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[vampkillr]

Mixer — Peter Parker

m! reader — 728 words — any! peter but i wrote with andrew in mind

I couldn't explain it. The look we shared. As if from across some random person's living room, everything just clicked as we saw each other. His eyes held my gaze, tilting his head as he seemingly ignored the guy he was with. I was tempted to push my way through the array of drunk strangers, but his friend seemed to guide him somewhere else the moment I took a step forward. "Did you find someone?" Gwen, who— like myself— was perfectly sober, yelled over the booming speakers.

"I need some air!" I shouted so that she could hear me, and with a thumbs up I set out to the balcony. It was cold, and the breeze only added to the chill. No one was out here but me. Or so I thought.

"Not really a people person?" I turned to the voice. It was that guy from before. "Little too cold out here to be standing by yourself," He smiled. I couldn't tell if the pins and needles on my face was from him or the weather. He walked towards me, leaning against the guardrail. I could see the way his breath left him in puffs of vapor against the crisp air. "I'm Peter."

"Y/n." I outstretched my hand and he shook it. His hands were so much warmer than mine. "I don't really want to be here, my friend made me." he laughed at my confession.

"Mine kinda did, too." He was closer to me, our arms brushing against each other and yet I didn't seem to mind. This stranger, so close to me and yet he still felt too far. "Two losers out in the cold instead of getting hammered at a party..." He started, a smile creeping onto my face. "Two awfully pathetic losers." We seemed to look at each other at the same time, yet he was the only one with the strength not to turn away. No one's ever left me so flustered from just a look. It was like he knew who I was without me having to say anything. Like it just felt right for him to be here next to me. He was so calm, so warm; something about him drew me in. I met his gaze once more as he spoke again. "Sounds like they're perfect for each other, don't you think?" We just seemed to be getting closer. like an invisible force was pulling the two of us into each other and we weren't fighting against it.

My body moved on its own, turning towards him. He guided my arms to rest on his shoulders and before I could begin to think of how incredibly wrong it was, we were kissing. It didn't feel rushed. There wasn't some goal to the kiss. Neither of us were chasing anything. We were both right where we wanted to be. If I could freeze time and relive any moment of my life, it would be this one. The way he coaxed me into him, not pushing me any further than I was okay with; just reminding me that he wanted exactly what I did... There was something to him that I couldn't bring myself to deny. I could feel his reluctance to pull away as we separated. "Oh, please let me do that again..." He whispered and I smiled.

"Maybe we can go somewhere a little bit warmer first?" His eyes were piercing through me, like he was trying to find a reason to say no but couldn't. Within moments he had my hand in his and was leading me through the crowd and down the hall into a bedroom. He let my hand slip from his, finger's lingering on mine just long enough for me to notice. Music beat gently throughout the room, muffled enough as to not be loud or very prominent. I locked the door and walked further inside. Pictures of him and other people littered the walls amongst an array of posters and drawings for some sort of bracelet. On his desk, a closed laptop, a small toolbox and a bunch of spare parts for some sort of device. He sat down on the edge of the bed and just watched me. Leaned back, resting his weight on his hands and his head tilted. There weren't any words we really needed to share for this part.

now that classes fully started im only working like 2 24 hr shifts so i have a lot more free time 😸 anyways let me know if u want a continuation lol i have a pretty bad writers block so my imagination is not very great rn

[vampkillr]

Presence — Dick Grayson

m! reader — 1k words — this is angsty kind of romantic but my definition of romantic is incredibly edgy and depressing i am so sorry — IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IVE BEEN SO FUCKING BUSY MAN💔💔

for @ickyickyeik 😿💪

He's human. I think he forgets that frequently. How he can't heal faster than normal, how he can break just like I can. The only thing keeping him from death is skill and a whole lot of luck. Luck that will eventually run out.

The blood that spilled over the marble table I had laid him on felt so much darker than red. So much deeper than crimson. There wasn't a word for the life that seeped from his wounds. Not a way to describe how I felt watching the color drain from his face. To say I didn't know what I was doing would be a lie. I knew how to cauterize. To stitch. To save. Yet the shake in my hands was a reminder of the man dying beneath me. The one patient I couldn't allow myself to lose. A man I promised my life to. Who my soul yearned for.

I've lost time like this. Saving him. Hours blur together as if they hadn't happened at all— one moment my lover is dying beneath me, and within the blink of an eye I find myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror coated in his blood. I could feel the way it had dried and cracked along the creases of my hands. It didn't take much thought for me to turn the shower on and walk into it. Hot water soaked through my bloodied clothes, adding a comforting weight against my body as I watched how the water poured off of me in an orange haze. I knew that this wasn't making me clean. It wasn't freeing me of the proof I had to cut my lover open. But something about the way his blood slid off of me felt reassuring. Like I could see that slowly, surely, I was becoming pure again.

My hands moved on their own. Taking my clothes off, wringing them out and tossing them aside, washing away what remained of tonight's trauma. I felt like an observer of myself. As if I wasn't the one doing these things. My body seemed to take care of me when my mind couldn't. Drying my hair, getting me dressed, walking me passed the crime scene in the kitchen and to Dick, who lay passed out on the couch and blissfully unaware of the twenty four wounds I somehow managed to stitch successfully with what limited supplies I had. I dropped to my knees beside him. The weight of the situation finally seeming to crush me. He could've died. He almost did.

"Hey," Dick's strained voice pulled me back to earth for a moment. As I looked up at him, he wiped a tear away from my cheek and pulled me closer. "I'm so sorry, honey," Nothing more than a whisper. I said nothing in return. I forgave him, but at the same time I couldn't. This is what he had to do, and this is what I had to do in return. Forced to be a hero's savior. Despite everything he has done for me. Despite my love for him. I resented Dick at times like these. Where we were both at our lowest for the same reason. And maybe it was selfish of me, to be upset at him for something like this when he teeters the brink of death for the sake of Blüdhaven. But I couldn't help how I felt just as much as he couldn't help being hurt. "Say something," He begged.

"No more of this...." I knew this wasn't what he wanted to hear me say. But it's what he needed to. And to my surprise, he didn't try to justify what I had to see tonight. He didn't tell me he had no choice. He didn't say anything about responsibility. I left him to himself for a while, walking to the bedroom and grabbing whatever blankets and pillows I could and moving back to the couch.

"Don't sleep on the floor...." His hand reaching for me, in search of my forgiveness. I didn't give it to him. I backed away just slightly while putting the blankets down, giving myself some type of padding for the very light nap I'd be getting tonight.

"I have to make sure you don't die." Curt was my response. The wedge I had placed between us was hurting him more than his wounds were. I could see the tears that he fought from spilling. This wasn't what he needed. I knew that. My grudge wasn't against him. it was with the people who threatened to take him away from me. My hand making its way to his, which was still outstretched. “I'm gonna lose you like this one day.” My voice was quiet. He needed to know I wasn't upset. If only god hadn't been so cruel. If only we had been in a different time. A different city.

“I think I'm done for a while.” My heart jumped at the thought of this. I knew it wouldn't be forever. I knew that. But the thought of not having to fight with him to let his wounds heal was so relieving.

My night was restless. Waking up to the slightest movement, the smallest grunt or groan. Checking his temperature every few hours, honing my ears to listen only to his breathing. Antibiotics weren't an issue because of Bruce, I still had a fair amount of supplies from the last time I had to play doctor— but I needed to be prepared for absolutely anything in these first few days. Dick stirred while I ruminated in my thoughts. “Lay with me,” He whispered. I knew just by the grovel in his voice that he wasn't completely lucid, but the hand he outstretched was hard to ignore.

I reclined the seats of the couch to give myself more space and gingerly placed myself beside him. Sleep didn't take long to surround me. I was exhausted, and the comfort laying beside him sent me into a haze. There was something so beautiful about loving him. Something so comforting about his presence. I couldn't lose that... I couldn't give it up to save my heart, either. All I could do was savor it while I had it.

THIS WAS SO SHORT IM SO SORRY I DIDNT WANT YOU TO THINK I FORGOT IM SORRY ITS NOT EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED FOR I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAYS 😭💔

[vampkillr]

Change — Dick Grayson

m! reader — 1k words — this could be considered a prequel to memories, i really liked the concept of the fic so i just did something with the idea of it — PLEASE like or rb my interaction has been so low i'm sorry for not posting it just gets like that sometimes.

My entire body felt heavy, but my bones felt hollow. Muscles tense and so tight that even breathing shot an ache that radiated through to my skin. I knew better than to clean the house without him, but he had been gone for a week and things were starting to get cluttered. I needed to get up and to go to work, but my joints were so stiff and body so fatigued it didn't look like I'd be out of bed for the next few hours. I needed to call in.

The bed dipped beside me. "Hey," Dick's voice a mere whisper as he kissed my back. "you okay?" I hummed twice, the tune of a no. "Just stiff, or—"

"Worked myself a little too hard yesterday." I could feel his body press against mine, arm wrapping gently around my waist. "Touching doesn't hurt." With my words he held me tighter and allowed the weight of his arm to fully rest against me. "Missed you." My voice nothing more than a whisper.

He had been gone for longer than he's ever been. "I missed you, too..." His answer was just as quiet. We laid there for a while. Feeling him against me, hearing his breathing— it lulled me back to sleep. It was restless, though. The amount of pain I was in kept me on the brink of consciousness, and every small fidget or deep breath from him would pull me back to the real world. I didn't know how long I let it go on for— teetering between two worlds— but it was long enough to bore me completely.

"Can you reach for my phone?" He groaned, still half asleep. Shifting slightly behind me and sighing. I could hear the sound of buttons being pressed, and next thing I knew, my cold phone was being laid against my ear. The brazen voice of my boss was enough to make me wince, but I pushed through. "I don't feel too good right now, hand any emergent surgeries off to Jameson and push back my electives a couple hours. I'll be in for a night shift." There was silence for a minute, typing— a small 'alright' and he hung up. "You can put it up now." He put it away and sat up.

"Can I undress you?" As painful as moving was, I turned to glare at him. "Not for that," The sound of his laughter always seemed to make the world a little brighter around me. "I'm gonna help you relax, okay?" I hummed and sat up, the stretch and strain in my back pulling so violently against each other that the burn spread itself up into my neck.

"Sounds kinda like you're undressing me for that." He laughed a bit, raising my arms and taking my shirt off. I ignored the stab to my shoulders and laid back down, enjoying our position. Exposed under him, his eyes worshiping me. "Not that I'd exactly mind.." I trailed off, taking note of the slight smirk he tried to hide.

"You're hurting," Empathy lacing his tone. "let me see if I can't make you feel a little better first, okay?" Gentle words that soothed me as his fingers traced my sides. "Let me take care of you." His hands moved to the muscle below my collarbone, the pressure burning as he rubbed the tightness away. "Flip over." I turned over on my stomach. "Thank you, honey."

He worked my muscles with a skill completely unmatched by anyone I've ever met. Pushing and pressing and rubbing in all of the spots that killed me every morning as I woke up. Moving in every direction I needed him to, soothing my burning nerves. "Hey," he hummed in response. "it's better than it was." I didn't want him to stop, but he didn't have to keep going if he didn't want to.

"That's good," He kept rubbing out knots that I was so used to that I didn't notice them anymore. "but you're tense. Let me help you." I took a deep breath and turned on my back, watching his face. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just focusing on every little detail. He looked tired, but content nonetheless. The small tug at the edge of his lips as he touched me— it was something I knew he never noticed. But I did. And it made me heart beat just a little faster every time I saw it.

I was so in love with him it hurt. These little moments where all we had to focus on was each other; I savored them. I don't know what I'd do without him. I didn't want to have to find out. “I just want to be in your arms for a little,” I whispered, and immediately he laid next to me. I rested my head on his chest and sighed as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You've gotta stop that, baby.” He knew my thoughts. It's become a pattern. Every sweet moment ruined by the thought that I wasn't guaranteed another one. “I'm not going anywhere.” His reassurance meant very little to me. I've seen him beaten beyond recognition. I've had to set broken bones and stitch wounds. I have cracked his ribs preforming CPR. Every time he'd come to me like that was just a bit more traumatic than the last.

“You say that...” I whispered, my fingers reaching underneath his shirt to graze against his scars. Knowing exactly where each of them were and what they were from. “I just don't want to lose you.” Dick would kill himself doing the right thing. I could feel it. Somewhere, right at the back of my mind. It was a bone chilling piece of knowledge. Always there, whispering itself into my thoughts. It was just a matter of when.

“I don't wanna lose you, either.” His voice just as low and sad as mine was. He had that voice in the back of his head, too— and I'm sure it's been getting louder. Something needed to change. Before it was too late. Before we really did lose each other.

it feels like people stopped reading my stuff and it makes me feel bad because no one really communicates with me on here, my inbox has been empty for months. if my fics aren't what you'd like please request something i'm always open for ideas

[vampkillr]

Nothing — Matt Murdock

m! surgeon! reader — vamp! matt — 865 words — angst kinda — its not really where i wanted to go with the idea i had so i cut it short ! ill probably end up reposting a better version in the future

A lot can happen in two minutes. The loss of a life. A tragedy. Fate sealed in such little time. It was something I've had to observe more times than I'd care to admit. The human body, although a pressurized machine, unpredictable. That's why they die. Blissfully unaware, unfeeling under my blade. Going in with hope. Leaving cold and lifeless. There was something beautiful about the way they surrendered control. The way they trusted me. Something so tragic about that trust not being enough.

To be human was to be flawed. To have a body that would give in so easily. Almost shameful. And yet we seemed to take pride in our fragility. We use it to feel appreciative. I suppose time becomes much more precious when it can be taken from you at any moment. The time that people cherished. The more of it they begged me for. None of that mattered to a heart set on stopping. A brain set on dying. Despite my precision. My patience. My stillness. It was hard to accept that. To be okay with the fact that nothing I did would ever be good enough to a dead person. That they were gone and the tools to save them were no longer enough. A story told a million times. A million stories ended in the same way.

I've stood over countless open bodies. My fingers have grazed against even the weakest of beating hearts, yet something about this one was different. I knew the heart. I knew very intricately the ways in which it functioned. Which is why I knew something was wrong with this one. There wasn't really a word to describe the way in which it beat against my hand. Manufactured, maybe. The rhythm erratic. There was an anxiety to it. Beating fast and slowing occasionally; like an anxious person trying to soothe themselves with deep breaths. It was this that made me stop what I was doing. "Dr. L/n?" I was too deep in thought to distinct who it was that called out to me.

"Something's wrong." I whispered. My eye seemed to latch onto the blue paper covering the man's body. As if my body caught something my mind didn't. "Everyone back away from the table." A panic was staring to set in. I couldn't explain the primal fear that started to seep into my veins, but something inside of me knew that this man open on the table was awake. He was awake and just sitting through his own mutilation. There was an array of arguments coming from everyone in the OR, but a stern 'now' shut them up. I walked towards him, removing anything and everything that blocked the access I had to his face and body. Gasps filled the room as everyone saw his open eyes. "Everybody out." I knew exactly what was going to unfold if they stayed in here for another moment.

I could feel their hesitance. The weight of my request. Everyone in the room knew how stupid I had to be to ask this of them. They all knew this wasn't a surgery for one single person. They all knew just as well as I did that the man on the table looked human but wasn't.

"I need you to trust me. And I need you all to get out." My desperation seemed to move everyone from the OR and into the gallery. I didn't care that they watched. I just needed them to be safe from what I thought this man might be. The air seemed to get heavier the moment I was alone. Each step towards him I felt closer to my death. I looked in his eyes, but they seemed to just barely miss me. There was no time to waste. His heart was collapsing on itself. I needed to save him, but he didn't seem to have the same idea. Everything seemed to blur together the moment it happened. In almost an instant I was being pinned to a wall, the sound of my tools clattering against the cold tile. His chest still split open, the sight of a beating heart. He was going to kill me. I knew that much.

"Only for a moment," He whispered, voice hoarse from the tube ripped from it just seconds ago. I could feel his breath ragged against my neck, and no amount of my strength was enough to escape him, despite his vulnerable state. There was nothing I could do. So I gave in. A hand guided my chin and all I felt was a searing pain boiling from the puncture in my neck. It deepened, spread like the feeling of alcohol to a wound. Reaching bone deep and infecting every inch of my body until pain consumed me. I could feel a scream rip from my throat and empty the air from my chest, but I couldn't hear it over the ringing that pierced my ears. I lost my spatial awareness. I couldn't sense anything but the torture my body was going through. As if my brain had been sent into a black vat of nothingness. Eventually that's all it turned into. Nothing.

likes and reblogs are appreciated — i finally got over my writers block thank god

[vampkillr]

Scars — Matt Murdock

Tw: Self harm, description of relapse

gn! reader — 1.1k words — hurt/comfort — this fic was written true to my personal experience with self harm. i am not romanticizing this topic. do not read this if you are trying to have some deranged fantasy of it. the descriptions in this fic may be triggering to some readers. please do not continue reading if this topic will impact your mental health. your health and safety are of utmost importance to me.

My scars were different than his. They told the tale of a different battle. A different addiction. I wasn't a hero like him. He couldn't see the war I was fighting. In a way I was grateful for it. The safety his lack of vision provided. I didn't have to hide myself. There weren't words to describe why I did it. A pain so deep in my bones I had to dig for it. To let it bleed out and let the pressure build once more, only to start the process all over again. With Matt I had to be careful. I had to make sure he couldn't hear it. Smell it. Taste it. This, of course was just a matter of making sure he wasn't there. Everything else was secondary so long as my arm was covered.

It became a ritual. Every night after work to come home and fight the urge. To wait and wait— maybe make a few days clean only to ultimately cave in to that voice in my head. To fill the emptiness on my skin. Once again I found myself staring at my wrist. Blade in hand. Guilt beginning to whisper my name, but the voice louder. How they looked too shallow. How they were all starting to heal. Picking apart the empty spaces and shaming me for not having filled them. It was almost artistic, the lines I placed on myself. Picking and choosing exactly where it was I wanted my blood to spill— and as I started to bleed, I remembered why I loved it so much. I felt warmth. Comfort. My skin cried in a way I couldn't. It dripped. Beaded. It gave me an ache that reminded me I had a heartbeat.

A knock at the bathroom door and the frantic shaking of the doorknob brought me to reality. To regret and disappointment. Ripped away from the peace I had created for myself. “Open the door!” Matthew's voice cut through the wood that separated us. Shit. I took my time getting up, pressing my already bloody cloth onto my arm and going to let Matt in. The second the door was unlocked he barreled through, grabbing me and holding me as tight as he could. “I thought—” His cheek against my head, lips brushing against my ear. “I thought you were trying to kill yourself I couldn't—” I could feel the panic in his chest. In the way he couldn't finish his sentence. “All I could smell was your blood.”

I felt gutted. I scared my only sanctuary. I ruined the safety I found in his normalcy. He knew now the very thing I was trying to hide. “Matthew,” I spoke low, gently trying to coax him off of me. “I'm alright.” I dreaded the possible conversation this would spark. I didn't want him to try to make himself my saint. There was nothing he could tell me that I haven't already heard. He backed away only to hold my arm out for him to analyze. He shut the toilet lid and sat me down, washing his hands and taking the time to pick a thick enough rag. For a minute we stayed silent as he put pressure against my arm, the air of disappointment choking us both. I could see how upset he was. I was upset too. "I'm sorry.” I whispered.

“I didn't know how to talk to you about it....” My eyes trailed his form, the way he towered over me like this. “I didn't know if you wanted to talk about it.” He sighed. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I am.” I tried to reassure him. To reassure myself. We both knew I was lying. I had an issue. A problem that has rooted itself so deep in my brain that I didn't see an end to it. It clouded my vision. My judgement. He let go of my arm, placing both bloody rags in my sink and going on a journey to find my bandages. “I'll get them.” He moved away and I reached for everything I needed, rinsing my arm off and drying it first. Three big band-aids later and I was good as new. I walked over to the couch while Matt made his way to the bar— the light from that god-awful sign outside being the only thing illuminating my path. A purple hue seeping through the vaguely clouded panes, painting the entire room and everything in it. I sat down and he placed a glass of water on the coffee table before sitting across from me. Silence consumed us. Nothing could fix what just happened. There was no space for the conversation to change. A stagnation that neither of us knew how to address. “So you knew?” My voice low.

“The whole time.” His confirmation made me want to sink into myself. Going this long without talking about it, it was no wonder he thought I was trying to die. There was no reason to believe otherwise. “I didn't want to upset you.... I thought you'd come to me when you were ready.” Every time he'd touch me. Every time he'd graze my wrists. Pretending to believe my lies about how they were all old scars. With each question of ‘they're still old?’ he gave me the chance to come forward. With each ‘yes’ I let him know I didn't want to.

“I don't know why I do it.” My arm ached. It hurt worse than before because of how tight Matt was gripping the rag to my arm. “I'm hurting..... I just can't explain how.” I sighed and he got up, coming around to sit next to me on the couch. “A suffering I have to show myself just to know it's real. Maybe I do it just to see myself heal in a way that my brain can't. I don't know.” His hand went to my back. The pressure soothing. “I just can't help myself sometimes. I can't stop.” I leaned over, head in my hands. I just wanted today to be over with.

“Let's go to bed.” Matt gently pulled me off the couch and led me to our room. I didn't have the fight in me to try and stay up any longer. He stripped himself of his black outfit and got under the covers. I followed shortly after, relaxing into his arms as he held me. “I love you.” I didn't have to say anything for him to know that I loved him too. He could feel it. The heat on my skin. My heartbeat. The warmth he covered me in was enough to lull me to sleep. I drifted off surrounded by him.

u definitely do not have to reblog this !! please don't unnecessarily trigger anyone. i wrote this pretty much to comfort myself so i definitely understand if it doesn't get many notes.

[vampkillr]

Yearn — Jason Todd

m! reader — 1k words — angst with a happy ending — this can be interpreted as a continuation of witness — mentions of intense grief — mentions of suicide — please don't read if those things will make you upset/uncomfortable.

Bruce moved on fast. This was just a matter of going from one Robin to the next. I hated him for it. I hated Tim, too— even though I knew it wasn't his fault. I hated a lot of things. The world for not stopping without him. The birds for still chirping. The wind for still blowing. Clocks for still ticking. Myself for still breathing. I could name a million things that had been taken from me when he died. All I can think of is him. I can't get anything done. So I just sit here on the bench in front of his headstone.

I stopped talking after it happened. I stopped going out. I killed every part of the life I had without truly dying— but that was just a matter of the guts I lacked. I did everything I could to make myself as close to dead as he was. And I rotted with him; regardless of the fact his body wasn't underneath the soil. "You've done this every day for the past two weeks," A man spoke, sitting next to me on the bench across from Jason's headstone. "is this all you do?" I didn't move. I didn't even acknowledge his presence. It felt weird to be this close to another person. I hadn't really heard anyone else's voice in three years. My rent always seemed to be paid for me, and groceries were never an issue since I always had what I needed at the apartment. I knew Bruce was the one doing those things for me, but it didn't change my anger.

"Please," I could feel the way my brows knit together. His voice was quiet. "I need you to look at me." I didn't want to. Some part of me wanted to continue playing dead. I didn't want to interact with the world as if I was of any significance. Despite this, he grabbed me and forced me to turn. His hair was black, face morphed with some sort of desperation. A scar raised in the shape of a J brandished his cheek, and his eyes... I knew those eyes.

I forgot his voice. That was the only thought that seemed to cross my mind now that I was being faced with him. I couldn't recognize him despite the way I once had been able to tell him apart just by his footsteps. The realization was painful. “Say something,” He pleaded, brows furrowed.

But I couldn't. There was no word that my body could utter, no sound that I could possibly make to properly articulate the hellfire that was going on inside of my mind. I wanted to scream. I needed some way to dispel the two and a half years worth of grief and suffering I had endured. I needed some way to take it all back. A way to turn back time, so that I could walk into his death knowing that he would return— knowing that he was still alive. I have spent literal years being hopeless and wanting every day to die and be with him. But here he was in front of me, as if all of that pain I had gone through was for absolutely nothing. And yet for some reason it was him that I was angry at. Despite the things I had to see him endure. Despite knowing he hadn't done any of this on purpose. The guilt of feeling that way ate at me.

He held onto me as if I'd slip through his fingers. Clutching me so tightly by the arms that the vessels beneath my skin were breaking under the pressure. I didn't mind. As long as I got to feel him one more time, I would have let him kill me if it was what he wanted. His absence left my world a different color— and now that he was back, I had to meet him once more, and one day I'll have to lose him again. I can't.

“Can't what, baby?” He brushed the hair out of my eyes as the wind picked up. I guess I spoke out loud.

“Feel like this again.” I didn't know what I was saying. I didn't know what I wanted. My body ached for him. My heart was torn to shreds from the loss. So what was going to happen when he really dies? Could I survive that? The way I barely survived this? And if so, was that really any way to live?

I was pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of Jason's hands holding my cheeks. Warmth against the crisp air that chipped away at my skin. "I spent two years....” I could see the way he was choking back his words. With a deep breath he moved on. “Two years dreaming of being with you again.” It made me wonder what he had been doing for the rest of the time he was gone, but that was a question for another time. “I think the only reason I survived all of it was because I needed to get back to you.” For a moment I forgot what it was like to trust him. In front of me was not the same Jason I knew, and yet still I could feel the old Jason's heart. He had been through so much that he changed as a person, but the care in his voice and the love that dripped from his fingertips every time he touched me was the same. The feeling of it made me believe his words.

I leaned myself into his body, grasping onto him just as he was holding me a while ago. Breathing him in, memorizing the weight of his arms wrapped around me. I would have to learn how to be with him again. Have to learn how to be human. Learn how to love him and trust him the way that I did so long ago. i'd have to figure out how I was going to apologize to Bruce, and how I was going to forgive him. There were so many things that I personally destroyed in my life for practically nothing. I wasted away only to be proved wrong. I almost killed myself for a man that was still alive.

There was a lot I was going to have to work through, but for now all I needed was him.

ive been working and also i'm in a massive block rn and no one is requesting anything, my interaction's at an all time low im getting like a max of 3 likes every 2-4 days so it just sucks. i know this fic was shitty but like i said writers block is kicking my ass so it took a while to even be able to finish this. i would really appreciate some reblogs on this fic or another one that you really liked, it'd mean a lot to me.

[vampkillr]

Witness — Jason Todd

gn! reader — 360 words — angst — another short i'm so sorry — jason getting kidnapped

There was nothing I could do aside from watch. Watch as he changed. Going from hopeful to hopeless. Watching every day how the life progressively seemed to fade from his glassy eyes. How his body became so broken apart that he no longer looked real. That's when I knew I couldn't just wait for Bruce. I couldn't sit and wait as all efforts ended fruitless. When I looked at him and caught my brain protecting itself, caught myself unable to process that the body on the screen wasn't rubber or plastic. So I looked for him. And I looked everywhere. Yet still I found nothing. No clue, no Joker, and no body. Weeks went by and the videos stopped. After six months of consistent updates, they all vanished. So either I was getting close, or he was dead. The feeling that thought brought me was something I couldn't process. It had been ten days since the last disc.

Today, though. Today was different. On my doorstep, a familiar square envelope laid perfectly in front of the door. I was calling Bruce before I could even realize what I was doing. Everything before it was a blur, really. My eyes were out of focus. I couldn't concentrate enough to have a coherent thought. The next thing I knew we were in the basement, watching again. My vision was clear, scanning every single detail of the room. The way Joker walked around my nearly-dismantled boyfriend. I could feel the acid of my stomach creeping up my throat. A clear shot rang just once. The power of the bullet having thrown him a few feet from where he originally sat. I watched as he choked on his own blood. Watched as his gasps turned into gurgles and slowly, painfully, nothing at all. It felt like time stopped with the last rise of his chest. Like, somehow the stillness of his body made the world stop turning. Everything seemed to disappear. The future, my happiness— shock wasn't present in my veins. It was like I had been gutted. And all I had been able to do was sit there as his life ended.

[vampkillr]

Weep — Matt Murdock

gn! reader — 306 words — reader dies — i wrote this in 3 mins to a deftones song sry — im off hiatus but posting will be mega slow because of work

I could feel the pressure building in my stomach from the inside out. The pain of my blood pooling in places it wasn't supposed to, the burn of a bullet stinging its way into my chest. Despite the state of my body, for some reason I wasn't afraid. “No, no...” Matt's whisper was enough to tell me I was going to die. He could hear the things I could feel. He knew just as intimately as I did exactly where the bullet tore through. I'd be dead in the next few minutes.

I was going to pass out. All of the words I wanted Matt to hear me utter, all of the time I wanted to spend, everything I wanted to do— it would never happen. And no matter how badly I didn't want to let that go, how desperately I wanted to stay here with him... I wasn't in control. And for the first time in my life, despite how much I regretted it, I was fine with my circumstances. I felt free, to just be done. I felt okay in not running from the feeling. There was no amount of fighting I could do that would somehow let me escape death. And that was comforting.

I wanted to touch him, I wanted to say something— anything— but I couldn't. I couldn't feel my arms, I couldn't move them, and the words I tried to utter came out as pathetic whimpers. And Matt had to hear them. That was what he would hear for the rest of his life, not my last 'I love you’. My head felt light, vision almost completely dark and yet I could still think clearly. Echoes of his prayers resonated and repeated as the ring in my ears got louder and louder. This was it. Soon it would be nothing.

[vampkillr]

To Know — Bruce Wayne

m! vamp! reader — 2.2k words — angst — there's romance in this — SUGGESTIVE part towards the end you've been warned — battinson — spoilers for the new batman movie.

There was a calmness to my method. A beauty in chipping away piece by piece, carving out delicate beings from what was once a pillar of the strongest stone. Giving life to something so simple as rock. Creating flesh from earth. Shaping them in humanity's image. I was patient enough for this. Patient enough to seek out each detail with my chisel. Burying my tools into the stone and digging for every crease and corner of the body I was forming. Sculpting was an art that took time— and I was a man who had more time than I knew what to do with. "I can feel your eyes on me, you know." Something about a piercing gaze that made all of my senses jolt awake. He had been watching me for the past few hours—leaving every so often— but he'd always return. I knew who he was. What he was. Behind the scent of titanium and leather, the faint sound of blood being pumped through his heart. I don't think he knew I could sense him. I don't think he could tell what I was, but I knew better than to think my art was what intrigued him. "Do you speak?" My tone condescending.

"Only when I need to." His footsteps echoed from behind me, but I didn't make any effort to turn around and look at him. "You don't seem to sleep." My nerves began to cluster in my stomach from his statement. I knew I was stronger than him. Less fragile, but he was still the batman— and I knew the people he's defeated before encountering me. Would he have much of a challenge?

"Only when I need to." I used his own remark for myself, trying so desperately to turn my focus to my sculpture. The sound his steps made against the pavement, growing louder as he got closer to me— I was on edge. His breath was warm against the chill of my neck.

"I can make you human again," I wanted to crumble beneath the weight of the fear that froze me. The air of anticipation that settled sent me deeper into my panic. How did I want to play this out? Did I want to put up a fight even though he was offering me something I had yearned for? How could I trust him? "do you want that?" His voice snapped me out of my turmoil.

"No one can cure it." I straightened my back against him, trying to hide my weakening resolve. "Though the thought of living and growing old with someone is enticing, I know it's not possible, so please—" I turned around, doing my best not to falter under his gaze. "just don't tell anyone. I mean no harm." I knew I was pleading. I knew it was probably of no use. But I had to try.

"You don't think it's possible?" He stepped closer, trapping me between his own body and my sculpture. I shook my head. I knew all too well that it wasn't.

"Viruses lack self-sufficiency. But this one manages to survive even after the body kills itself trying to fight it." I sighed. "Even if you managed to help me, I would die. I wouldn't be human again." He brought his hand up to my face, thumb grazing against my cheek. I would never be able to let myself fall in love. I couldn't stay in one place forever. I couldn't have friends in fear I'd harm them out of desperation. My looks and my age were stagnant. I would never have the possibility of continuing my life. I would never see myself grow old. This wasn't living. It wasn't surviving. I just existed, unable to truly move forward and unable to ever go back. It was being stuck.

I rested my hand on his wrist, trying to gently coax his hold on my face, but he didn't budge. The feeling of being held was so foreign to me that my stomach began to twist the more I focused on it. I didn't know why I felt so pulled to him. Why I stopped being scared. Something about the proximity seemed to dull my senses. "Why have you been watching me?" He finally backed away, pulling a piece of paper out from his utility belt.

"I'm sure you've heard of the riddler." He handed me what looked like a halloween card, a cute spider drawn on the front.

Pity the recluse who prays the day away... I opened the card.

His story told through cold bodies and still eyes, they point to who next meets his demise. Underneath the text on the card, was a riddle written by hand.

Inaction can come with a cost, this empty reminder shows just what he lost. I hummed.

"I think this part is about one of my sculptures." I circled the first half of the riddle. "Cold bodies, still eyes... You assumed this card was specifically about me— what I am— but I haven't done anything wrong." It baffled me how he was right about the wrong thing. If part of the riddle really was about my sculptures, then I needed to think back to each one I've done. For the city, there were only three. And the one that pointed was a commission piece I did for the city. It was in the park, and given the direction.... My brows furrowed. "Bruce Wayne." He stepped away from me.

"What?" There was a strange amount of shock in his voice. "How did you..." It took only a second to gather what he had thought I discovered. He didn't sound scared, though. Just.... Surprised.

"I suppose there are no more secrets between us now, but that's not what I meant." I walked closer to him, closing the gap he made and showing the card. My finger underlined the front words. "Pity the recluse.... If I'm pitying, something must be wrong." I opened it. "I made a sculpture, the one in the park— it points to the heart of the city. Wayne tower isn't far off." I looked up at him, unable to discern the look on his face from the mask. "You're a recluse; and you've done nothing publicly for Gotham. Inaction. This empty reminder shows just what he lost...." I trailed off.

"The orphanage." His tone unreadable. Dark. The orphanage was abandoned and his own personal embodiment of becoming an orphan himself. The riddler wanted him to go there, but not as Bruce Wayne... Right? He couldn't have known something like that.... Could he? He had access to so many incriminating things about the mayor, the DA, the Commissioner— if his next target was Bruce Wayne, who's to say he hasn't figured out he was the Batman already?

"I guess you've got what you came for," I smiled through my worry. I had to trust his capability. "pleasant meeting you." I turned and walked back to my work, while he left without a word. We were bound to each other's secret, and held hostage by our own. Neither of us could say a word without our own truth being revealed.

Half of the city was underwater by the time we saw each other again, meeting on the roof of a building that there was no longer an entrance to. "Gotham needs more than what I am right now." He said, gazing off at the mess before us. "I need you to bite me." I sighed.

"There's more to it than just turning you, Bruce. I can't do that." He turned to me, ready to plead, but I spoke before he could. "You get so sick that you die. You wake up buried in a flashy suit and so thirsty that you'd kill literally anyone over the mere scent of them. It's an abyss." My hands went to his jaw and I took his mask off, relishing the sight of him. "Just because I haven't killed anyone in Gotham doesn't mean I've had this type of restraint forever. You're not ready for it." We stared at each other for a moment. Silence consuming us and yet so many words on our minds. I could see everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do— but neither of us moved any closer than we were.

"We can't be more than just this if you don't turn me," I couldn't tell if he earnestly wanted my love or if he wanted to use me for the immunity I could provide him. "I know you don't know me—" I cut him off.

"I know you more deeply than others, seeing you like this. Seeing you for who and what you are. For who you want to be." I traced the bat symbol on his chest lightly. "I know enough to believe I'd fall for you. But I can't stake your humanity for my own selfishness." I liked him. I liked his determination and his valor. I liked how he wanted Gotham to change, even if he was going about it in a strange way. But what he was asking of me was a cruelty to him. Especially if things didn't work out between us the way we were hoping.

"I'll stake it for you." He took the top part of his suit off. Baring his skin for me, Bruce pulled me towards him. "Do it." There was no choice. If this was what he wanted, if I was what he wanted— he'd find someone else to turn him. And knowing the type of people who turned me, there was a good chance he might be drained from lack of restraint. He'd die.

I leaned in closer to him, taking in the scent of his skin. One thing I truly did enjoy about my state was that humans didn't smell like how they smelled when I was one of them. Biologically, they changed from being my equals into being things I fed from. The blood that flowed through every inch of them, the pheromones they unknowingly released— every part of a human's body was something vampires were curated to crave. His scent was intoxicating, and I was positive separating myself from him would be one of the most difficult things I had to do. "I need to prepare myself for the taste of you." I muttered, feeling the way my breath grazed his skin with each word. My lips were practically touching the pale of his shoulder, my head dazed from the feeling of breathing him in. Bruce led my face to his, craning down to meet me— but he didn't move any closer.

"Wouldn't this be simpler?" He whispered. It was only then that I realized my fear that night was calmed by the lust I had for his blood. I've been driven into a hazy fog, completely malleable and his to manipulate. There wasn't one clear thought in my head that didn't completely revolve around him. But I didn't have to think anymore. I closed the gap between us and he pulled me further into him. I couldn't taste his blood like this, but I could feel his warmth and lose myself in it. The feeling of him pressing against me, the way he was holding me so desperately; I lost myself in him for just a moment. I pushed away from him, giving him the air he needed and taking the chance to move his jaw to the side. His neck was exposed to me, but I knew better than to bite him there. No matter how strong the urge to devour him was, my need to love and be loved was stronger.

I pressed my tongue to the skin I was so tempted to bite, drunk from just the taste of his flesh. “Lay down, I don't want you passing out in case I can't stop right away.” He followed my command only to pull me on top of him and into his lips. He was kissing me just for the sake of doing so. “Bruce,” His name slipped from my mouth in a whimper which seemed to only encourage him— but I backed off. I needed to cling to what little sense I had. If I let him go further with me while he was still human, I wouldn't have the ability to hold myself back. I could kill him, and I knew better than to let myself lose rationale.

“I'm sorry,” His face morphed with worry, hands reaching to hold me. “I shouldn't have—” I cut him off by biting into the muscle where his neck met his shoulders. I could feel the way he held my head closer to him, fingers buried in my hair. The moment his blood hit my tongue all of my thought was lost. He was so indescribably sweet that my brain couldn't wrap around the amount of pleasure I was in. My own euphoria was incomprehensible, and the only word I could think of was more. I wanted more of him, I needed more of him— all of him. And yet my arms pushed me off of him on their own, reluctantly I let him go.

The sight of him was beautiful. Orange hues painting his skin, blood flowing in smooth, rhythmic pumps from his vein, eyes captivating even through the smudged black liner. I pressed my hand firm against the wound, still straddling his lap from what we've done. Something in me knew that things would work out. That this wasn't some horrible mistake.

I could see on his face that he knew it too.

THIS WAS SO BAD IM SORRY💀 i had a vision right but i couldn't encapsulate it without multiple parts and we are Not having another beware situation — like and reblog pleasw😢🙏

[vampkillr]

Memories — Dick Grayson

m! surgeon! reader — 2.8k words — angst — unresolved ending — no romance — no it doesn't make sense that reader is a 25 year old surgical attending — go with it — i might make a short part 2 to this but honestly no promises since i still don't feel that great

"Have any of your memories come back?" I rubbed my temples, sighing into my words. It's been two months. Two months of the same question and the same answer. Two months of having to pretend the man sitting across from me on the other end of my desk was nothing more than my patient. Having to hold back my anger and choke back the lump in my throat, having to keep a straight face and make sure my tears wouldn't fall. Preforming the act that I wasn't robbed of the man I planned to spend my life with. And I was bitter. Because Bruce Wayne forced me to dig into my own boyfriend's brain for a bullet. And every day of these two months felt like forever of this never-ending nightmare. A nightmare Dick didn't have to know about. Not if I could spare him the guilt of not loving me anymore. He didn't have to know what had been taken from me, because I couldn't risk telling him and only getting him back because of how bad he'd feel.

"No." I wrote down in his chart. Patient still has no memory of anything after the age of 8. "Still a bit of a headache." I opened my mouth only for him to speak once more. "Dull, it's an ache. Not sharp, more like throbbing. Same as it's been. The medicine helps." We've been doing this every day. He knew the drill by now, and I'm sure he was getting sick of it just as much as I've been— albeit for different reasons. I needed to give him a break.

My persistence was of my own grief for him, not because I needed to check in with him every day. I just wanted to be close to him no matter how much it hurt, I wanted to hear his voice and see his face. I wanted to look into his eyes even though they couldn't recognize me anymore. I yearned for his smile, the softening of his gaze, the sound of my name as he held me. But the reality was just as bleak as the bareness of my office. There was nothing between us anymore. My eyes fell on my watch. "I'll have to cut our time short today, I hope you don't mind."

I left him in my office without waiting for him to leave first. I didn't care. I had other patients and I couldn't keep entertaining the idea that tomorrow or the next day Dick's memory would be any different. The halls were empty. Desolate. The white of the lights seemed to be a bit more blinding without any people to fill the open space. I hated this part of the hospital. The floor that no ordinary person knew of. The floor not listed on the buttons of the elevator stopped at. A floor just above the morgue, yet no one knew it was here. The space to save the very people who save us. I had a pager specifically for this floor alone, and that pager took priority even if I was in another surgery. Not out of favoritism, but because of the fact that Gotham would rot if it weren't for the vigilantes that took care of it. If I didn't drop everything and run to their rescue, then eventually there would be no one left for me to save.

The elevator stopped a floor before the one I needed to get off on, doors opening to reveal my very disheveled looking resident."I have Teddy's pre-ops— I've been looking for you." She handed me the clipboard and stood next to me. I looked over each of the results, lifting page after page and studying each number carefully. "Where did you go?" I hummed, dropping the pages I was lifting and signing off on the chart.

"Lunch." My response was curt, and my walk out of the elevator was brisk as she struggled to catch up to me. "I need you to go make sure the O.R. is prepped and page Dr. Jha in peds, tell her we're going to be starting the surgery soon and I'd like it if she were to try to check in every so often." She was still following me even after I told her what I needed her to do. "Did you have a question?"

"Can I scrub in?" My brows furrowed at the question. I forgot to tell her she was allowed to scrub in. I've been so wound up that I've been forgetting the common decency to communicate more than just what is needed.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry— I thought I had asked you already." I felt embarrassed, but she left without any sense of humor so I guess she didn't mind. "Hello, Teddy!" I painted a smile on my face as I walked into the room. "How are you feeling?" I made my way to the side of his bed. His parents had a look on their faces that I knew all too well. "Bad night, kid?" My gaze fell back to the boy as he nodded weakly.

"He couldn't sleep at all. He's in so much pain—" Mrs. Maxwell's voice broke, and I knew better than to let her son watch his mother cry. I led both parents outside the room and closed the door. The gentle click of the knob was what broke the woman into a sob. "help our son, please." The desperation of a parent was one thing that could always rip me apart when I heard it. Being able to do nothing to save the life you gave a part of yourself to nurture. I couldn't imagine the pain of having to deliver your son's future into the hands of someone like me. Having to trust I wouldn't ruin his endless possibilities.

"That's the plan." My voice gentle, assuring. "It's his brain. Any number of things could go wrong, and I know we've talked about this before— but there's a reason the past three surgeons turned you guys away." I tried my best to stay assertive. I needed to prepare them for the worst because lying to them would do no one any good. There was a 90% chance their child was going to die on the table.

"He has three months, Dr. L/n. He can't spend the last few months of his life like this," Mr. Maxwell whimpered his words. Completely defeated. "even if that means today's his last." The pain in his voice burned my ears. Hurt my heart. Listening to voices that dripped with grief was never an easy part of the job.

"I'm going to do absolutely everything I can, do you hear me?" My brows were furrowed, face tensed. I was determined regardless of how unsure I was. "I'm gonna go talk with Theodore about the procedure, see if there's anything I can do for him before we take him to surgery." I pat the two on their shoulders and opened the door, turning to face them once more. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to say your goodbyes before we go." They followed me into the room and I could hear the exact moment our demeanors changed. They stopped crying instantly, and the idea that they've had the practice to do that made my chest feel heavy. "Hey buddy, you ready to get rid of that headache?" He could only hum.

"He stopped talking a few days ago." I realized only then that three months was being generous. We might be too late.

My pager beeped at the worst possible time. The pager that I'm not allowed to ignore was something I needed to, regardless of the fact it kept beeping. "I need you to grab my phone and answer the call that's about to ring." I mumbled, focused on the life I was trying to save.

"There's no need," My gaze shot up to the gallery, Bruce speaking through the intercom. "How fast can you finish?" I sighed, eyes going back down to Teddy's head. I could hear the way everyone else was muttering. Shocked that I knew Bruce Wayne. Little did they know.

"I'm resecting a brain tumor out of a 5 year old," I was speaking as if he was an idiot. In a way I truly believed he was. "if I damage any part of his brain, he'll never walk again, talk again, never be able to hold anything in his hands or do things for himself." My work was precise as I continued. "One millimeter of the wrong movement and he lives a life of pain and dependence. Suction." As my resident placed the device, the suction tore loose an artery that had wrapped itself around the tumor.

"Oh god!" I sighed. "Oh my god, what do I do?" She was panicking. "Dr. L/n, what do I do?" I stayed silent for a bit, hoping she'd get a grip, but she didn't. There was no time to spare for a teaching moment.

"I can't move my hands or he'll die. Get out what you can and cauterize the bleeder." No matter how much blood she suctioned out, more still seemed to pool in its place. The blood was spilling faster than she could drain, and it wasn't something as simple as clamping it. If she couldn't see the artery, she could clamp a part of his brain. It was a bad situation. After just a minute his brain started to swell, the monitor began to beep in a panic of what was happening, and all I could do was watch. Watch as the little boy I promised a future to died. Listen as the monitor blared the continuous ring in my ears. I removed my tools carefully, placing them on the tray and sliding the top of my mask off. The air was heavy. Silence aside from the flatline. A sharp and jagged reminder of what we just lost. "Time of death," I looked at the clock with a sigh. "19:27."

My gloves were the first to go, then my gown, then my mask as I entered the scrub room— where Bruce was unfortunately waiting for me. I knew the shit that was going to come out of his mouth and I didn't need to hear it. I couldn't hear it. Not right now. "Dick's—" Upon hearing the name I dreaded, I shoved him.

"Will you fucking stop already?!" My scream echoed through the narrow walls of the room. "He doesn't know you! He's never going to know you!" All of the anger and the grief began pouring out of me. I couldn't stop it. The dam had already broken. "You made me cut my boyfriend's head open, Bruce!" All that was running through my mind was how it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I got treated like some stone cold surgeon without feelings. It wasn't fair that I had to bury my feelings and treat him like a patient. It wasn't fair that Bruce acted like I didn't lose him too. "Have you thought for a fucking second that I don't want to hear about every little thing he does?" I pushed him again, my tears falling freely. "I can't care anymore! I can't care— because if I do, I'm gonna be stuck here in this hell that you put me through!" I had to let Dick go. I had to leave him to be the person he wants to be. I couldn't do that if bruce wouldn't let me try.

His hands raised to my cheeks. I tried to back away, but he wouldn't let me. Bruce pulled me into his chest and none of the fight I put up would work on him. I realized he was just letting me shove him earlier, not that I was truly strong enough to knock him back. "I'll be in your office when you get a minute. We need to talk." With that he left.

There wasn't time to ruminate. I needed to go and inform Teddy's family. My glare pierced the staff who were staring through the window, and then it fell to my resident. She shrunk under my gaze and hurried into the scrub room while I began washing my hands of the filth I took part in. "I shouldn't have let you scrub in." She stayed silent. "That was an intern type of mistake you made in there." Even as I looked at her, her head stayed down. Focused on washing her hands. Avoiding the confrontation. "You're a fourth year intern. You're not suited for neuro if you can't have gentle hands. Especially if you can't act quickly and calmly." My tone wasn't angry. I wasn't mad at her, but I still sounded stern. The tumor was inoperable. There was no telling if I would have done something wrong if she didn't beat me to it— but I couldn't say that. Not because of some ego or agenda, but because I knew she had the ability to be better. I had to force a lesson out of this. "A child is dead. He would have been alive if it weren't for you being in control of the suction. A child that could have had the most beautiful and extraordinary life, gone because you weren't careful."

Tears fell smooth against her cheeks. "What am I going to tell them?" I sighed and dried my hands, tossing her the towel when I was finished.

"You're not. The mistake started when I trusted you in my O.R. This was my fault from the beginning." I walked out and made my way to the elevator as she followed after me. "To be a surgeon, you have to want to be the best. You have to need to be the best." I pressed the button, waiting for the doors to slide open. "Not because you want to be better than everyone else." We walked in and I pressed the floor below us. "Not because you want the recognition." We walked off and made our way to the waiting area. "But because you want these people to shed tears of joy. Relief. Because you need to let the people you operate on see the rest of their lives. Because men and women and children are going to be handed to you by the people that love them, and those people are trusting you to give them back."

The moment the Maxwells saw us, they stood up and rushed over. The air of anticipation slowly becoming crushed by our silence as they read my face. It could have been the puffiness of my eyes, or perhaps just the look, but I knew they knew. "While I was removing the tumor, I found a substantial amount of fluid that had built up in Teddy's brain. It was the reason why he had stopped talking. As we drained it, I found an artery that wrapped itself around the tumor. The walls of the artery were weak, and when the pressure was relieved, the artery tore with the suction. He was gone in seconds." Mrs. Maxwell let out a wail, her husband gripping onto her so she wouldn't drop to the floor.

"Teddy's.... He's.." He couldn't process my gentle words.

"Teddy is dead." The disbelief seemed to lift from his face. Gasping for air like the oxygen had been forcibly removed from his lungs. His son was gone. My brows furrowed as he brought his hand out for me to shake, but I took his hand anyways. The hold was gentle.

“You tried?” He sniffled and I nodded my head.

“My hardest.” He pulled me into the hold he had with his wife, squeezing me tight and letting me go before I could return the gesture. “I'm so sorry.” I spoke just loud enough for them to hear me over their cries. There was nothing more for me to do. I had given them five grueling hours of anticipation and shattered their world all in one day.

I took my leave and headed to the elevator once more, and as the doors closed I flipped the switch that was on the back of the handlebar and waited. I just wanted to break down. Between everything that's happened today and the pure despair I've had to lay hidden from everyone else, my body felt like it was being crushed under the weight of it all. I was exhausted, and more importantly I was scared of the conversation Bruce wanted to have. Anything could be wrong. There was no reason Bruce would have paged me so many times and then looked for me himself if something wasn't. I made my way to my office the moment the doors opened. Perhaps it was my own fear that pushed me forward, but whatever it was, my pace was close to bursting into a full-on sprint.

He had been waiting for me, just as he said he would. Sitting patiently on the couch and reading one of the neurology books I had on my shelf. “Make it quick.” He shut the book and put it back.

“They came back.”

likes and reblogs appreciated — sorry i hate adding unnecessary names because i don't want a name to match up with a reader on accident but it was unavoidable in this case. i hate my writing sorry. love u guys tho. requests are open for dc

[vampkillr]

Death — Joker

m! batman! reader — 1k words — angst — corruption, no romance sorry — no this is NOT a joker x bruce wayne fic go away — written with heath ledger's joker in mind — death is change. an end to one thing and the start of another. this is the story of the death of Gotham's truest hero. Gotham's only hero.

The tip of his gun was cold as it pressed against my chin, but I didn't feel afraid— no, for some reason the only sensation that washed over me was relief. My mask discarded somewhere on the floor, I was completely exposed for who I was. For what I was trying to be. But I was so exhausted. I couldn't keep fighting him, I couldn't keep doing this. Gotham has ran through me and taken far much more than I thought was even possible to give. "Do it," I whispered. So quiet that I almost couldn't hear the words come out of my mouth. And yet I could see the way he faltered. That near-constant smirk of his dropping for just a fraction of a second. I took a breath in. Shaky— uneven and perturbed. "Do it." My voice was stern this time. More determined. I was pleading with him at this point. He tilted his head down and peered at me through furrowed brows, a frown evident on his face even through the cracked and smeared face paint.

The gun slipped from my chin, and he let it rest loosely in his hands. Wrist slackly pointed away from me, he pulled the trigger and revealed it was simply a toy. The sight of the red flag that erupted from the gun filled me with an immeasurable disappointment, and my body let out an upset sigh. "I've told you time and time again how this would end," He combed his fingers through my hair but I couldn't even be shocked at the touch. I didn't care anymore about what he was going to do. I couldn't force myself to care. "I've tried to teach you.... Over and over how the need for justice will only ever get stronger." He was right..... Oh god, he was right. I felt as if I was betraying gotham for giving up, for becoming so malleable in his hands, for finally learning the so-called 'lesson' he was trying to teach.

"Why?" I couldn't understand why someone like him would be comforting me like he was. My eyes focused on his arms, scanning the way his blue sleeves rolled up so simply and complimented his green vest in a strange way. His touch was so gentle, treating me so softly— as if I had actually done something to deserve it. As if I hadn't spent years beating him up and ruining his plans. As if we haven't spent that time chasing after each other.

"Everything I've ever done," He licked his lips. "all of it's been for you." The idea that I was the reason people have died at the hands of the Joker set a burn of guilt in my stomach. "You complete me," His voice was desperate through his smile. Bent forward slightly, leaning down to my level as he spoke. All he ever wanted was my undivided attention. If I had just given him that, would I have saved more lives than I did by fighting with him? "but Gotham... It's worn this poor little hero down." His thumb brushed against my cheek, a look of fake pity across his face.

"I'm not worn down." I denied the accusation, because regardless of how true it was, Gotham still needed me. I wasn't done yet no matter how much I wanted to be.

"Oh please," Exasperation laced his tone as he separated from me to pace the room. "you practically just tried to kill yourself and you're telling me that you've still got fight left in you?" He laughed. "Sick and twisted as you are, bats, I'm surprised you haven't joined me...." The mere idea of doing such unspeakable things. Such awful, egregious crimes against people with lives. Families. It made me sick to my stomach.

"I'm not like you!" I screamed, knowing I truly wasn't all that different from the man. I beat people to pulps— even if they were criminals, I was still beating them half to death. "I-I can't be like you," My voice quiet with the realization as it still settled with me. "Gotham needs me." I was telling myself more than him. Like a mantra I had to repeat just to remind myself why I was still trying.

"Gotham is never not going to need you. You're never going to clean this city up. Never going to be what fixes it." Tone raspy and low. He sounded like he was disappointed in me. Like there was something I was missing. "Think of crime like a cancer," He leaned his lower half on the desk behind him, hands stretched on either side of his body. "it's spread everywhere— stage four. You're nothing more than the chemo that slows the inevitable. You do nothing but state it." My chest hurt. The air that I breathed into my lungs felt like pure panic. As if fear was the only thing I could pump into my body.

This.... All of it. It would never end. And I was tired. Completely and utterly exhausted. I just didn't want to do it anymore. Not after everything I've lost. Everything this fucking city has forced me to sacrifice. By the end of my life it will have sucked everything from me. And I couldn't do it anymore. "Will they ever care?" I felt pitiful as I asked. Destroyed. "C-care about me? About what I do?" He walked up to me once more, kneeling down between my legs and looking up at me with his hands on my thighs. He seemed to feel sorry for me.

"No. They won't," His hands reached around the chair, and I could feel the gentle touch as he untied my wrists. "and I don't think you have enough fight left in you to try and prove me wrong." I didn't want to speak. I didn't want to speak or breathe or even attempt to choke back the lump in my throat out of fear that the tears I was holding back would fall. "Look," He sighed, still kneeling. "you've given them everything you are. You've let them take everything from you— let me take everything from you. Don't you think it's about time you start to take it back?" The tears fell. I couldn't stop them.

“How?”

likes and reblogs are appreciated — requests are open

[vampkillr]

Progress — Peter Parker

TW: ED

m! reader — 2.4k words — tom's peter — takes place after civil war, but before infinity war. — this fic was written true to my personal experience with recovery. i am not romanticizing the topic of an eating disorder. do not read this if you are trying to have some deranged fantasy of it. the reader is written being in recovery for anorexia. please do not continue reading if this topic will impact your mental health. your health and safety are of utmost importance to me.

written for @drainfury !! hope you like it

It was getting bad again. The smallest slip in habit and I was back to thinking about it. Thinking too much about what I was doing. And it disgusted me. The mere action of opening the refrigerator was enough to make me recoil out of guilt. Having to fight just to put a piece of food into my mouth, having to suffer through the act of swallowing. Trying not to drown in shame at the sight of the plate I emptied. I'm sure Peter noticed. Sensed the way my demeanor would change. I was having trouble, but I had the willpower not to stop regardless of how badly I wanted to.

I was exhausted. Physically, my body had been damaged so thoroughly by what I had been doing to myself that providing it the energy it needed just made me tired. My body was trying to heal itself, and unfortunately the process isn't pleasant. I had been sick for so long that I started to like the way it felt, being able to sink myself completely into its numbness. And yet, healing made me understand how close to death I was treading. It made me feel the things my body didn't have the energy to pay attention to. The way my heart would pound after every meal, the nausea— how my stomach would ache in a way that made me lightheaded, it made things so much more difficult.

The knock on the doorframe pulled me from my thoughts. "I've been calling you for a while, you okay?" Pete walked up to the bed and sat by my feet, his hand resting gently on my calf. I peered up at him.

"Just tired..." I sighed as I answered. I was getting sick of feeling like this, but I knew I needed to let it run its course. Recovering was difficult. I knew that when I decided to start refeeding myself. "I've been in my head a bit lately, I'm sorry." A complete understatement. I had been nothing but confined to the thoughts in my mind. Every single terrifying one of them. I had developed a fear of myself with just a few stray thoughts I couldn't manage to get rid of.

"I know," He whispered, the hand on my calf moving to graze against my cheek. "does your jaw still hurt?" Guilt shot through me like a bullet, a shame that nearly overwhelmed me. Every time he touched me like this, every time he looked me in my eyes— I was reminded of what I had been taking away from him. I was killing the only piece of myself Peter could touch and all he was able to do was watch. Pray that each passing day wasn't my last. He didn't deserve that.

"It's still a little sore, but it's not that bad." My voice was quiet. Pitiful from the thoughts that infected my mind. The mere fact that my jaw was sore simply from being used to feed myself was sad. As my gaze fell on Pete's face, I could see that he was holding himself back. Trying to figure out what way to approach me. "What is it?"

"Well..." He furrowed his brows, letting the words sit with him for a moment before deciding to just spit it out. "Mr. Stark wants to make me an avenger," I sat up, getting ready to congratulate him, but he gave me a look that shot my words down. "and there's a dinner tonight that he's having— and I want you to come with me." He mumbled the last part. As if he felt bad for even asking. But this was an important moment for him and I couldn't just let him experience it alone.

"Of course I'll go with you, Pete." I smiled through the nerves that built up inside of me, and the look of pure joy on his face was enough motivation to keep me sane.

We had been sitting in the car for the past five minutes. Just sitting, perfect silence between the both of us as I was leaning against my knees and trying to mentally prepare myself for what was about to occur. "We don't have to go in," He suggested. "I can take us home." Although the offer was enticing, I knew better. I couldn't just take advantage of his kindness when I knew how much becoming an avenger meant to him. When I knew how desperately he had wanted to be taken seriously. I took a few deep breaths, sat back up and opened the car door without a word as Peter followed suit.

"Friends?" I asked, trying to create a platonic distance between the both of us on our walk to the door. The walk up to the porch was a bit of a long one, but the breeze was nice and the sound of the lake eased my nerves.

"No, they know—" He stopped himself. "well, Mr. Stark knows...." I rested my hand on his shoulder, stopping him from recounting the memory. The circumstances in which Stark found out about me were from a hospitalization. Peter, desperate and at a loss for what to do, called anyone and everyone he thought cared about him enough to calm him down— which admittedly was only Happy, May, and Tony.

"I'm sorry." I whispered as we reached the door, receiving no response. It wasn't that he was too mad at me to accept my apology. I knew he wasn't upset with me at all. He was just scared that the moment he trusted I was okay would be the moment it gets taken from us. He couldn't accept the apology because he was afraid to. And I was fine with that, so long as he knew that I truly was sorry for the hell I put him through.

After just a few knocks, the door flew open. "Took you long enough, thought you were never gonna come inside." Stark's gaze fell on me for just a moment, and I think for once he was at a loss for what to say. No quips, no jokes, just an uncomfortable acknowledgment that I was with Pete. I was used to it. Used to the way I became unapproachable to people. I was secure in the fact it wasn't obvious what was wrong with me anymore, I had gained just enough back to look frail— but Tony knew. And you can't escape the way someone sees you after they find out. You can't escape the eggshells that surround you for everyone else to walk on. He lead us into the cabin, a few people coming up to us from their spots.

"Congratulations Peter." A woman with strawberry blonde hair came up to the both of us, her hand making it's way on Tony's back. This must be Pepper. "Some of the team couldn't make it, but I'm sure they're happy for you as well." Peter told me all about what had happened, so I knew 'couldn't make it' was not only completely glossing over the circumstances, it was bordering on being a complete lie. "You must be Y/n," She smiled at me, hand outstretching for me to shake. The act was shocking to me. I've gone such a long time with people being afraid to touch me that I hadn't even considered the idea that someone would shake my hand in years. I returned the gesture and released as soon as I could, feeling uncomfortable with the courtesy. "Tony talks about you often, so does Peter. It's good to finally meet you." I furrowed my brows, but released them the moment it happened. I didn't appreciate that I had become a topic of conversation, especially to Stark. With Peter, I understood. He needed support just like I did, and he had a right to seek it— but Stark didn't know me. And I didn't know him.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Miss Potts." My voice was quiet. Not dismissive enough to be curt, but enough to tell anyone who heard me I wasn't interested in further conversation. Peter seemed to notice my tone.

"Who's this?" A man came walking out of one of the rooms, mug in hand. He looked intimidating— in a way that made you understand he had seen more than you. More evil. More hatred. More death.

"This is my boyfriend, Y/n. I wanted to bring him along." Pete spoke with a smile, his hand on the small of my back. He looked so happy. Like pride glimmered in his grin. There wasn't an ounce of shame in his body, even when showing off someone like me. And although I was jealous of the joy he felt, the sight of it eased me.

"Hello." I whispered. From what I remember of the stories Peter's told me, the man's name was Nick Fury— and his name isn't the only badass thing about him. I wasn't scared of him, but my confidence seemed to slip from me as I realized we'd soon be eating. I could smell the food from where I stood, and although it was nice, my body was starting to react.

I was worried as we walked our way to the table. The conversation around me was something my brain couldn't manage to tune into. Pleasant small talk, I'm sure; but their words escaped me just the way my own had. My face burned hot when I sat down next to Peter. I tried to fight the thought that I would be stared at, but there was nothing I could do. My mind tricked the feeling of their eyes on my body, even though no one was paying attention to me. Pete made sure to fill my plate in small portions as my body sat there frozen, staring at the plate he set in front of me. "You don't have to push yourself." His breath fanned my ear. "Just a couple bites, a couple bites and we can go, okay?" The hand on my back did little to soothe me. I was too far gone. Too deep in my thoughts to manage a response.

I fought with myself for a while. Trying to will my hand to pick up a fork, but my hesitance stopped me from moving even a finger. It was like that for a long time. Banter, laughter surrounding me as life flourished between everyone. Everyone except for me. That happiness, the energy— it seemed to avoid me. I seemed to repel it. And I hated that. I wanted nothing more than to just be normal.... To seem normal, if even just to save face for Peter; so I forced myself to pick up the fork. I forced myself to stab it into the different foods that were assorted onto my plate and I forced myself to chew and swallow.

The food had cooled down by then. Everyone was finishing their own plates, conversation had been picked almost clean. It was quieter, calmer, the air wasn't suffocating with a laughter I couldn't join. “So, what's your take on this?” My head shot up from the food I was working on, gaze falling on Pepper. “I know I didn't handle Tony's..... Iron Man thing... As well as I could've. I want to know how you're holding up.” The question irritated me a little. I knew she probably wasn't aware— but to even entertain the idea that I had any right to complain about anything, it upset me.

“Peter has done everything he can,” I started, voice calm despite the feeling the food was starting to bring to my stomach. “everything he can to make sure that he helps people. Because he cares. He's smart, he's kind, he's compassionate; and he tries to help everyone even when he knows he can't. That's the type of person he is.” As I looked at him and saw the way he looked so happy, the guilt loomed over me once more. How I almost didn't get to see a day like this. How I almost robbed him of that smile. “The type of person who sees the good in people who don't deserve it. The people who break the hearts of everyone around them. The people that hurt even him.” I mumbled that last part, breathing in my guilt and dispelling it with my breath out. I looked back at Pepper. “I see the way he interacts with the world around him, and I feel the way he breathes life into me every time we share a glance. I would be unfathomably stupid to be upset at him for being who he is. And I would be crazy if I focused on the time we couldn't spend together rather than cherishing the time we do.”

I didn't want Peter to die. But I knew it was a possibility, just in the way that he knew I could've died. I didn't get to choose what he did with his life. If he wanted to give his life to save someone else's, that was his decision that I needed to respect. And I would be with him through everything that being a hero came with. The hardship, the trauma, the bad nights. Not only because he's been there for me, but because I love him. I always will. And, hopefully, one day we'll be old and senile and holding hands looking back on the times when he was the hope of New York. When he was my hope. My hero.

After a while, everyone cleaned up and said their goodbyes and before I knew it Pete and I were back home. “How's your stomach?” He took his shirt off and crawled into bed with me, pulling me close to him. I could tell he used my body wash from the scent of his skin, but I didn't mind. He made it smell better somehow.

“It hurts a bit, but I'm alright.” I didn't feel very good. I ate a lot more than I prepared myself for so I hadn't anticipated how bad I would start feeling.

“I'm so glad you came with me. I know it must've been hard, but I'm proud of you.” His fingers toyed with my ear. “Seeing you eat made me really happy.” He whispered.

“Today.... I thought about the future.” My voice was just as quiet as his. “For the first time in years I thought about being saggy and old, and holding your hand in some nursing home while we watched the rain hit the windows outside.” I wrapped my arm around him and leaned my head against his chest. “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Pete..... I want to live.” I was so comfortable with him. So comfortable and tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open, but I heard his voice loud and clear.

“I love you.”

likes are appreciated but reblogs are not necessary, i completely understand if you don't want to put this on your dashboard. feel free to give me feedback. requests are open for moon knight and dc

[vampkillr]

Beginning — Marc Spector

m! insomniac! reader — 1k words — i wouldn't call it fluff but it's not angst — pre-established relationship with steven — requests are open for moon knight and dc

Steven's bed was much softer than mine. And yet I was still completely restless, staring at the moon that peeked through his open curtains as if I were some nocturnal animal. It cast a luminous glow over the floor, pale blue and brushing so slightly along the end of the bed. A sigh escaped my lips as I looked at Steven, he looked so peaceful and yet an urge itched at me to wake him. I just wanted someone to talk to, something to fill my thoughts or to pass the time. I yearned so deeply for company on the nights sleep escaped me. The only presence that seemed to stay with me was the man on the moon— and even he would leave me some nights. I laid back down into bed, covering myself up and relaxing my body as my thoughts consumed me. There was nothing I could do about not being able to fall asleep tonight. I left my medicine at my house, so I'd just have to suffer through it with nothing to occupy my boredom. My best bet was to just lay here and close my eyes so they'd stop burning, but Steven seemed to stir awake. I sat up again to check on him, but as his eyes met mine they were dull.

Something was different. There was a distance to him. Almost as if he was disappointed to see me. "God dammit." The curse under his breath didn't go unnoticed, and neither did the change in accent. My brows furrowed. "You really don't sleep, do you?" He felt unfamiliar. The air that surrounded him wasn't the same type of comfort I felt in the presence of the normal Steven.

"No." I answered plainly, still trying to wrap my aching head around the situation. He was less.... him. Everything about him just wasn't right. The man staring back at me couldn't have been the man I fell in love with. A worry festered in the pit of my stomach at the idea that it wasn't Steven I was looking at.

"Well, If I go are you going to tell on me?" It finally clicked. Everything that Steven had talked about. Every time he went days without talking to me, every time he was confused about the day, every time he told me how he woke up in some different country. The chain, the sand— all of it made sense now. I was right. This man wasn't Steven, and with that thought, I slapped him.

"Do you know how scared of himself Steven is? All because of you?" Anger infected me. I didn't have to wrap my head around the exact situation to understand how Steven felt. I didn't doubt his stories purely because I had to watch his life crumble from beneath him because of the issue. "Have you no regard for him at all? None at all? Even though you share his body?" He sighed, uncovering himself and undoing the shackle on his ankle— completely unbothered that he was naked in the bed and so was I.

"What I do doesn't concern him." He walked over the circle of sand and opened the closet, throwing me some clothes to cover myself and getting dressed himself. "This is my body. Mine." I slipped on the shirt he gave me and didn't bother with the underwear, not caring much about the subtle glances he was taking.

"What do you mean?" He turned to me, putting pants on and sighing at my question. "Who are you, anyways?"

"My name is Marc Spector. And this was my body before it was Steven's." My stomach dropped. If Steven wasn't the original owner of his body, then did I have any right at all to be dating him? And, if Steven had his own life outside of Marc— his own boyfriend..... Did that mean Marc did, too? I rested my face in my hands at the idea, the reality of being in love with a man I don't really know finally creeping up on me. I could feel the bed dip beside me, Marc resting his hand on my back. "You okay?"

"You..... I—" I didn't know how to verbalize how I felt. Not only had I completely taken part in practically violating Marc, but I was also trying to stomach the idea that there was someone else in Marc's life that I helped him cheat on. "If I'm dating Steven, and you're the owner of the body I'm dating, but we've never met before— does that mean as soon as you become yourself again, we're not dating?" His hand slid down my spine and slipped up my shirt. A touch so familiar to me that it had become something to expect from Steven.

"Sometimes I'm in my body with him, I can't really say anything, but I'm there. And if I try hard enough, I can move the body with him." So those small touches I've fallen in love with were from him. "I've seen so much of you, I fell for you just like he did. I love you like he does. I just haven't been able to say it." Although my nerves were eased at the confession, guilt webbed itself through my train of thought. In a weird way, this felt like I was cheating— and I suppose I was, but how exactly was I supposed to get Steven on the same page?

"What do you do?" Marc's hand stayed on my back as he soothed the tension in my muscles. The warmth enticed me to lean into him, but I stayed put. "I mean why..... Why do you go for so long?" He sighed and began to undress himself, muttering to something beside him, asking whatever it was to let him speak to me tonight.

"I don't think you want to know." He crawled back into bed, not bothering to put the shackle back on and patting himself on the chest. I took the invitation, removing my own shirt and crawling on top of him. I could feel the way his heart sped up as I leaned my head on his chest.

"I want this to work," I looked up at him. "with both of you. And in order to do that, you need to tell me these things." He sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of irritation— just defeat. He knew very well that I'd have to know who he was to truly fall for him.

“Then I guess we should start at the beginning.”

hello i would like to say that i read up a lot on DID/OSDD before considering to write this and if you're a system please feel free to give me criticism or explain your own experience as well. i value your input and will do my absolute best to portray him accurately <3

[vampkillr]

Midnight — Bruce Wayne

m! reader — 3.2k words — slight angst — mention of suicide — reader is based off of v (for vendetta) — written with bale's batman in mind — reupload of a longer version. the new section is under the spacer. treat it as a timeskip

There wasn't pride amongst my many sins. I was never proud of the things I did, not even while I was doing them— but Gotham was a sick city. Infected by the cancer of the rich, who not only ate everything in their path, but consumed the poor's future. The sick were left to wither and wilt, the homeless were left to freeze, and those who were lucky enough to still have a home were forced to decide between going to bed full or going to work clean. I was among the lucky. The ones who got out. The ones who managed to crawl and break through the dirt the rich buried us under. Yet my freedom was handed to me, I didn't have to fight for it.

Seeing how people like this live, seeing their comfort, their carelessness— it drove me mad. Which is why I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision to cleanse Gotham. Cure it. I tried to do things legally. I tried to do it without leaving a trail of death in this change's wake, but every time I used my privilege for good there was a new issue curated just to prevent the poor from thriving. Shelters put in place, and in return new heath inspection rules to have a reason to shut them down. Homes built and destroyed, funding schools and drugs being set loose close to the gates. Gotham's officials did whatever they could to keep the dying parts of the city on it's deathbed.

He had a menacing aura. Standing across from me in the rain and saying nothing, almost as if he was expecting me to run or try to kill him, too. He was waiting for something it seemed. Waiting for me to get scared. The light from the moon reflected his suit in a pale, almost sickly blue hue. I wasn't afraid, though. I didn't have it in me to be scared anymore. Not after the things I've done. "Are you here to turn me in?" My pace towards him was slow, cautious.

"You don't regret what you've done?" His voice was rocky, dark.

"If I stopped to think about something as human as my guilt when trying to fix a system designed to fail its people, nothing will get done." I said plainly. "These men and women, they force people onto streets and are the reason they starve and die. Just like you I am a symbol. A sign to Gotham that someone truly does care."

"You're nothing like me." He sounded almost angry.

"Of course," I took my hat off, my thumb slipping under my mask, but before I could lift it he grabbed my wrist. The grip wasn't angry or harsh, but it was firm with worry. I slipped my hand out of his grasp and took the mask off. "We as people, individuals. We may be nothing like each other." I handed him my mask. "But this mask, just like yours, is useless without the hope it provides. We are not people when we put them on. We're ideas. Dreams of a better tomorrow. We do what we do in hopes that we won't have to do it anymore." He stared at my mask, staying silent. He wasn't much for words. "There isn't rebirth without death. You cannot stop corruption without severing the section that's infected. You're free to turn me over to the police, but you have the option to pretend we never crossed paths. The fate of Gotham rests in your hands with your decision. But I think you know just how badly I'm needed."

We stood there at a stalemate for a while,he seemed to be deep in thought until he handed my mask back to me. "I don't agree with the way you go about things." I wished for a more fruitful conversation from him, but I would have to settle.

"We'll meet again, Batman. Another time, or perhaps you'll approach me without the mask." I mused.

I woke up to a strange feeling. The guttural sense of a presence. A primal instinct unleashed just from the feeling of being watched. I was on guard from the moment my body jolted itself upward, but the sight of his figure in front of my now-opened window was just enough to ease the fight in me. I laid back down, not having a care in the world who was in my home. "You truly are a nocturnal animal." I sighed, tiredness slowly seeping itself back into my veins like a toxin. "This couldn't have waited until morning?"

"I won't be Batman in the morning." Ah, of course. How silly of me. "I just need to know why you showed me your face." It must have been on his mind for days if that's all he broke in to ask. I stood up and walked towards him, not caring about my lack of clothes. It was his fault for breaking in, he would have to deal with the consequence of seeing me in just my briefs.

"You chase after sinners and beat them down. The idea of you strikes fear in the hearts of the wicked— but also the desperate. The people who are left with no choice but to do unspeakable things just to survive." His frown as he looked at me showed me guilt. "You have a vendetta. One against criminals, not crime. I have one against the world that creates those criminals. I am V, exactly for that word. That is the idea that I am. You can't kill an idea as vehement and virtuous as a vendetta. With that mask, I am Vengeance. As are you. But without it I am but a face. As meaningless and missable as the muscle below it, and the bone below that." My hand rested against his chest, the touch was gentle— a small push in the right direction. The fact he was even letting me touch him was proof enough that I was getting to him. "I've showed you my flesh. I've given you my armor of an idea, and revealed to you just a man. A man you can turn in or kill, or a man you can relate to. My question is, will you do the same?"

His stance changed. Almost as if his muscles breathed their own sigh of relief, but it was only for a second. "What if I'm the type of person you go after?" The deep voice he wore earlier was completely gone, and all that remained was a melodic and smooth tone. It rang of confidence despite the nature of the question.

"Would you like to see my list?" I turned to walk to my drawer, not waiting for a response and pulling a notebook out. It's pages were filled top to bottom with the names of people and their hand in keeping the poor disadvantaged. There were so many I had yet to get to— so many people who needed to die before I could fix the issue. He read the pages intently, searching like a madman for his own name. As he thumbed through the pages I leaned back on my bed. "You know," He stopped to look at me, the eyes trailing along my body not going unnoticed. "as long as your money isn't being used to harm people, your name's not on there."

Sitting down was starting to have it's consequences. I was so incredibly tired. It burned to just keep my eyes open, my muscles ached just from being used. I needed to rest. I had been awake for days and just when I finally passed out he woke me up again. "You seem exhausted." He stated simply and I didn't have it in me to lie to him.

"I'm sorry." I didn't know why I was apologizing. I had no fucking idea, and it seemed to confuse Batman as well. Saying sorry for being tired seemed like such a ridiculous thing.

"Please don't apologize," It seemed like he had more to say. As if he wanted to just walk up to me, but he made no move to reach for me. I could see the way his stance was forward, the way his hand itched to touch me. He cleared his throat, forcing himself backwards. The cold facade was draped over him once more— the change in his aura was almost visible. "I'll be back at another time." His voice was back to the deep tone.

It was like I was watching him detach himself from me, and it was hard to describe how oddly painful that was. Some part of my heart knew who he was. I yearned for him, and I knew that, I just didn't know why. He was gone the next moment I looked at the window. All that was left of his presence was the open window and the cold breeze that pushed my curtains to flow and bleed further into my room. I didn't bother getting up to close it. My body would have collapsed on my way to lay back down, so I just fell asleep.

Morning came sooner than I would have wanted it to, and Ivan wouldn't take 'five more minutes' for an answer. The gravity against my body felt so horrendously heavy that even sitting up from my bed was a difficult task. "Sir, are you alright?" He asked, handing me a cup of coffee. I took a moment to hold back the sigh my body was begging to release before I dared to respond.

"Do you think what I'm doing...." I had no idea how to word my question. I didn't even know what answer I wanted from him— I just needed some type of reassurance. Some type of ease from the toll it was taking on me. "Is any of it worth it?" My gaze was locked onto the liquid in the mug. Moving in ripples, my reflection just barely visible.

"Killing people, no matter who it is or for what— taking human life can scar a sane man." My eyes shot up to him.

"You find me sane?" There was a timidness in my voice that I couldn't shake. Ivan walked around the breakfast cart and sat himself down next to me, a hand on my back. Warm compared to the cold of my skin he touched.

"Do you remember the first time you did it?" I nodded softly. There's still nothing that can wash the god-awful stain of that night from my eyes. It followed me. They all did. "You slammed that door shut and started to cry. Blood all over you— ruined the carpet." I didn't remember the getting home part, and I think he knew that. "You wouldn't get up off of the floor. I had to carry you and give you a shower. You wouldn't talk. Wouldn't move on your own." I looked at my coffee in a blank stare. Parts of what he was describing we're coming back to me. The memory so faint it was as if it was a scene I was only able to visualize. Sitting on the floor of the shower and Ivan kneeling down to wash the blood off of me. His suit jacket was discarded along with the pile of my own clothes, red staining his white undershirt from where I had been holding onto him and sobbing. "The next morning you tried to kill yourself with a piece of the glass I dropped." He didn't need to remind me of that part.

"You didn't have to... Mention that." I regretted doing that to him. Making him see me like that. I hated thinking about it.

"I did. Because if you were crazy you wouldn't have tried to do that." He stood up and started to unload the breakfast cart, probably because he wanted me to eat before the food got cold. "As far as I'm concerned, you're my boy, you understand? I raised you and I took care of you from the moment Mr. and Mrs. Crowne took you away." He continued his business with the food while I thoughtlessly nursed the coffee that had finally cooled enough for me to drink. "I was the one that got you up for school, I was the one who helped you with your homework, I was the one who taught you how to shower, I was the one you came to for advice—" I cut him off.

"I'm your son." His lip quivered at my reassurance. It was the first time either of us actually acknowledged the bond we clung to.

"My boy."

"Your boy." I knew all too well this was brought on by the conversation of my attempt just moments ago, and I would never be able to verbalize to Ivan how sorry I'll be for the rest of my life that he had to witness it.

"I don't want you to call me dad. I just want you to know that you're never not going to be my son to me." He pushed the cart and set the tray of food on my side table. "I know you want to die. I know you want to get away from the things you've done— things you're going to do. And I know that you wonder if someone would do those things for you if you really did give up. But they won't. Gotham is scared, and you and that Batman are the first of hope it's seen in a while." He kissed my forehead. "And if you ever try some bullshit like that again I'll kick your sorry ass, you hear me?" I couldn't help but laugh at his threat as he left me to eat my breakfast. Today, there was nothing I had to do. It was rare for these days to pop up anymore and I worshipped them when they came to me. I wouldn't be holed up in an office running my company, I wouldn't be stuck in meetings or phone calls, I just got to relax and I savored it. I laid back in bed after I ate, needing to catch up on much-needed rest.

That feeling again. The sense that someone was there. It stirred me awake and I was shocked to be met with the moonlight through my window. "Hello," I greeted Batman softly, sitting up from the bed and trying to massage the headache from my temples because of how long I had slept. "I'm sorry for things getting cut short last night." There was no response from him as he walked towards me. I swung my legs off the side of the bed and waited for him.

"If I take this mask off, If I show you who I am then that's it. I'll be in your life forever. But if you don't want that, then I can keep this mask on and you never have to hear from me again." My brows furrowed as he kneeled down in between my legs, looking up at me. There was a gloss of hope in his eyes, one that was so familiar to me.

"That sounds like a big commitment just to see your face, don't you think?" My words made his demeanor change into a cold one once again, but as his body moved away from mine I grabbed his face and pulled it back. "Don't do that," I whispered. "don't go looking for a reason to push me away." He seemed to think about it for a few seconds before soothing himself back into me, one hand resting on my thigh and another hand snaking its way around my calf. The touch was intimate, and yet he wasn't thinking twice about it. "If I do this," My fingers played with the edges of his mask. "will you really stick by me?" No one's ever done that for me in my life besides Ivan, and although I wanted it desperately— the idea of it scared me a little.

"I won't have the strength to let you go again." Again.... So we did know each other already. I thought about it for a moment, but the longer I took the more desperate the look on his face became. "Please..." He started to plead. The once strong and terrifying batman was now just that. A man. Tearing up in front of me and begging for me to let him into my life. And a small part of me wanted him. I wanted the touch of his hands grasping for me. I wanted the feeling of his face against my fingers. I wanted to stare into his eyes. So I slipped the mask off.

My breath caught in my throat. "Bruce?" He reached for me, standing up and pushing me back gently with my face in his hands. "Y-you.... You were dead I—" Happiness, rage, grief. They all swirled inside of my chest at a pace my body couldn't physically handle. None of my confusion, none of my words would slip from my tongue. All that I could think about was the guilt that ate me alive. I couldn't believe that I forgot his eyes. The eyes that I adored so much.

"I'm here now," He shushed me and kissed the tears that fell from my eyes. "I'm so sorry..." We both held onto each other for dear life. I gripped onto his cape, my face buried in the crook of his neck as I breathed in his scent. It was so foreign to me and yet nostalgic at the same time. I wanted more of it. I wanted to stay there with him just to make up for the lost time. He flipped us over so that I was laying on top of him, but his suit was uncomfortable against my skin.

“Bruce...” I got off of him. “Your suit.” Without another thought he took everything off, discarding it on my floor and pulling me back onto him in my bed. I missed this closeness, this comfort. “Why did you disappear?” I asked, tears pricking my eyes and threatening to fall once again. “Why'd you leave me?” My voice shook. I could feel the way he hugged me tighter to him.

“I wanted to understand criminals more, it wasn't my intention to just leave you the way I did,” He sighed, fingers tracing along my spine. “I started being afraid that you'd hate me for the things I was doing, so I didn't try to contact you. I went 7 years without talking to anyone including Alfred, and when I came back....” I could feel the way his heart was racing. Feel how nervous he was to finally be holding me.

“You became batman.” I finished his sentence for him and he nodded. There was silence between us for a while. I didn't know what I wanted to say and I didn't know how I wanted to say it. Sure, I was upset at him. Livid that he could just leave so easily— but I knew better than anyone that somewhere in that brain of his, he genuinely thought he would have been sparing me. Bruce was terrified of himself. Of the possibilities. He knew very well what he was capable of, and there was a fear within him that somehow, for some reason, he would hurt me.

We would have to figure things out again. We'd have to learn the trust we lost. We'd have to work through those fears. But what mattered was that we would be able to. What mattered was that he was with me.

likes and reblogs are appreciated and very much desired please lord my engagement has been total ass recently help a brother out — ALSO please check the post under my pinned request are open until monday

[vampkillr]

Migraine — Matt Murdock

m! reader — 1k words — hurt/comfort — mention of suicide — i had a migraine for 3 days so. this is escapism. wish i could have been knocked out for that shit. kinda jealous of the character

I could almost hear the incessant pounding of the blood that rushed through my head. A throb that had me convinced my brain was growing with each second, an ache that felt as if my skull was getting pressed through the inside out. Every small sound, every glow of light, every movement was a jagged knife being sheathed directly into my skull. I couldn't cry, I couldn't move, even blinking was a hellish feeling.

It didn't just hurt. I had become a shivering shell of a human. I was overcome with a suffering that I didn't even have the words to describe. Methodic, relentless pain. Unemotional and unending. There was nothing I could say or do to make it stop. "Again?" I could hear Matt, but I made no move to look at him or respond. My body was a cage in which there was no action without consequence. "I'll go get the medicine." I could hear every step he made, tiptoeing over to the windows to close the blinds and walking away. The simple things that I wasn't able to do for myself like getting up to turn off a light or switch on a fan, Matt did them without having to be asked, without expecting a 'thank you'. Times like these, where pain was my cocoon, Matt took care of me so silently. "This is the normal stuff," He whispered, voice barely on the precipice of being audible. I could taste the coating of the pill he pushed in my mouth. "and this tea should knock you out. I asked Stick for something to help and apparently this should keep you asleep until the Migraine is gone." A cup was pressed to my lips and I drank the sweet concoction, having no qualms about the fact I was being drugged.

When I woke up, Matt was laying beside me, and the hurt which engulfed me was almost completely gone. The side of my head felt hollow, and I knew all too well it would feel like that for days, but I felt strangely euphoric. All I was left with was a quiet evening and a brain without the strength to let complex thoughts occupy it. I was in my body again. "You okay?" His voice was still quiet, cautious.

"Always am," I whispered, turning on my side to face him. "are you?" My fingers found place on his chest, ghosting over the raised scars that laid so perfectly on his skin. A deep breath and a sigh.

"I can't think rationally when you get like that,” He started and I braced myself for the worst outcome of a conversation like this. I wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't want to take care of me anymore, but the drop in my gut at the thought was nauseating. “I can hear that you're not dying, I can hear your brain and I know you'll be okay— but I get so desperate. So..... anxious.” He almost sounded in disbelief that he could experience a feeling like that. “I would do anything in this world for you and the one thing I want to do most is the one thing I have no power over.”

I leaned my head on his chest and he pulled me to lay on top of him completely, holding onto me like if he didn't one of us would die. “What is it that you want to do?” I knew he could tell how nervous I was of his answer. I knew he could all but taste the fear that laced my words. Maybe even then.

“I want to take all of your pain and feel it for you. I want to take it all away from you the second you start to feel that way.” Matt pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You were asleep for a whole day.” I guessed as much from my change of clothes and my need to pee, but I wasn't going to outright tell him that.

“You do enough by just being with me. You function for me when I can't. You bathe me, turn lights off, close curtains, feed me, cover me up, clean up,” I propped myself up to get a good look at him. His beauty never ceased to amaze me. “You have no idea how much easier you make things, Matthew. You make all of it bearable. You make me want to push through it instead of giving up. I adore you— and everything you do is something I appreciate more than words can describe.” I understood the stress of a caretaker. I knew far too well exactly the way Matt felt— and during the time my father needed me, I was just a kid. A kid who had no idea what was happening to his dad. A scared kid who just knew he needed to be the man of the house for a few days every month.

I had no idea it felt this bad for him— but after the first one, I understood exactly why he killed himself. This was a disease only in death you could escape from. A disease that would make even a god-fearing man like Matthew accept a punishment of hell just to be without the torture. “You're staring.” He smiled.

“Just thinking,” I trailed off, kissing him gently and ignoring the embarrassment of not realizing he knew when I would stare. “I know what it feels like... To not be able to do anything and just watch.” Matt's hold on me squeezed just a bit tighter.

“I know,” He whispered. “you don't have to talk about him.” I never talked about my dad. And it wasn't necessarily because I didn't want to; of course I wasn't bothered by not having to— but, I think part of it was because the idea of me doing something similar scared Matthew. It scared him to death and he had no idea how obvious it was that he felt that way. I was the one person he let himself have. The person he couldn't lie to or try to run away from. Losing me would destroy him.

“I'm never gonna do that to you. I'm not gonna let you go through what I did.” Of course, the circumstances are different, but I couldn't rest in my grave knowing I robbed him of me. Even if living was the most painful thing in the world. I would endure it for him. He was enough for me.

likes and reblogs are appreciated — psa being this emotionally dependent on a person is very unhealthy so please don't think i'm encouraging thought like this. i am not. but, sometimes people can't help but think that way. which is what's happening here.

[vampkillr]

Loss — Peter Parker

gn! reader — 295 words — angst — andrew! peter — death scene — i've been horrendously depressed so i'm just practicing confined writing. sorry.

I don't know why it took so long for me to realize the reason I found such comfort in Peter. Why I felt like there could be no wrong done to me whenever he was near. He was always there for me— watching. Waiting for the moment I simply called out to him. It was like he was afraid to make a move towards me on his own volition, scared to disrupt my peace. Little did he know that I only ever found peace when he was near.

That peace and feeling of safety never left even as I began to fall. Even though I knew that by the time his web caught onto my body it will have been too late. Almost as if the assurance it would be with him was enough to feel fine in my end. I loved him. And yet I would never get the chance to utter those words in his direction. I never planned for it to end this way, but I guess we never do. No one ever thinks they've run out of time until it's already too late.

The loss of my future, the loss of him— it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt robbed; not of life itself; but of love. Taken from me before I even got to savor its taste. In a way, the scene being set before us felt beautiful to me. Sacred, almost. Desperate hands outstretched to each other, in between us a thread so far from saving our dreams of more time. My fate set in stone, sealed with the finest wax; and a failure captured in the depths of his memory that it would haunt him for years.

Loss was such a cruel and tragic thing.

a lot of my writing is angst, and deals heavily in near death experiences, loss or death itself. i write these things in the way i have experienced them. the way time slows. the peace in knowing it's time. the anger in being taken from it. my writing is not only a way to spark worlds in your imagination, but to also process my traumas in the only way i know how. the feelings i try to capture are real to me. they are my own.

[vampkillr]

Blood — Frank Castle

male! vampire! reader — 2.1k words — angst — mentions of wounds/blood — this was short and it's not very good. sorry. anyways uh hey im back lol srry i've been gone for so long. march is a very bad month for me so i'll be pumping out some fics to get my mind off of other things.

He carried the scent of blood with him, Frank. The faint aroma seemed to be stuck to his hands like a stain you couldn't wash out. I didn't necessarily mind it, but I couldn't help but wonder how much stronger that smell would be once he got to me. Wonder how much more of this torture I had to withstand before they both realized that I've ran out of the blood in my veins. Nothing was going to get me to speak, no matter how much pain I had to endure. This, at it's very core, was what I was made to experience. This agony that I had no choice but to live through, it was a fate curated for me by the very part of myself I was trying to destroy. It was something I've accepted by now, but that didn't soften the blows and it didn't make it hurt less.

It was hard to imagine the state my face was in. I could still see, and I knew nothing was swollen, but I've never sustained an injury without my blood before. Part of me feared what they would try to do if they figured out what I was, so I decided after the next punch delivered to my face to play dead. I didn't have a heartbeat, and I didn't need to breathe no matter how uncomfortable it felt to hold back the urge. "Check him." I could hear Rawlins speak in front of me, and the scent of Billy Russo's hand was enough to make me want to lunge forward to devour him— but my head stayed limp as his fingers checked for a pulse. There was nothing. I was cold and dead as far as he knew.

"You went too far." His fingers moved from my neck and onto the zipties that caged my wrists behind me, cutting them off. I continued my act, body limp so that I fell forward onto the floor and into the puddle of my own blood. The smell made the searing pain in my throat burn stronger, the blood that touched my lips made the thirst almost impossible to subdue. I couldn't move. Not until Frank got here, which, I hoped was still going to happen because it had been hours and he still wasn't back. "What do we do now?" Billy asked, and almost as if it was on cue, a voice ripped through the silence that surrounded us.

"Russo!" The angry scream that tore itself into the spines of those who heard Frank was raw. There was no emotion other than pure, unbridled rage coming from the man I've been in love with. I had to fight the urge to get up. I had to play dead. "What did you do?!" I could hear the sob he choked back, and stayed still as I listened to the altercation, and after realizing they were probably too focused on Frank to notice me, I craned my neck to get a view of what happened. He was on top of Rawlins, gouging his eyes out— and upon further inspection, Billy was nowhere to be found.

"Frank!" I called out to him, my voice straining to even make a sound. He had no idea the type of monster I was, but he was going to find out and there was nothing I could do about it. He shot the now blind Agent Orange in both knees, rushing over to me and turning me onto my back. "I need...." It hurt to speak, but I pushed through, I could feel my body beginning to decay. "I'm sorry." I couldn't wait any longer. I had no idea what would happen if I did. I tensed my arm, allowing my nails to sharpen and slicing a line across Frank's wrist. He brought the wound to my lips and the taste was better than anything I could have possibly explained. I haven't drank blood in months, and that fact along with my body being completely exsanguinated, it made the feeling so much more heavenly. The relief washed over me completely, and I was able to pull myself away from his arm despite how desperately I had been gripping it.

"What the hell are you?" My eyes trailed to Rawlins, who had been screaming in agony for a while now. He backed away and got up to drag eyeless William to me. "Need any more?" Shock set into my gut, a buzz of panic coursing through my spine as I watched Frank's wrist drip with the sweetest nectar that I had ever tasted in my life. My eyes trailed up to his. He seemed completely serious. Despite what I had done, and despite me drinking his blood, Frank still offered to help me drink from Rawlins.

“I'll be okay, I shouldn't get myself used to having so much in one go.” My words came out with ease compared to earlier when my esophagus felt crushed. My body made the necessary changes to heal what was vital. Everything else will have to wait until I can get more blood. Frank seemed confused. “If I drank any more, my body would start expecting that every single time I did drink blood. It's important that I maintain the control I have over myself.” He hummed and shot William in the head without a second thought, coming to me and lifting me up.

“We need to get you taken care of, okay?” His hand gripped my waist as he helped me limp out of the damp basement we were in. “When did this happen?”

“Let's get to my place and I'll explain everything to you.” Frank nodded and before I could process it we were already in the car on our way to my apartment. Every now and again, I could feel him glance at me— quick enough to not seem strange but obvious enough for me to have noticed— and to avoid it, I looked at myself in the visor's mirror. I looked like hell. “I'm going to need more blood eventually. These wounds won't heal otherwise.” My face wasn't very full of color. Full of life. I looked like an actual corpse; a battered corpse. I looked like I had been ran over and drained.

Silence consumed us, infecting the air we breathed and choking me from all of the words I wanted to say. There was nothing I could have told Frank to justify hiding this for so long. “I wouldn't have been angry.” He muttered. “Not at you. Not for this.” I peered at him through the corner of my eye, observing the stillness to him. He seemed so abnormally calm, as if he truly wasn't mad— and I felt as if I didn't deserve that type of reaction. Let alone that type of forgiveness. I felt guilty.

“I was dying when you met me.” I sighed, starting to explain things as Frank drove us into an empty parking lot to focus on the conversation. We unbuckled, settled in, and I started to talk again. “I had an aggressive disease that I had no fighting chance for. I was on my last month to live that night we met— While you were buying me drinks and flirting, I was acutely aware that my own blood was rotting away inside of me. It was hard to breathe. Every vein and artery in my body burned. I could feel the way my heart was tired of trying so hard.” My eyes met Frank's, his expression almost painful. “When I was on my way home I collapsed, and a man came up and told me that he was going to give me my life back.” I showed him my palm, the scars on the tips of my fingers on full display. “Instead he took it away.”

Frank took my hand, grazing his fingers on the scars over my own. “What is this?” He didn't let go even though I tried to pull away.

“To turn you. They puncture,” I mumbled, tensing and sharpening my now claw-like nails. “down to your bone.” Franks brows furrowed.

“Did it hurt?” He asked, and I wished I had an answer. I couldn't remember how that part felt. I shrugged.

“He hurt himself in the same place and then touched his fingers to mine. The next thing I can remember is that burning in my veins getting so much worse, and then it started to burn everywhere else. It felt like he replaced my blood with lava.” I sighed. That pain was still so close to my mind, as if the stain of that night was still there on my body. As if the sins committed against it still weren't washed clean. “If I think about it for long enough,” I whispered. “I can almost feel it again. All over again. Like it's still happening.”

He brought my hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against my knuckles. Frank felt so pleasant against my hand, so warm, I wanted nothing more than to hold him as close to me as I possibly could. “Does this mean that one of these days I'll die and leave you here?” My heart sank with disappointment as I nodded. “That's..... That's not fair to you.”

I hummed. “That's life.” It took everything in my power to seem detached, even though I was still clinging on so desperately to the time we had now. I couldn't curse him the way I was. Sighing, I spoke. “I'd like to go home now. I'm still in a lot of pain.” I pulled my seatbelt on and Frank began to drive again.

There wasn't much to say as I unlocked my door and invited him inside. He was quiet, and so was I— so I got to work on preparing my supplies. Two blood bags would do fine enough to make my body stop hurting. I could wait to drink the rest I needed. The injuries I've sustained would take a while to heal on the outside. I put the IV needle in and put both blood bags on the hook, sitting down on the couch and practically sinking into it. “What if,” Frank started, sitting on the table across from me. “What if you turned me too?”

“No.” I said sternly. I didn't want to have this conversation. Not now— well— not ever, really. No matter how badly I wanted to turn Frank, I knew it was selfish and wrong of me. “You have no idea what you're asking, Frank.” My voice stayed calm, I was trying my best not to get emotional at my own refusal.

“I do know.” I could see the way he was getting upset. “I don't want to leave you one day that's not fair.” His voice was quiet, but the anger was there. Lingering, waiting for me to say the wrong thing. That anger in his voice— I think he knew what I was going to bring up.

“You have a dead wife and dead kids—” He got up, shouting over me, but my voice held so much more power.

“You don't get to bring them up!” He yelled, but I silenced him with my own screaming.

“I do! I do and I will because I will not let you make an irreversible mistake just because you think you love me!” My voice broke, almost as if my own body couldn't believe the words I had just shouted at my own boyfriend. He shut up, though— looked just as shocked as I felt. “Look,” I was quiet now. Almost inaudible. “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I robbed you of a chance to finally be at peace. Because it's not gonna feel any different after you finally kill Billy. You're gonna be the same tortured and in pain Frank Castle. And I cannot damn you to experience that any longer than you have to.”

He wiped the tears that fell from my face. “You never were very good at letting yourself have things.” He whispered, and my brows furrowed at his words. Before I could even begin to ask what he meant, he trapped me onto the couch where I sat, pushing me back. No matter how hard I tried to fight back, my strength was nothing compared to his. I thrashed under him, and tried as hard as I could to pull my wrist from his grasp, but it was too late.

“Frank, please!” I cried out and pleaded, but he dragged his switchblade against my skin, and opened up the wound I had made earlier on his own wrist, connecting the two. I could see through my tears the way he was trying to hide the pain he was staring to feel. It was too late.

can you tell im an angst guy i am severely mentally ill LMFAOOO anyways im gonna put a pause on my matt murdock series so i can write stupid shit, not very many people are staying for the other chapters and are instead just only reading the prologue so i don't see the point anymore. ALSO i am in love with the concept of vampires and it is an idea i will be toying with frequently.