#Beta!Helena

[helenadurazzo]

Beta!Helena

This is the version of my character I made all the way back in 2019 when I first started the game, until I later revisited the game in 2021 and revamped Helena into the character you know today. I have never shared this version of Helena online until now so I hope you enjoy what this turns out to be.

As you can see in the picture above, Helena did not go through a large amount of changes physically. Here, her hair is naturally black and nearly perfectly straight and her skin is much paler.

Her name wasn’t even going to be Helena Durazzo, originally, Helena’s last name was going to be Hawthorn. Her beta version had no Italian roots and was for the most part, completely British.

She would mostly have been raised by her mother who was very similar to her canon mother except this version of Olivia was originally a Slytherin and had a hobby in herbology rather than a career

Her father mysteriously died not too long after she was born and rarely anyone talked about him. I believe I planned to use this to tie in my MC with R but don’t have notes about it

She had many family connections such as being linked to the Ravenclaws and being talented in Legilimency through her mother’s side of the family. She was also a pure blood witch.

In addition, she herself was always going to be a member of Ravenclaw house. However, she was never going to be part of the quidditch team and actually despised the idea of flying

She was great friends with Rowan, Penny, and Ben, and in my original canon, she even befriends Merula. In addition, Helena also dated Barnaby Lee and went with him to the Celestial Ball and first date.

Unlike canon Helena, who has a pet bird (a starling to be specific), Beta!Helena had a snowy owl named Khione who she used to keep in contact with her beloved mother while at Hogwarts

Finally, the last thing I have in my notes is that she was a bookworm and aspired to be a curse breaker to learn more and to find her brother and bring him home to her and her mother.

[wimbledon2008]

when you're drowning in your car and LAFD pauses your rescue to take PR photos for the recruitment initiative

[betustamorla]

Arkham Abyss Files: Red Hood Memory I

Jason(16) arrives at the Manor and meets Helena(15)

Jason looked a little incredulously at all the expensiveness that surrounded him; all the wood was carved and polished, with no scratches, stains, or broken bits; the floors were of cold-looking stones with patterns on them; the walls had paintings of beautiful places or flowers; the lights were all covered by glass or crystals hanging or being supported by gleaming metals…

"What do you think Jason?" Bruce's voice broke him from his trance.

"It's… expensive." He said, not sure if he was being rude.

Bruce chuckled. "It is expensive." Then he rested a hand on his shoulder. "You have time to get used to it. Dick had a hard time adjusting to it as well." 

"Oh. Is he here?" Jason asked anxiously.

"No, he's living in Blüdheaven now," Bruce answered evenly, if he had an opinion on it, Jason couldn't guess. "But Helena is around on the weekends."

"Who’s Helena?" 

Bruce blinked once, and Jason had the feeling that that was his surprised face.

"My daughter. Biological daughter." He added as an afterthought.

"Oh…" Jason felt a little silly for not knowing, he knew of Dick because he remembered that being a hot topic in Gotham when the circus orphan had been adopted, and Bruce had talked about him before. And he remembered vaguely some news about Bruce Wayne's wife's sudden death as well...so it followed that they'd had a child together.

Jason looked at Bruce, his eyes seemed to reflect amusement, "It's good you don't look too much into the gossip section of the news."

"Yeah…" Jason said, rubbing his neck. Did his daughter make it often into the gossip section? Or just being a Wayne automatically marked someone as the target for gossip? He guessed he'd find out soon enough.

"I think the next room will be more to your liking," Bruce continued the tour of the house, opening a set of double doors to the most impressive library he had seen. It had two floors, and every wall space had a bookcase filled with books. His mind went blank. "I'm assuming you like it," Bruce's voice sounded amused.

Jason opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out, he cleared his throat. "Yeah. This place is amazing!" 

~•~•~•~•~

He had been living in the Manor for 2 weeks and he had gotten used to it, or at least to not lost his way searching for the kitchen. Jason had been so busy catching up in school and bugging Bruce to let him go out with him at nights that he had forgotten completely that there was supposed to be someone else living at the Manor, besides him, Alfred and Bruce. Alfred had mentioned in passing that the young Miss hadn't come back last weekend because she had a volleyball competition in Metropolis, but Jason hadn't really cared much hence why it was out of his head so easily.

So it was a surprise when after entering the house after school just when he had put his feet in the first step of the staircase, a girl was looking at him from the top of them. He stared, and she stared back at him. And Jason wouldn't admit it later but he had gaped and stared stunned at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

She cocked her head to one side with a little smile on her face "Hello," She said raising one hand, and he noted her voice to be soft and pleasant.

“Uh, hi,” Jason answered a little clipped, and he kicked at himself internally.

Another awkward moment passed in silence, neither of them moving. Jason felt how she studied him unabashedly, her gaze so much like Bruce's when he was trying to puzzle out something about a case in the Cave. 

“So you're Dick's replacement huh?” She finally said starting to descend the stairs.

Jason stiffened because he didn't like how that sounded, even if her tone had been nothing but conversational. Mistrust instantly surged in him.

“So what?” He asked as she stopped just in front of him, looking down from the second step of the stairs.

“So nothing,” She answered in amusement and smiled at his skittishness. And Jason wasn't blushing. “I'm merely stating a fact. No need to get all your hecklers raised.”

Then she stepped down one step more and was even closer to him, his belligerent 'I'm not giving in even an inch to you' instinct kicking in automatically so he didn't budge. This left her just a breath away from his face, even when she clearly was shorter she was almost even with him now for the step she still had on him.

“I like your eyes,” She said and tapped his nose with her finger, “Especially now that you are growling, it brings a spark to your eyes–”

“What–?” Jason sputtered some and damn, now he was sure he was blushing something.

And she laughed with merriment and it was a friendly laughter, not cruel nor mocking. “I think I’ll like you very much, Jason– is it?”

“Yes– I'm– my name's Jason.” And why the fucking hell was he fumbling so much in front of this girl when he hadn't when facing Batman?

“I'm Helena, nice to meet you,” Helena smiled again and extended her hand. There was a spark in her eyes that told him she was having fun, but her open demeanor showed him it wasn't with a mean intention.

Jason still took her hand reluctantly; it was soft and slender– a very feminine hand. He unintentionally locked eyes with her again, then looked away to the side quickly when he realized he had done it.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

Plan of finishing the first draft: End of July. First chapter release plan date: sometime in August.

Beta readers/proofreaders/editors/consultants wanted! For more info about this fic see the previous post:

[deltoidlover]

my mossman broke (made for an art contest, final submission lets gooo)

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

50, 58 😊

50. do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

Mostly plan! Although it's very much I have an inciting incident and a conclusion in mind, and then I figure out what needs to happen to get there as I write. I definitely have realized I prefer having more of a concrete plan recently, but there's still a lot of flexibility with how I do it.

58. what is the last thing a fic made you Google while you were writing it? This is mortifying actually. Today for In The Heat of it All chapter 5 I ended up googling: "can you eat a pig if you shoot it?" yeah. Per the writing-flaw question from earlier, I think another big thing for me is that once I start writing my brain stops trusting itself and I have to Google things like that! I think I thought the bullet and the metal would corrupt the meat somehow? But the answer is yes you can! And you will see how that's relevant in a little over a month? perhaps?

[aleksanderthemesschild]

a crucial part of making ocs with your friends is deciding what role they would have in the omegaverse

[lowstakesvampires]

behold. the very first bite chart (ca. 2017)

[liuwithheadcanons]

The Society A/B/O

I’m still so mad we never got a season 2 all those years ago 💔 I watched it when it first came out and remembered it again :D!

Allie - Alpha cause I said so and she smells like Dark Chocolate cause I said so

Cassandra - Beta, and she smells like cocoa beans and leaves

Campbell - I love him he’s such a good character but a horrible ass person my type of SHIT! Anyways it’s boring to make him just an alpha so born Bigender Alpha and Beta Campbell. Has a peppermint scent 

Becca - Omega cause idk but I love her, she smells like jasmine and sugar

Elle - Omega cause Campbell seems like that type to target, anyways she has a burnt sugar cherry scent

Grizz - Beta cause my baby :((!! He smells like bread and honey like a bear 💜💜💜💜💜

Kelly - Alpha cause idk she’s kinda a bad bitch and she has the scent of flint and obsidian, to prove it 

Gordie - Omega simply cause he’s kinda confused the whole show (tbh everyone is) but also is super nerdy and smart, and he smells like pine cones 

Will - Beta cause I said so, anyways he’s my bby and smells like aloe

Gwen - Bigender Alpha and Omega, she smells like lemons and the sun

Luke - Chad Omega cause I said so, and he smells like lip gloss and candles

Helena - My pandynamic girlie, she smells like pebbles!

Harry - Alpha he’s annoying and shit but he smells like silver and perfume

Sam - My beloved baby 😭!! He’s born Bigender Beta and Omega and he smells like pop soda (a mix of spearmint gum and coke and cherries, also I feel like just making him an omega is just kinda unfair like bro been through enough)

If there’s more characters you want me to do tell me cause otherwise I’ma just do the main ones

[mvsicinthedvrk]

discord surprise starter for liu qingge & helena wayne // @lcvelxss

Liu Qingge's face looks disgruntled as he stands at the door, knocking impatiently. He doesn't know why he's in such a rush, because as soon as he finishes this drop-off, there'll surely be another. At least he was able to get permission to complete deliveries flying by sword instead of driving, but it doesn't particularly outweigh the injustices of the job as a whole. "Delivery. For you," he says at the door as soon as it's even cracked open, thrusting out his hand that holds a tied-up plastic bag full of steaming food cartons.

[infcinity]

post continued from here bc the new editor sucks :))) @empathiie

"that is probably, it's still a very nice hat," helena smiled at the other. "I don't think so?" her brow furrowed slightly as she looked at the other. "maybe we've seen each other around the city?" she offered, with another smile.

[incorrectbatfam]

What is each of the batfam members approach as a tutor to a student/hero trainee?

Dick: locks them in jail for a few weeks (so they know what it's like and won't abuse their power by throwing people in left and right)

Jason: makes them deliver birthday presents to late henchmen's children (people are multifaceted, action have a ripple effect, and taking lives should only be the very last resort)

Tim: hosts a trivia night where he asks them questions about an anime that doesn't exist (to test whether they lie their way through or admit they don't know)

Damian: asks them to assist him, criticizes them when they do, and repeat (being a hero can be a thankless job but they have to brush it off and do it all over again)

Duke: makes them read a book at a concert and quizzes them after (vigilantes are surrounded by distractions and need a laser focus)

Cullen: makes them beta-read a bunch of bad Wattpad fanfics (desk work is tedious but just as important as fieldwork)

Stephanie: sticks them in a customer service job for a month (they have to deal with all manner of civilians while maintaining a positive image)

Cassandra: sets a trash can on fire, bursts a water pipe, and releases a bunch of rats (multiple things can happen suddenly and they have to know how to triage)

Barbara: makes them watch a movie marathon that keeps buffering (investigative work is a lot of waiting around and seeing what happens)

Harper: has them fix a car with the wrong instruction manual (what's being ordered isn't always what needs to be done)

Carrie: hires a bunch of actors for a giant game of Where's Waldo (attention to detail in a fast-paced environment)

Kate: offers a sparring session as an outlet for pent-up emotions (they pass the test if they don't take her up on it—vigilantes shouldn't be fighting for personal catharsis)

Helena: invites them to a formal vigilante job interview but keeps rescheduling (until they assert themselves and establish clear boundaries)

Luke: invites them to the Wayne Enterprises lab and spills a beaker of vinegar without stating what it is (understanding emergency protocol and facilitating effective communication)

Bette: gives them a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle but puts the last piece in a locked box (she'll give them the key—they just need to ask her for help)

Alfred: makes them organize files in the Batcave while something is going down on the field (they can't always be there and have to compartmentalize)

Selina: volunteers them to clean up after a three-day music festival (crime scenes are gross and they need a strong stomach)

Bruce: plans a last-minute dinner party and puts them in charge of the kitchen staff (taking leadership and knowing how to delegate)

[peachysunrize]

[ TANGERINE DREAMS ]

Summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond's life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helena's childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who's always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

Warnings: angggggst, angst, ANGST, no beta we die like Beesbury

Word count: 5k+

A/n: sooooo, thoughts pleaseeeee! I hope you like this chapter! omg we only have one chapter left from this series aaaaa🥹🥹 Comments and reblogs are appreciated<3

-> series masterlist <-

Chapter 9: don’t let me be misunderstood

Aemond.

Aemond.

Aemond.

Maybe you will grow tired of whispering his name to yourself, but you have been doing this for the past four or five hours while sitting by the edge of the lake under the clear starry sky, shivering with each cold breeze.

Aemond.

Aemond.

Aemond.

It sounds more like a prayer rather than his name. Maybe you are praying to him to take mercy on you and walk back the path he took earlier.

You rock on your bottom like a child, holding your knees to your chest as you stare at the reflection of the moonlight on the edge of the water. At this point, your head is emptier than the shadow of a cloud, and you do not know whether the shadow will darken by snow or thunderstorms.

There is little to think about, or maybe too much given how much you have been mumbling to yourself. You thought about all the little things his family said; about you, about Alys, about him — Even the mere thought of him hurts your heart, the flesh ripping slowly as if he has chained your heart tightly, squeezing it tightly.

Shuddering, you look up as the leaves rustle by the cold breeze, creating a soft sound that ripples through the air. You rub your bare arms, cursing yourself for wearing such a beautiful dress for a birthday you were pretty sure it would turn into shambles, but at least you knew Aemond would like it — you do not know if he did or not.

“Hey, loner.”

You turn around, finding Aegon making himself comfortable next to you on the grass, a bottle of whiskey in his hand as he hands you his coat.

“Go on, I’m pretty numb now,” he says, dropping the fabric around your shoulders, nudging you by his elbow, taking a long sip from the amber liquid, “What a shit show, huh?”

“Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse and raspy with all the crying you have done earlier, sighing loudly, “Yeah.”

“C’mon, talk to me,” he urges you, handing you the bottle before he lies on the grass, staring up at the sky as he waits for you to say something, “I know my brother’s an ass.”

“No, Aegon—“ you sniffle, turning around to look at him, “He is… he is just complicated. He is a good guy—“

“A good guy would never let his girl be insulted in front of everyone,” he scoffs, taking another swig from his bottle, “You didn’t deserve that, sorry on behalf of everyone, Clementine.”

“What?” You ask, looking at him with wide eyes, totally surprised by how he knows the childhood nickname Aemond called you once, “How do you know that?”

“Fuck me,” he groans, slapping his hand on his forehead, “You tellin’ me he doesn’t call you this to your face?”

“No…?” You chuckle, resting your cheek on your knees as you smile softly at him, wiping the remaining tears away, “Does he do it a lot?”

“Duh! Every fucking time!” He tells you as if he is surprised by your confusion, “Oh, man, my brother is such a dumbass. He can’t shut up about you! Every time he opens his mouth all we can hear is Clementine this Clementine that, it’s honestly so annoying! I can’t fucking stand how lovestruck he is—woah, okay, I shouldn’t—” He sits up immediately, reaching to squeeze your shoulder when he notices your eyes watering again, your arms tightening around your legs.

“It’s not…” you take a deep breath,  letting the tears fall freely on your cheeks, “he was so lovely to me, I don’t know what happened but-but maybe I didn’t show him enough love, and reassure him—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kiddin’ me,” Aegon groans, dropping back down on the ground, “He fucked with you and you’re blaming yourself for it? Why the fuck would you do that? Are you a masochist or somethin’?”

“I’m not a fucking masochist, I just… I just love him so much! He thinks I will leave him too because everyone he’s ever loved once left him! Maybe I couldn’t show how much he meant to me, maybe I’m too weak to make sure he knows I love him and I’d rather die than let go of him.”

“Listen to me,” he urges you to lay down beside him, looking at the sky together as he continues talking, “Aemond is a really different man. He isn’t easy to love, hell, even Mum has issues with loving him—“

“That’s not making it any better, Aegon,” you glare at him, words falling from your lips coated in venom, “You’re telling me that even Alicent is hesitant to love him, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that? No wonder he chose to leave.”

“What we’re not gonna do is excuse his actions,” he slaps the side of your hip with the back of his hand, “I meant what I said, he doesn’t shut up about you, but he’s also hesitant about everything! You, me, Vhagar, he can’t let himself get hurt again, even though he knows you’ll never leave him on your own record. He fears the thought of leaving you, so he left you first because it hurts him less to think he didn’t like you enough instead of you not liking him enough.”

“It doesn’t make any sense!” You drop your hands on the grass in defeat, “He’s overthinking this! I know he’s still dealing with the thought of his snake of an ex but… but he needs to let himself feel loved!”

“He does feel loved, and those words didn’t come from his heart. They came from the dark voices in his head, I bet he couldn’t even look at you when he left,” Aegon explains, turning his head to look at your face, “I think you should go find him, I’m pretty fucking sure he’s beating himself to death for doing this to you. But remember that he is the one who needs to apologize, not you.”

“You’re right, he let them call me poor and a gold digger,” you chuckle, sitting up as you speak, “Do you know he said that our relationship was ridiculous?”

“Fucking hell, this guy is a twat I swear,” you laugh a little when Aegon fakes a cry, “Why can’t men be normal for a goddamn second?”

“You realize you’re a man too, right?”

“Yeah, and do I look normal to you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, sitting up to give you a hug when you laugh, squeezing you into his arms before he lets go, “Give him a piece of your mind, okay? Make him regret it.”

“Fine,” you nod, trying to find enough courage to stand up and leave, but a heavy feeling grounds you, “I think… I think I’m afraid, Aegon.”

“Don’t be, he might seem intimidating but there’s nothing in his heart except the love he has for you. He’s just being a brat. Maybe slap him once or twice and he’ll be at your mercy completely.”

“I know you wanted to say give him a blow job, thank you for censoring your words,” you say, standing up before brushing the dirt off your dress, and handing Aegon his coat back.

“Actually,” he holds his finger up, giving you a teasing smile, “I wanted to say that you should probably sit on his face so he won’t be able to talk.”

“That’s your brother, you disgusting asshole,” you laugh softly, taking your heels in your hands as you walk barefoot in the path Aemond took earlier.

You remember how he would sneak away from dinners when he was a kid, running towards the empty stables with a book under his arm; it was one of the most exciting things for both of you when you searched for him all night, only to find him sitting on straws with a flashlight and his book.

Walking through the dark stables, you see only a few lights on, and your thoughts are confirmed when you slowly stand in front of the open door, finding Aemond sitting on the ground next to a seemingly sick horse, stroking its neck gently.

“They say she’ll die,” his voice comes out in a gentle tone, and for the second time tonight, your eyes fill with tears — the yearning makes your chest tighten, even if it has been only five or six hours since he left you.

You step inside the stall, cautious not to make any sounds to disturb the unconscious horse lying on the ground next to him as you slowly lower yourself next to him on the straws, your bare shoulders brushing against his arm.

“What’s wrong with her?” You ask quietly, trying to keep your tears away from streaming down your face; how can you survive when you hurt just by looking at his side profile?

“Old age,” he sighs, looking down at his lap, pressing his lips into a thin line, “It’s rare, but she’s been clinging to life for so long.”

“Was she yours?” You look at him, sucking in a sharp breath when he turns around to look at you, his face red and cheek covered in dried tears, smiling sadly at you.

“No,” he shakes his head and looks away from you, “She used to be Mum’s favorite. I remember when she would take us to different races with Uncle Gwayne, and tell us about how she was so close to becoming a champion herself with her.”

“Why couldn’t she do it?” You ask, reaching to hold his hand nervously, giving him enough time to pull away but when he doesn’t, you relax instantly.

“She got married,” his answer is curt, as if even the mere thought of his parents being together sours his mood, “Her marriage was the end of her dreams. Maybe she would be happier if she didn’t have us quite young, maybe we would be happier if we didn’t exist.”

“Don’t say that,” you swallow, frowning slightly as you reach to cup his cheek, turning his face to stare into his eye, “She’s much happier with you by her side, and I’m forever thankful for your existence.”

“You’ll be much happier without me,” he rests his palm on your hand, kissing your thumb as he keeps his gaze locked onto you.

“That’s not for you to decide,” you caress his scarred cheek, trembling a bit as you feel the warmth radiating from his skin, “I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, when I’m kissing you, when I’m holding you.”

“You deserve the fucking world,” he rests his forehead on yours, closing his eye as he lets himself get consumed by your touch, “I can’t give it to you. One day you’ll realize how damaged I am…”

“You don’t need to give me the world, Little nerd, you are my world,” finally the tears stream down your cheeks, soaking your face as you speak, “Don’t push me away, I’m begging you—“

“I’ll only hurt you, and you’ll leave me. Losing me would do less harm than being with me—“ his voice cracks, his hand moving towards your back, rubbing and memorizing every up and down of your waist.

“No, Aemond, no,” you shake your head frantically, sobs wrecking your body as you try to tell him how you feel, “Don’t give up on us! I’m sorry I couldn’t show you how much I love you, I’m sorry if I was not enough for you. But please, please, don’t let go of me!”

“Don’t cry, I can’t-I can’t bear to see you cry. I’d rather get stabbed to death than see your beautiful face covered in tears,” he begs, leaning down to kiss your tears away, “I’m not giving up on us, I…I’m just giving us a break so we can think. I’ve never been loved like you have shown me.”

“Then why?” You scream at him, fisting his shirt to pull him even closer, your nose brushing against his, “Why did you say we were ridiculous? Why did you not stand up for me when I was being humiliated by your family? If I’ve shown how deeply I’ve loved you, why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

“It’s more than enough, my gorgeous girl,” he kisses the bridge of your nose, and you feel his tears fall on your cheek. “I’ve been taking you for granted. I…I can’t even defend you against them. I was paralyzed. I wanted to vanish and never be seen again, and now I see why. I’ve failed and hurt you so much, not thinking about how me leaving you alone might make you feel.”

“I love you, Aemond,” you say, words falling from your lips in a breathless whisper, “I love you, I love you— I can’t put into words how in love I am because every time I look at you I feel like I’m suffocating with the amount of affection I hold for you! I’m not good with words, Little nerd, but…but I know that being with you would hurt much less than me moving back to Beesbury knowing we aren’t going to make it.”

“I’m not giving up on us—I…” he sighs, gathering his thoughts as best as he can before he replies, but in truth, he is just as much of a mess as you are, “I need to think.”

“I love you, and even if we don’t make it, just know that you are the happiest most memorable experience of my life,” you lean up a little, planting a gentle kiss on his lips, “Aegon told me about the Clementine thing. I didn’t know you remember.”

“How can I ever forget?” he kisses you again, his heart tightening with each peck he leaves on your lips, “You were so chatty about your silly dreams, and I can’t forget Hel’s confused face when she mumbled about you dreaming of Tangerines.”

“There’s still hope for us, right?” You ask, shaking your head and sobbing when he pulls you into his embrace, holding you against his chest tightly.

“There’ll always be hope for us,” he mutters against your hair, his fingers holding onto your shoulders as if the subtle touch would ground him and not let him drown, “I just need to think.”

“Yeah, sure,” you pull away, wiping your tears before you give him a small smile, watching as the first rays of sunshine fall on the entrance of the stables, and you take it as your cue to leave him with the hope of kissing him again, “I’ll see you inside.”

“You mean everything to me,” he whispers, watching you stand up on shaky legs, brushing the straws off your dress as you try to keep yourself calm and collected, but the soreness in your eyes makes it harder.

“And yet you didn’t say you love me back.”

You leave with one last smile, walking barefoot towards the end of the pathway, heels clinking to each other as you swing them with your hand, biting your lip to stop yourself from falling apart.

The numbness comes back. You can feel how your body gets hollower with each step you take towards the door of the building. Your feet ache, and you know there will be bruises on them in a few hours.

The voices from the inside of the building grow louder, and when you step inside the hall, you find your best friend and her brothers trying to keep their Mother sane while their uncle argues with their grandfather.

“Babe,” Helaena notices you when you close the door behind you quietly, crossing the dining hall to pull you into a tight hug, shushing you as you let your sobs wreck your body without a care in this world, “I’m so sorry, beautiful, so so sorry.”

“Hey…” Aegon appears beside you, rubbing your back while you bury your face in Hel’s neck, letting her calmness seep into your skin with each caress she leaves on your head.

“Where is Aemond?” Otto asks, his voice echoing in the hall, “He needs to get here and explain the mess he made.”

“What?” you whisper in disbelief, slowly removing yourself from Helaena as you look at him, “The mess Aemond made?”

“Father, please,” Alicent says, rubbing the skin of her neck with shaky hands, “It is not Aemond you should be angry at, nor it’s her mess.”

“We ought to be more careful than ever! Your boy has already ruined what we tried to build for so long when she decided to marry a woman nearly ten years older. After everything I have done, everything you have sacrificed, it should not be so hard to put a leash on him and make sure he doesn’t fuck around and make a fool out of us in front of Daemon!”

“What we built is gone, Father,” Alicent sighs, taking a large sip of whatever liquor is in the glass, “They have amazing lives, my children. They are happy at least, happier than me or Gwayne ever were.”

“Happiness won’t make their names pop inside their father’s will!”

“We don’t even like that man! We fucking hate him in fact, so you better keep your shit away from us,” Aegon spits the words out, huffing when he sees Otto glaring at him, “Aemond was ridiculed tonight, at his own fucking birthday and all you care about is his reputation?”

“He is the only person who can change things but now, for getting into another miserable relationship with a nobody, he has lost the chance!”

“She’s been Helaena’s friend for so long, Father. Mind your words,” Gwayne interrupts him, crossing his arms as he keeps his eyes locked with his father.

“Or what?” Otto spits the words out, his phone clutched in his hand tightly.

“Or I will break your fucking neck.”

You turn around as soon as you hear Aemond’s voice, clutching Helaena’s hand when he walks very slowly toward his grandfather with his hands behind his back, his head held high.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Otto replies, giving Aemond a challenging look, “You didn’t have the courage to open your eyes and see how your fiance was taking advantage of you, now you want to break my neck because I said the truth?”

“No one disrespects my girlfriend, not even you,” Aemond stands in front of Otto, his glare unwavering, “She’s only two years older, doesn’t come from a rich family full of snakes, and most importantly, she cares about me. So yes, I would break your neck, because she is different from Alys and even I can see that with one eye.”

“You are blinded by lust because you can’t fall in love in nearly three months after a failed marriage—”

“I swear I will strangle you to death—”

In the blink of an eye, Aemond grabs Otto’s collar, but luckily Gwayne is quick enough to reach them. You watch in terror as Alicent and Aegon try to separate Aemond from his grandfather while Gwayne holds Otto back. You can not see if Aemond is trying to hit him or not but even the idea of him getting hurt because of you makes you tear up.

“Aemond, enough!” you reach and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him back with Aegon’s help, holding on to him tightly so he will not run off and punch Otto in the face, “Please, don’t give him another reason to lash out.”

“For fuck sake, Aemond, get a grip!” Daeron yells, and you see the sea of emotions in Aemond’s eye as he tries to fight off the anger in him.

“Me?” Aemond chuckles, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head in disbelief, “Me? I endured a night with the person who cut out my eye! I sat there and watched how they insulted someone I care about and couldn’t do anything to prevent it! I waited and took the humiliation on my birthday because I didn’t want to make someone else miserable by opening my mouth! Now you say I need to get a fucking grip? No, Daeron, it’s you, it’s all of you! You want to control my life but I won’t let you win this time.”

“It’s not about winning, Aemond—“

“We’re leaving,” he cuts off his mother’s sentence, grabbing your hand gently in his, threading his fingers through yours before he starts walking toward the door. You follow silently, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you let him guide you outside.

You walk hand in hand in tense silence as you walk towards the parking, finding the doorman running with Aemond’s car keys, handing them to him before he says a quick good morning. Aemond nods and leads you to his car, opening the door for you, and surprising you with a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

You give him a soft smile, sitting in the car and waiting for him to join you. The sunlight shines between the trees and warms your skin — grateful for the lack of roof of the car.

He starts the car, his lips pursed and a deep frown forms on his forehead as the sun shines on his face. He reaches for the dashboard and pulls his sunglasses out, putting them on before he twists the riding wheel, driving the car out of the parking lot to the main path.

You lean your head on the back of the seat watching the clouds move as Aemond speeds up. He shocks you by resting his hand on your thighs, gently caressing the bare skin through the slit of your dress.

You turn your head to look at him, noticing his stiff shoulders. He is battling for peace in his mind, you are sure. Maybe he feels guilty about how he treated you, maybe he just wants out from his family. 

He sighs, his thumb moving up and down the flesh of your thigh, enjoying the warmth you provide him with. You rest your hand on his, caressing the blue veins under his skin with the tip of your nail, skimming your finger over his knuckles gently.

You do not realize how much time has passed, but when you wake up, the Targaryen mansion comes into view, and you find Aemond pushing his sunglasses up on his head as he drives the car through the opening gates, looking stressed and confused from all the things that were said during the past few hours.

“We’re here,” he tells you softly, getting out of the car with ease before he walks and helps you out of the car as well, guiding you inside the mansion by his palm on the small of your back.

“Good morning, sir,” one of the house holders says, and Aemond nods at her, “Would you like to have breakfast here or on the balcony?”

“I’m not hungry, but she might be,” he answers stoically, turning his head to look at you, but his face softens slightly when he notices your disappointment written all over your face.

“I’d love to have breakfast on the balcony, please,” you let go of Aemond’s hand, smiling at the householder as she nods and smiles back, leaving the two of you alone to take your breakfast to the balcony.

“I need some time to think,” Aemond whispers, looking down at his shoes as he rocks on the balls of his feet, “I’m sorry I dragged you here, but I… I need to get my thoughts together, and couldn’t just leave you alone with them. I need a break.”

“It’s okay, I’m around if you need me,” you sigh, walking away from him upstairs towards where the balcony is, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Your day is dull, your mind is even worse. You had your breakfast with a bitterness you had no idea you possessed whilst you thought about Aemond, wondering what he was thinking about — probably the chaos that his family created and left the two of you dealing with the ruins of it later.

You tried to make yourself busy with doing whatever came to your mind; a long walk to the Weirwood tree and back, wandering around the mansion in hopes of finding something interesting, skipping meals, and snacking on fruit. But nothing seemed to make the gaping hole in your chest go away nor did they help with the dark thoughts that came into your head.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, you regret taking a long walk; Your feet are bruised and you notice a few painful blisters on the side of your feet, hissing as you apply a healing cream on the skin.

A knock brings you out of your thoughts, and before you can answer, you see Aemond pushing the door open, standing in front of you with tears stinging his eye. He has taken off his clothes from last night, now he is only in an old t-shirt with sweatpants.

“Hey you,” you greet him softly, watching him curiously as he takes a shaky step to the bed, slowly kneeling in front of you, taking the cream from your hands before he squeezes the tube on his palms, warming the cream before grabbing your ankle to gently apply it on the wounded skin.

“How did you hurt yourself?” His voice is barely above whispering as he kisses your shin, closing his eye when he hears your hisses in pain.

“I…I walked barefoot to the stables this morning,” you explain, eyes casted away from him, trying to escape from his intense gaze, “And I took a long walk a few hours ago.”

“You shouldn’t be so careless,” he rests your foot down, grabbing the other one in his warm hands as he speaks, “You need to take better of yourself or you’ll get hurt.”

“You’re doing a fine job in hurting me and taking care of me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes when his eye falls on your face.

“And I’m sorry for that.”

Your head snaps in his direction when you hear the tremble in his voice, lips parting in surprise as you look at his teary eye, his cheek pressed against your leg as he looks at you — his gaze is so intense to the point of melting you in place. 

“I…” he starts, resting his forehead on your knee, “I don’t need a break.”

“Aemond, you need some time—“

“I don’t need a break because I love you,” he looks up at you with the utmost adoration a human can ever possess, “I was a fucking idiot before for pushing you away, for doubting what we have, but I love you so much, my Clementine.”

Your lips quiver, and with a shaky hand, you reach down to cup his face, caressing his cheek as the tears fall on your fingers softly.

“I love you in a way I never thought I would,” he closes his eye, leaning his head into your palm, “I imagine my life without you in it, without your voice, without your smile, w-without you calling me that stupid nickname. Do you know what I saw?”

At this point, you are both crying, and with every word that slips past his lips you lean closer to take a good look at the desperation in his face, the longing, the love.

“I saw nothing, it was all black,” he sniffles, one hand coming to rest on the back of your neck as soon as your forehead touches his, “My life doesn’t exist without you. There is no hope left for me if you are gone. I will perish and turn to ashes if I don’t get to hold you at night. I will burn by the humiliation and misery I created for myself because I believed you would leave me.”

“Oh, my love,” you cry, pulling him up just a little so you can reach his lips easier, pressing a quick kiss, “Are you sure you’re not saying these because you feel defeated?”

“I’m sorry for directing my anger at you, I’m sorry for not voicing my love sooner. I was scared, fucking hell, I am scared because this is… this is not even near half of what I felt for anyone in my life; it’s blinding, it makes me bleed with need for you. All I’m asking is for you to accept my apology and take me back.”

“And if I don’t?” You ask, his lips hovering above yours, and you see him smile sadly, his large hand coming up to rest against your wet cheek.

“Then I will try to cope—“

“I’m not giving up on us,” you cut him off, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around his neck, “We will get through this together. We will talk, we will fight, but I won’t ever let go of you. There’ll always be hope for us.”

“I’m so fucking sorry for saying what I said,” he bites his lip to keep his composure, but his vision is blurry with unshed tears, “I’m not giving up on you, I promise.”

“I won’t either because I love you.”

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips, sealing his words with a deep quick kiss, “I love you, I love you—“

You press your lips to his, tasting his salty tears as they mix with yours, moving in sync while you explore each other's mouth after the chaos that pulled you apart.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, wishing to know if you will be able to hold and touch him like before, “We’ll be okay.”

“We are okay,” he nods frantically, “I love you, my gorgeous girl. We’ll be okay. I won’t leave you.”

“Neither will I,” you pull him into your arms, pressing his face to your neck as you sob, holding him close, breathing in his calming scent, “I won’t leave you, I will never put you through the pain you endured again.”

“I won’t do that either,” he presses a kiss to your neck, brushing his nose against your earlobe, “You’re my everything, I love you.”

[surv1vor]

the man had hoped that with his marriage would come a period of peace ( a lull where he might have the opportunity to get to know the woman he now called wife and queen ). instead, there had been an entire new array of paperwork ⸻ discussions of trade and travel with a kingdom that was now one of their strongest allies. it appeared promising at first glance but require meticulous hours going over with a fine tooth comb ⸻ leaving silas endlessly distracted and having to offer unspoken apologies to his new bride by supplying her with servants and guards that might keep him company in his absence. their evening meals were, at least, one of the few times a day the newly wed couple saw one another and that evening he'd wrapped up his duties early ( taking to the gardens with a heavy goblet of wine ).

the approach of the woman was undoubtedly attention drawing ( dark hues trailing her figure as a brow arched ). "you do not need to excuse your presence within the gardens, helena, they are now just as much yours as they are mine. in fact, i might fault you for ignoring them ⸻ the weather is too fine to remain indoors." the question causes him to chuckle. "more so than previous days. i believe we are making progress with establishing trade routes. perhaps i might get your opinion after we've eaten? i will not keep you long ⸻ but you know far more of your home than i and i wish to ensure the deal we strike benefits your former and current kingdom both."

status: open to m 25+ plot: Helena is a princess given in arranged marriage to your muse in order to strengthen the alliances between two kingdoms; what he doesn’t know is that she was trained her whole life to infiltrate his country and destroy it from the inside out but once actually married to him, she starts to suspect that maybe not everything she had been taught is as it seems; what confuses Helena even more is that he’s seemingly way nicer to her than she expects; !! note: please, do not like my starters & make sure to read the rules in the source <3

Despite that it had been more than a month after her wedding, Helena still found the place she was supposed to call a home difficult to navigate, even if all of her free time was thrown into learning every turn and dark hallway. She knew learning her way around the castle was one of the smallest, easiest tasks to do, but having whispering servants and at least one guard always trailing behind her made sneaking and spying all that more difficult. At least the prolonged dinners she had with her husband were one of the few moments of actual peace from prying eyes, yet even they gave her little knowledge. He was still an enigma to her and perhaps spending every night in two different beds was bound to keep him like that but at least for now the princess turned queen didn’t feel like complaining. Giving her hand in marriage to bring on peace was one thing but to give her body to an unknown man was something different. At least he respected that. “I just wanted the fresh air before dinner”, Helena noted once her seemingly innocent stroll across the gardens was invaded. “Was your day productive, Your Highness?”

[betustamorla]

(Updated 01-07) Arkham Batman Beta reader/editor/consultant wanted

Genre: Drama, family, romance, hurt/comfort, action, slight canon divergence (in ages of the characters mainly)

Main characters: Jason and Helena

Pairings: Jason Todd/Helena Wayne (past/future), Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Tim Drake/Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle (past)

Summary: Batman left Gotham to his proteges, no one knows if he is still alive. It's up to them to pick up the pieces, help each other, and sort their lives before big trouble threatens Earth.

Estimated length: 90,000< words.

Progress: 60,000< words.

Plan of finishing the first draft: End of July. First chapter release plan date: 31 of October

First scene sample:

This Arkham Knight was very troublesome, he was as dangerous as Batman, no, he was more dangerous than Batman, he was ready to kill, even eager to. Huntress touched her side, and a stinging pain answered her, but nothing to worry about for now. Her breathing was accelerated, her senses wired thin, her gaze fixed on the man in front of her ready to respond at his slightest movement.

"Move aside." His modified voice seemed to hiss.

"Sorry, but I don't feel like it." Of course, she had to goad him more, as if things weren't hard enough already.

"My business is with the Bat." 

She felt slightly confused at his seeming reluctance to fight her, but she squashed it to the back of her mind until she could be in a safe environment to ruminate. "You're endangering a lot of people with this... business of yours. So no, I won't be moving any time soon." She said flatly.

"That's too bad." It seemed like she had reached the limit of his patience. He lunged again at her. She dodged and threw a kick to his abdomen, he blocked it with his elbow, by instinct she flipped back, it was the right thing for his fist to fly inches from her face.

Still, she knew she wouldn't win this fight, her strength lay in the careful preparation of traps and sigil of her prey, even if she was a good fighter she wasn't, well, Batman. Now that there was some distance between them she started shooting bolts towards his legs, he dodged those easily and shot his grappling gun toward the nearest building and pulled upwards.

"Oh no, you won't!" She quickly changed her bolt to an explosive one and shot to where the grappling gun had hooked. He fell again into the roof they were on, rolling to minimize the impact.

"Now you really pissed me off," He growled and charged towards her.

Again they danced in a mix of punches, kicks, and dodges before he finally gained the upper hand and slammed her against the floor, stars danced in her vision, and his hand wrapped around her neck, cutting her air supply. Helena struggled, but to no avail, as he was at least fifty pounds heavier than her, but she had tricks up her sleeve, in fact, very literally. When pulling her wrist upwards a high voltage discharge would shoot on whoever was the unfortunate recipient of its full power would end up knocked out, which in this case was the Arkham Knight. She wasn't surprised when after receiving the electrical hit, he backed off but did not faint, the armor probably was designed as hers; to withstand the worst of such dangers.

"You have some tricks don't you?" He laughed, and she didn't like the sound of it. "But I think you won't have one for this." He gripped her by the neck again and pulled out a vial, unluckily, Helena wasn't fast enough to move out of his reach. The glass shattered between his fingers, and the contents immediately volatilized and turned into a gas. She didn't have any other option but to breathe at least a little, but guessing what it was, she knew it was more than enough to make its nasty effect kick into work.

She was shoved back, falling into her back, coughing at the acrid taste the fear gas left, her heartbeat quickened when the faint blurred sound of a familiar melody started to ring in her ears followed by a voice she thought she would never hear again.

“Here again my dear Angel?” The honied voice seemed to whisper against her ear, then a chuckle, and there, looming over her was the white-masked figure with amber eyes.

“You’re dead.” She breathed and gritted her teeth.

“Of course. You killed me. Remember?” Then his hand reached for her chin and turned her face towards one side and her heart stopped and seemed to come to the back of her throat at the same time. There in a chair tied with barber wire was Jason.

“Help me!” 

“Stop. Stop. Stop.” 

“Just kill me already.”

“Jason!”

She nearly choked. Get a grip, Helena, this is a hallucination! She felt her suit starting to slow down her increasingly accelerating heart, she knew that the fear gas she had inhaled was but a small dose, and yet it was messing this much with her head even with the Bíos pumping through her system already. This new formula was very, very dangerous, the whispers of Jason still lingered in the background, sometimes interrupted by the explosion that was imprinted like a hot iron in her body and mind. 

Then she felt the burning sensation of electrical currents run through her body to counter the other poison in her veins, the burning sensation of it made her gasp. But now she was able to take a coherent look at her opponent, he hadn't taken this opening to attack her, to end her, making her believe again that he didn't want to kill her. He was just standing there, looking at her. The knight was tense as if waiting for something, she was completely clueless at what it could be but she would use this to her advantage.

~•~•~•~

Jason watched as the gas kicked into action and she crawled away, then her breath hitched and she shook her head. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear, she clapped her hands to her ears and closed her eyes, it would be so easy to kill her now… To put the broken body of his daughter in front of him, would break him like nothing else, he was sure. But he couldn't even bring himself to lift his gun and point at her, he didn't want to kill her, she had been- What?

It didn't matter, he had better things to do. He turned and started to walk away when he heard her breath his name.

“Jason!”

He clenched his fists, they had abandoned him to that fucking clown, they had replaced him and she had left, forgotten completely about him. But something was pulling in him to go and shake her, to tell her he was right here, that he wasn't a damned nightmarish apparition. He took in a shaky breath and cocked his head to one side, stretching his neck; an anxious tick he had developed. That was enough to strengthen his resolve to keep going on, she was just a part of his past that would disappear along the Bat. Bringing her to Scarecrow and making Bruce see his only daughter be tortured by her worst fears would be even worse than death for him.

Jason turned to her again, she was silent now but her respiration was agitated, she was very still, which was odd for someone with fear gas in their system. He walked closer, pulling his gun out. Maybe he should just blow her head up and throw her dead body in front of her father. The echoing of laughter surged in the back of his mind and the scar on his face burned like the same day the hot iron had sizzled against his skin.

The illusion broke when Helena launched herself at him, he was so unprepared that he tripped and fell on his back with her on top of him.

“Don't you ever dare to do something like that again asshole!” She hissed and punched his helmet hard enough to make his vision rattle a little. How she had fought off the effects of the gas he had no idea nor was interested to know right now, he curled his arms and then threw her off him. She rolled like a fucking cat and pulled her whip out.

“Oh fuck.” He muttered as he rolled out of the way of the crackling weapon. Maybe she was tougher to get than he had originally believed, at least she was more so than his replacement. Jason knew that whip wasn't just any normal leather thing, it seemed to be made of some metallic alignment, as if on queue the whip came down again, he dodged again though not fast enough as it graced his armor over his shoulder and the fucking plate had been sliced a piece off. Fuck, if that thing could slice off part of his armor it probably could slice his arm off as well, no wonder she hadn't used it until now. The no-killing rule was just as strictly embedded in her as her father. That thought made his anger burst.

Why? Why did they refuse to do what was needed to protect? To save people from fuckers like the Joker? If only Batman had killed the Joker the first chance he got he wouldn't had-!

He snapped and lunged at her quick enough to avoid the arch of the crackling shit and barrelled into her, she flew back at least a couple of meters landing painfully on her back. Disoriented enough to become too slow to react in time to make space between them to gain the advantage of her weapons, which were long-ranged tools, up close Jason was completely in control. He took full advantage of it, he punched her in the gut making her double over even with the armor mitigating some of the power from the hit, he didn’t pause, consumed by the red haze that felt so good to let loose. He pulled her head down to connect with his rising knee, she probably would have passed out if not for the face-guard over her forehead and eyes, Jason hit her back with his elbow making her go down. 

She was wheezing for air.

“Is it hard to breathe? Don’t you feel like you’re drowning? Like some cold hand is closing around you and pulling every last bit of life in you?” He remembered how it felt, to be hit over and over again until you couldn’t even seem to make your lungs work.

She coughed and choked- No, she was laughing. She was laughing.

Had she gone mad?

“It’s not so bad, you know.” She gasped and spat at his feet.

All the burning anger seemed to die out, leaving an empty cold feeling. His arm seemed to move on its own, grasping her by the nape of her neck, he started to lift her and she struggled uselessly as she still was too winded to gather her strength or wits. They were at the edge of the ten-story department building, it was at least a 30-meter drop from there to the cold concrete below. Time seemed to freeze, he took in her smaller frame, she seemed so small and frail compared to him, she always had…

Jason! Will you wait for me?

Then he pushed her, the back of her legs hit the small barrier of the edge and then she was gone. He stood there a moment then he heard the sound of crashing metal meters underneath. His heart felt like it stopped for a second.

~•~•~•~

DM if interested/curious or repost/share if you think someone else might.

:)

Check some of my previous works

[milla-frenchy]

And all that could have been

1k4 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: the memories of you don’t leave Javi, reminding him of his past mistakes

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, piv, creampie, mentions of SA (not by Javi), no age specified. Pics for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. Writer chose not to use all warnings

a/n: this is for @janaispunk 1500 kisses challenge 🥳 Prompt was "last kiss/Javi p"

Thank you @toxicanonymity for the spanish translation 🖤 @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 @morallyinept for your amazing Javi character database and dialogue 🌻 @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

The title and some sentences said by Javi are from And all that could have been by Nine inch nails

Javi was at his apartment with Helena. She was a hooker and one of his informers, but she meant more than that. He cared about her, and they saw each other regularly at his place.

“¿Qué harás este fin de semana?” (what are you doing this weekend?), he asked her.

“Iré a Medellín” (I’m going to Medellin)

“Bueno, tendré que buscarme otra” (I guess I’ll have to find another girl)

“Buena suerte con eso. Todas nos vamos a Medellín” (good luck with that. We’re all going to Medellin)

His heart sank and worry crept into him. Sensing a very familiar feeling, which had never left him since last year.

“¿Helena? ¿De quién es esta fiesta?” (whose party is it?)

Anxiety took over him, past events playing over and over in his head. Haunting him. And he thought about what happened a year ago. What happened to you.

You didn't plan for any of that. Neither Javi nor you did.

At first, he was a client almost like the others, except that he worked for the DEA, and bit by bit he asked you for information on the sicarios. He always treated you right, never made you feel uncomfortable. You had other clients and you weren’t the only hooker he used to fuck.

You got to know him and trust him as the weeks passed, as he also seemed to, until you realized that he was no longer fucking anyone but you. You used to see him in his apartment more and more often, and less and less at the brothel. When his cock was buried in your core and his eyes looked with yours, his gaze was different. Soft and caring.

One night at his place he lit a cigarette and was smoking it by the window. Looking thoughtfully at the city lights as you were lying in bed, naked, admiring all of him. The muscles of his back, his shoulders, his tanned skin.

When he sat on the bed, his thigh against yours, his hand caressed your stomach which was gradually returning to normal breathing. 

“¿Por qué no paras?” (Why don’t you stop?), he asked.

It wasn't exactly jealousy or possessiveness, more of a concern. You both knew what that implied. You had always been careful not to talk about those feelings you both felt. Scared that it would complicate everything.

He used to try to make you stay at his apartment longer and longer, but of course you always had to return to the brothel. To make some money. To have sex with the men you hated and who disgusted you. Trying to make it bearable you were thinking of something else. You were thinking of Javi.

“Renuncia a tu trabajo” (quit your job),” he finally asked one day.

“No puedo, Javi” (I can’t, Javi)

The more weeks and months with Javi passed, the less you could bear to go back to the brothel. But what other choices did you have? Tears threatened to roll down your cheeks and you batted your eyelashes to try to hold them back.

“You could stay here, with me. You don’t need to go back.”

“You know I can’t. They would find me, and God knows what they would do to me.”

“I’ll protect you. You know I would never let anything happen to you.”

You hugged him as the tears fell, unable to hold them back any longer. You wanted to quit your job and stay with him, but it was impossible. They made sure to let you know what happened to the girls who tried to leave.

“Necesito sentirte dentro. Porfa, Javi.” (I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Please.)

He caressed your cheek and wiped your tears like only he knew how to do. He kissed you with his warm, luscious, caring lips. Soft and delicate. When he lay between your legs you wrapped them around his waist to feel him deeper. His nose brushed against yours, and he kissed your forehead. Your hips were leading a perfect slow dance. He rubbed himself against you in the way he was sure would make you cum. His eyes fixed on yours. The eyes of a man in love, and you started to cry again.

“Don’t cry, hermosa (beautiful). I’ll take care of you and you’ll never have to go back there. Do you trust me?”

You trusted him. With all your heart. You wiped your tears and took his cheeks in your hands.

“I do, Javi.”

He leaned towards you and kissed you, until you came on his shaft, your pussy squeezing him perfectly and making him moan, and you felt his jolts at each rope of cum, painting your walls.

You didn't go back, he took you to a safe house. He exfiltrated you.

And for several days, you only saw Javi.

That evening you laughed and the atmosphere was as light as a summer breeze. You looked at each other smiling like teenagers, and he kissed your hands. Then he held you tight against him. You felt safe and free.

Later that night, as your hips rolled while riding him, you leaned into him and said, “dame un beso” (give me a kiss).

He caressed your cheek as your hands ran through his hair and you kissed. You needed to feel him more. Deeper. You moved away from him and got on all fours, looking over your shoulder as his hands caressed your hips. He slipped into you, in one slow, deep thrust. No one had ever brushed your walls the way he did. Without brutality, without clumsiness, without impatience, without hurting you. Just in a perfect way, like he always knew what to do. Stroking your clit when you needed it, until you came on his cock. His torso enveloped your back and he kissed your skin, before quickly thrusting in to claim you, grunting. 

You just knew that you belonged to each other, in the healthiest, most beautiful way.

In the early morning, he kissed your forehead and lightly stroked your cheek to not wake you up, and left for the office.

In the afternoon, you heard a knock on the door, and thought Javi had forgotten his keys. Your hand grabbed the handle of the white door and you opened it without taking the time to think.

It wasn't Javi.

In the late afternoon, his colleagues told him that a hooker had been killed by sicarios. His heart sank and he almost puked, as if his gut instinctively knew who he would find there. When they lifted the sheet, he fell to his knees on the ground.

Your mutilated and bruised body lying on its back left no doubt about what you had suffered. What they had done to you.

He went back to his apartment and drank until he couldn't remember his name.

A few days later, he visited your grave and placed white flowers on it.

He thought about how he had kissed your forehead that morning. Not knowing that it would have been the last kiss he had ever given you.

“In my nothing, you meant everything to me”, he murmured.

When the memories finally faded, he realized Helena had already left his apartment.

During the following days he had been organizing surveillance in Medellin, with Carillo and Steve. Taking photos, watching the Sicarios arriving one by one at the hotel.

Hours passed without news of Helena, and worry tightened his heart. He couldn't relive that. He was consumed with anxiety.

When he finally found her, he shot the man who was abusing her. Rushed to cover her bruised body. He failed once again, even though he arrived in time for Helena, he wasn’t able to prevent what had happened to her. 

He thought of you, not a day he had not. He thought of all that could have been.

When he visited your grave, and saw that only his last faded bouquet was there, he couldn't hold back his tears.

“I can still feel you, even so far away” he breathed. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry…”

And he chose to let his anger consume him, rather than letting the tears flow. On his knees in the cemetery, he screamed. He was clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were white.

He would dedicate his life to bringing them all down. Even if it meant falling with them. But one thing was sure: Gacha would fall before him.

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[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

eye for an eye

pairing: leon x reader

cw: noncon, angst, p in v, degradation, victim blaming, mentions of past noncon, light allusions to possible csa, leon is both the abuser and the abused (same w/reader)

summary: after experiencing SA as leon's subordinate at the DSO, you decide to get "justice" by giving him a taste of his own medicine

a/n: if noncon is a trigger for you, do not read! not putting noncon in the tags bc i fear it will get filtered out of other tags, so please note the warnings above!

wc: 1.8k

thank you to @d10nyx for beta reading <3

Leon has you bent over his desk, hands sliding under your skirt, snarling filth into your ear. You’ve learned to bite the bullet and take it. Breathe – in… out… in… out… – it will end, like all pain. You keep ice packs in a cooler in your car, you still end up sore whether or not you choose to put up a fight. You eat your sandwich in the passenger seat with your feet on the dash. You do not cry anymore. You grab the sweatshirt from the backseat, scream into it once and walk back in. The routine works well for quite some time.

It’s worse when there aren’t any other women in the office, or at least, women of Leon’s status who would be able to report him. He’ll fuck you against your will in the privacy of his office, but not outside those four blank fucking walls – you’ve memorized the way the paint chips – if he thinks he’ll get caught. The sick bastard still cares about getting in trouble.

If there’s no Hunnigan, Sherry, or Helena in sight, Leon follows you into the women’s room. You’ve thought about pissing in the men’s room instead – you’d be more likely to have a witness if Leon dared to touch you there. You’ve thought about pissing in his fucking trashcan just out of spite, but he’d probably like that because he’s pure 100% pervert.

He pushes you up against the bathroom sink so hard the automatic hand dryer goes off. Once, he kept his hand under it the whole time to make sure no one heard the sounds of your struggle. You don’t struggle today. You don’t comply either, you just stand there limp, the only muscles that work are the ones that crinkle in disgust – you have to watch yourself in the mirror as he fucks you. You don’t cry for your own sake. You watch the lines in the corners of your eyes. They haven’t changed. Your pupils do, they’re emptier now, black voids. Eyes are not the windows to the soul, at least not to yours. You painted those windows shut. Not Leon’s either, you doubt he has a soul.

His hands wrap around the column of your neck as he jackhammers his cock inside you. The tip doesn’t kiss your cervix, it fucking punches it. Your IUD – you got it earlier that year in case Leon ever “forgets” to pull out – pokes the head of his dick and you have to stifle a laugh as he winces. Fuck you. Fuck you for fucking me. He buries the pain and shoves himself deeper, hits the little string again and a drip of blood falls from your uterus. Whatever. It does that once a month. Funny, he can’t hurt you as much as your own body can. Well, he could, but he hasn’t tried yet. He could kill you. You consider that fact all too often – what you’d be willing to do for him if he held you at gunpoint.

When he’s done, he hands you a wad of toilet paper to wipe his cum off your ass. He thinks its a courtesy. He leaves the bathroom before you do. Aftercare, for you, means five minutes of peace and quiet. He can’t get his dick back up immediately, he won’t come back and fuck you again, not yet. Aftercare means relief. Deep breath.

You allocate two to three minutes for crying. Your waterproof mascara is worth the twenty five dollars you paid. You cover your mouth with your hand and sob. You check the clock on the phone, times up. Look in the mirror, pull yourself together. You mouth the last three words to your own reflection. You have sympathy for the woman who stares back at you, but it’s tough love now. Nothing about you is soft anymore. You made the mistake of being kindhearted. It’s what led you here.

The next couple of minutes are peace. The post-tears state is orgasmic, truly. You feel sleepy, a tired smile graces your face. You capture it and keep it in a bottle for safe keeping. You run your fingers through your hair, wipe up any smudged makeup and return to business as usual.

You come to find that your indifference to his actions bothers Leon tremendously. It feels like you’re winning. You don’t like what he does to you. If you liked it, he could call you a whore and embarrass you. You don’t struggle, and force him to hold you down, a situation wherein he wins. You remain as silent and still as possible and it pisses him off to no end.

His only victory comes when you refuse to meet his eyes when you come into his office looking for something to do. He can see how he’s broken you down. He’s winning.

You find a solution. It’s sadistic, it’s sick, it’s morally reprehensible- illegal, too. But the other things you tried never worked. HR? No, Leon told them you lied. Putting up a fight? He’s stronger than you. Trying to get yourself to enjoy it? It’s something you can’t force. You looked up “how to induce Stockholm syndrome” and couldn’t find anything.

It’s an eye for an eye, baby.

Leon’s an idiot for getting wasted in front of you. You already have the upper hand, especially since he slurs out pathetic apologies while he throws himself a pity party.

“I’m sorry. You must hate me,” he says, “I’m a terrible person.”

“Yes, you are.”

You take him by the collar of his shirt and force him onto his living room couch. You rip his shirt off, making sure the buttons pop off to inconvenience him later.

Fuck your nice shirt. I hate you. I hate the way you look in it. I hate seeing you behind me in the mirror of the bathroom with the top button undone.

At first, he seems to enjoy it. Until you bite his neck too hard and his eyes well with tears. You overheard him telling someone once that he hates the feeling of anything touching his neck, so you make sure to choke him a bit while you do this. You don’t physically injure him ‘cause you’ve still got at least half a heart left.

You tear his pants down and shove his dick inside you. He likes it. You hold his wrists down and spit in his face. You can’t tell if he likes that or not.

Something in his face changes when you reach around to grab his ass. You haven’t fully committed, even mentally, to the act – it’s more of a scare tactic.

“You look fucking pathetic. At least take it like a man.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fucking you, dumbass. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not like this…”

“You don’t get to choose,” you say with a wicked grin, “you remember when you told me that?”

He doesn’t respond. He winces when he feels your finger enter him.

“Look at what you’ve made me into,” you whisper.

His lip quivers. “I’m raping you Leon, and you like it. I can feel you inside me.”

You promptly remove him from your hole. You scrutinize his dick. You could tell him it’s small, but it almost hurts more to not hear you say anything at all. Your sigh hurts worse. Pity.

You stroke him, lazily, pretending to be indifferent to the existence of his dick, when in reality, you find it repulsive. It’s the weapon he uses to penetrate you. You think about taking a knife to it, but you’re afraid. Of so many things.

You watch as his tip leaks. “You gonna cum?” you ask, sounding excited.

“Uh-huh,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s enjoying it. He fucks up into your fist. He’s almost there. You’ve memorized the sounds he makes when he cums, you’ve studied him.

You retract your hand. He looks like he’s going to cry. You laugh, really laugh.

“You think I’d let you cum?”

He looks genuinely surprised.

“You don’t even deserve to see me cum.” You pause, then add, “Not that I could. Not with you.” You frown at him, making sure it looks genuine.

“Feel free to take care of it yourself, but I’m going to leave now.”

“I’ll-” you know he wants to say he’ll call the cops, he’ll tattle on you, whatever.

You walk back over to him, stare him in the face, and echo his words, “No one will ever believe you.”

You turn around and leave.

Leon doesn’t meet your eyes on Monday. You’ve won.

Only half of Leon wants to do this to you. The half of him that still exists. The vile, horrid, fucked-up part. You remind him of himself and that’s precisely your mistake. You have a certain hope, an innocence he wants to tear away from you. He can’t steal it for himself, but he can force you to empathize with him. A victim, just like him.

When you squirm, he holds you down tighter. “Take it like a man,” he hears it loud and clear, after all this time. You’re not a man, so he tells you to take it like a “good slut” when he forces you down on your knees.

Tears prick in your waterline.

“I bet you like this,” he says, though he doubts it’s true.

Your answer is muffled by his cock down your throat anyhow. Whatever protests you have are null and void.

“You look pretty when you cry,” he says as he smacks you on the cheek with his cock, wet with your spit. Pretty boy, they called him. Shoved up against the lockers, held down on the turf, gun to his head once.

For the first time, he’s the one in charge.

“Please, stop,” you cried the first time. You stood between Leon and his desk.

“You don’t get to choose,” he said because he’s the boss, and despite how fucked up reality is, you don’t get to choose. You wouldn’t have chosen this.

Leon chose you on purpose. You looked like the type of girl he could break in. The dress you wore to the interview reminded him of one his mother use to wear when he was little, and she was young and pretty, and alive. He didn’t make that connection until later.

When you come to his house that night, he’s sorry, really. The part of him that he lost all those years ago lives at the bottom of the bottle. He, idiotically, takes you fucking him as a sign of forgiveness. Until your hands are around his throat and your finger is in his ass. When you’re rough, it’s boot camp, but when you’re tender it’s his mother sitting atop him. Your hand is soft like hers and he can’t decide if he likes it.

It’s easier to think about her when you touch him like that because at least he can pretend she loved him. In her own fucked-up way. He knows all those guys back in the barracks didn’t think of him as more than two holes plus a dick. And you, you fucking hate him and he can’t ignore that anymore.

He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore you entirely. He doesn’t lock eyes with you on Monday. He eats lunch in his car. Alone. Just like you.