog @mimizsworld @milaaakebosss @icryduringgsexx

[mythicmanuscripts]

OMG I saw ur aegon x vampire reader post and the note below it. I seriously need a vampire Aemond x reader!!!

Ps: UR WRITING IS SO GOATED I BINGED READ ALL OF THEM😭

Aw thank you anon!!! So the previous vampire!Aemond ask I answered was about how the relationship with Aemond started and I think I now want to spend some time on the actual relationship itself?

Anyway, enjoy my random babble about vampire!Aemond and let me know if you lads have thoughts! This will be the last vampire!aemond ask I answer without much info, if you want more of this then just be sure to put some more info then just “vampire!aemond”

Anyway once again, subby vampire!aemond below the cut! There’s no real coherence in this answer I’m just babbling about this so get ready for chaos

So as we’ve established, vampire!aemond won’t drink from any other once he’s fed off you. He will not touch another’s blood, he’d rather starve.

Also, I love the idea that this marriage wasn’t actually arranged? Or maybe you do have an arranged marriage but it’s with someone else at the red keep and not Aemond and well… those plans have to change real quick because once Aemond gets a taste of you he’ll burn down the whole fucking kingdom if anyone tried to get with you.

Anyway, I think what’s most interesting about this whole idea is that Aemond would seem to be the one in charge with how he behaves but then the moment you speak he’s practically curling up at your feet. He’s SO protective over you, but he’s protective in the same way dog would be? He’s always with you, always standing just a little behind you and keeping a close eye on whoever you’re talking to, he’ll attack if he thinks someone might hurt you, but at the same time he’s just so… obedient? You speak and suddenly he’s looking at you like you hung the moon and all its stars and waiting for bated breath for what you will say to him.

He’s well aware that he needs you far more than you need him, and no matter how many times you try to tell him that’s not true it doesn’t matter he won’t be convinced otherwise. He knows he will never be entitled to your body, and so he will cherish every second you do give him.

Needless to say, he treats you SO well. It’s not just about the blood either, he just gets along so well with you and he loves being around you and even if you said he could never feed from you again, he’ll starve without complaint and only ask that he be allowed to spend his last days with you.

So yeah it’s definitely not just that feeds off you, but I also think that because he feeds from you there are some things he does to try and look after you as best he can.

For starters, you will NEVER go hungry. I like the idea that vampires don’t eat normal food, but he still hires a servant whose sole just is to feed you. Aemond always enjoys you’re getting enough of everything you need like iron and calcium and that you have a balanced diet. But it’s more than just that, he also pays very close attention to the foods you like and the foods that you don’t so that he can relay it back to the servant.

He’s also pedantic about ensuring you eat enough and at regular intervals. It’s usually very rare for a vampire to only feed off of one person because one person losing a reasonable amount of blood regularly can cause fatigue and iron deficiencies and so much more.

He knows exactly how lucky he is to have found you and so he will not allow his feeding to cause any negative side effects for you. It’s not uncommon to be a big dinner or event of some kind and the servants serve you some foods high in iron and vitamin C that the other guests don’t. Of course you can also eat the normal food, but Aemond is very particular about ensuring there is always enough the beat possible food available for you to help with losing blood for him.

And lord help anyone who tries to mess with that, even if someone just asks to try something and you actually agree to it, he’ll still tell them off. Of course you don’t let him get away with this. You always turn to look at him and tell him to stop being so combative and to everyone’s shock he immediately nods and apologises because he hates seeing you unhappy with him.

I also think he gets VERY offended any time someone thinks he’s feeding form multiple people or offers to let him feed off them? Like I think maybe it would be quite common for neighbouring kingdoms to visit and bring their own people for blood supply and then as a sign of respect and trust, they’ll send one of their people to offer themselves to one of the vampires residing in the red keep.

More than once visitors have made the mistake of getting their people to offer a feed to Aemond. The first time they ask he just says no and ignored them. Then the second time he tells them to fuck off, and if they are come a third time then they’re getting kicked out.

It’s even worse if they try to make this offer when you’re there. You know Aemond will never do it and you don’t care how many people offer themselves to him, but Aemond sees them doing that as an insult to you? You’re sitting right there and they are to try to offer him another’s blood? Often you have to tell the poor human to scamper off before Aemond kills them.

And lastly, I wanna talk about Aemond after a feed? Well more specifically, Aemond after a bigger feed? He’ll drink from your neck for bigger feeds, and fuck once he’s had his full he’s almost blood drunk?

His head is all fuzzy and he’s so utterly satiated it’s like he can he can feel it in his bones. He’s so plaint then, will do whatever you say and often ends up more than a bit horny. You LOVE riding a blood drunk Aemond so much because he’s just completely blissed out the entire time, and when it’s finished he’ll just turn and hide in your arms, mumbling his thanks and promptly falling asleep.

[gay-dorito-dust]

OMG can you please write more Ken x reader, I absolutely love the one you did and I can barely find any fics for him 🖤😍

I’m glad you liked my first Ken fic and you’re absolutely about the lack of Ken fics/ Barbie fics in general. So I hope to help fill the gap…somewhat. ❤️🦦

Ken strikes me as the type to want to share anything and every thought he had with you.

For example;

Ken, running up to you: y/n! you won’t believe what I saw today!

You: what did you see Ken? A puppy?

Ken: better

You: a self taught puppy on a skateboard?

Ken: better

You: what could possibly be better then a self taught puppy on a skateboard?

Ken, beaming; getting to see you wake up every morning, looking perfect as always.

You: cheesy. Do it again.

Ken also seems like the type to melt when given affection. Talk to the wall if you disagree because I won’t hear otherwise on this.

So any time you reach for his hand, interlock your fingers, allowing the palms of your hands to being flushed against one another. Ken will crumple and will try to subtly tighten his hold on your hand but you knew, yet you were willing to faux ignorance towards because you enjoy the feeling of his warm hand against yours, as it’s a reminder that he’s there.

Ken will also uses every excuse in the book to keep your hand in his, not matter how impractical it maybe. He just likes holding your hand and isn’t afraid to openly grab it in public either, all the while with a beaming smile on his beautiful face. Ken is so pretty when he’s happy and you’d rather have him be happy and healthy in every aspect. Mentally, physically and emotionally.

You could be trying to do stuff in the house and you have one of Ken’s hand latching onto yours with his iron like grip, making it hard to complete tasks where your meant to have both hands available.

‘Ken…do you have to always hold my hand even if we’re inside the house?’ You’d ask.

‘I just don’t want to loose sight of you,’ he tells you, ‘and besides I just want an excuse to keep my hand intertwined with yours.’ He adds with a shrug as though he didn’t just admit to not liking being apart from you for long extended periods of time.

‘If that’s your answer then I don’t want to hear any complaining about sweaty palms.’ You teased as for the rest of the day, Ken’s hand in yours as if they were super glued.

Adding onto the fact that Ken likes being physically close to you. Ken is without a doubt a cuddle bug, a needy, somewhat clingy, cuddle bug as a matter of fact. He loves nothing more then to have you burrow yourself into his chest but he loves it even more when he’s the one burrowed into your chest/neck, depending on the position you assume.

Just the feeling of having you in his embrace or vice versa, has always brought him so much comfort and reassurance it’s actually insane. Yet if you were to ask him what was it about you that made him feel comfortable enough to fall asleep on you without a secondary thought and Ken’s response?

‘You keep me grounded when I don’t think I’m worth having, especially not with everything I’ve done recently.’ He began as he makes himself comfortable against you, his head resting on your chest and humming to himself in content as his eyelids began to close and a soft smile reached his pretty pink lips, all the while adding on; ‘you keep me safe as you swaddle me your warm embrace. But most of all, being with you as of this moment, has never felt like the most right thing I have ever felt in my entire life.’ He falls asleep thereafter, leaving you to process his words before following after him in dream land, where you would continue to keep him safe, warm and loved.

Cliche as it maybe but Ken would definitely have stargazing picnics on the beach with you as dates. Bonus if on one of the dates you forget to bring a jacket and Ken sees you be affected by the cold? He will pull out the chivalry card and give you his jacket no matter what.

He doesn’t care if he gets cold! As long as your warm and wearing his clothes he’s perfectly fine with a feeling a little bit nippy.

‘But Ken, won’t you get cold?’ You asked, pushing his jacket back towards him.

‘Me? Get cold? I can handle a bit of cold y/n.’ Ken tells you as he takes the jacket, only to drape it over your shoulders himself, where your immensely warmed up from his bodily heat. ‘Besides, it’s you whom I don’t want to catch a cold but even if you did, I’d get the opportunity to nurse you back to health!’ He says enthusiastically.

‘My hero.’ You cooed as you learn into his side, totally unaware of the goofy, dopey look upon his face that became into an smitten expression as he peered at you. ‘Yeah, your hero.’ Ken utters softly to himself as he walks you back to your shared home.