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batsythoughts · 8 months ago

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I know nobody probably wants this, but I had this spiral of thoughts while at work today and had to share. What if the Joker had a child that no one had known about?

Not like a teenager that had been under his care for years and mentally crazy like the Joker, but like a knee-high, wide eyed, 'have uppies?' toddler.

Like, imagine that Batman had busted a part of Joker's operations and was talking with the officers

He realized it was only a couple hours until sunrise and had to go and get some rest for a big meeting he had with his lawyers

The last thing he said was to round up every person in the building and put them all in a secure cell in the Asylum

Immediately after Batman leaves, one of the officers finds this small child in a room with multiple screens playing different escapades that the Joker had performed over the years

Poor kid was strapped to a chair and sobbing when the officer frantically undid the ropes and got the kid out of that room

Everyone was confused about what they should potentially do with this kid who looked like a miniature clown

Without many options, the kid gets sent to the Asylum with all the Joker's henchmen who are equally as confused about who the hell this kid was

The Warden is fucking livid because what the FUCK is a kid doing here, but it was the safest place to be while everyone tried to figure out if the child was stable to be around the nonvillainous population

Most of the detainees are confused, but none of them speak out of turn to them

In fact, the kid becomes the reason most of them behave to a degree

It is still a prison after all with rules and there were no exceptions even with a child

Some of the inmates would get into small altercations during meal times to keep the guards distracted while the cooks would sneak small bits of food to other inmates so they could give the kid a snack later in the day

Sure it could cost them their job, but what kind of person would let a child go hungry throughout the day?

Anyways, a couple weeks go by and most crime had gone down during the night. No attempted escapes or extravagant overtakings of any kind from almost any villain

Bruce and the boys are very confused by the sudden change, but silently welcome the relaxed pace that is happening

Alfred was taking the day to get groceries for the Manor with Jason being dragged along for some 'social interaction'

Mostly so Alfred had someone else to push the shopping cart and Tim and Damian refused to go to the store, but that's besides the point

Alfred was looking between two different brownie mixes when two women walk by

They talked about how the guards are bordering on taking their job too serious with the one inmate they had

Alfred began to tune them out as he began to put one of the mixes in the cart when he suddenly froze in place

"I mean, the kid's been through enough already. How many 4-year-olds do you know that have semipermanent white paint on their whole body with dyed purple hair?"

Alfred's hand remained suspended in air as the women slowly walked past them. His mind flashed back to a few years ago when he remembered Bruce telling him about Harley suddenly stopped coming to any scheme the Joker had for over half a year. And then she came back slightly more manic than she was previously for a few month after

Jason, who had been spaced out, glanced at Alfred and thought the older man was having a stroke. He had never seen the butler so still in all the time that they had known one another. Jason swears he can't even see him breath for a good 12 seconds

Alfred quickly puts the baking mix on the shelf, not even looking to make sure it was in the right spot. Jason felt his blood run cold at that sight alone as the bulter walked off and grabbed Jason's collar

The cart partially full of groceries was forgotten as Alfred went to the children's section and picked up a box with a toddler's car seat in it. Went to the register and paying before going to the car and expertly putting car seat in the middle backseat

Jason felt extremely confused as he watched the whole scene before he hesitantly decided to ask, "What do we need a carseat for? We don't have a kid that needs one."

Alfred broke down the empty box and put it in the trunk before going to open the passenger door for Jason. Walking over to the driver's side and calmly getting in. "Not yet."

Cue Jason terrified for his life as Alfred speeds through the streets because DEAR GOD THE SPEED LIMIT IS 55 NOT 82!

Jason pulls out his phone to record the whole thing before it was over because no one would believe this if he didn'thave proof. Barely registering that he had accidentally started a live stream on one of the Wayne Enterprise's accounts Tim had connected him to at some point

Alfred only slams on the breaks when he gets to the gates of Arkham Asylum. Glaring down the guard who tries to yell at him before coldly stating, "I'm here for the child."

The guard begins protesting that it's a restricted area, but Alfred stared him down with a glare that Jason had only seen a handful of times in his life when one of the boys had fucked up bad

The guard keeps telling them to turn around and Alfred reached under the dash and when the FUCK did he hide a GUN under there?!

"The child. Now." The guard opened the gate and Alfred pulled in before putting the gun away and shutting the car off

Jason considers staying in the car as Alfred gets out and begins marching to the door. But God, he didn't want to explain to Bruce that he didn't even fully know why Alfred conned his way into a high security prison

The two of them walk through the corridors to an unknown destination. Jason looking both confused and terrified while flipping the camera between him and Alfred until they make it to the cafeteria

All the inmates look over at the two of them as they walk in, Alfred looking over the crowd before spotting the spot of purple in the sea of orange jumpsuits

He walks with over to Poison Ivy who was carrying the little one around before holding out his hands. Ivy looks at him for a moment before giving a small nod in understanding and letting him take the child

"Take good care of them or I will come for you, old man." Ivy warns him before giving a small wave to the child. "Have a good time sweetie."

"Bye bye, Aunt Ivy." Alfred began to walk back to Jason. Glaring softly as the guards try to block his path

Half of them are on the ground in just a few seconds as most of the inmates start a fight with the guards. Each of them waving bye as Alfred walks back to Jason and to the car

By looks alone, Jason could tell exactly who's kid this was. Who wouldn't be able to when they looked just like a fucking child circus star

Jason stares in confusion as Alred gently puts the child in the car seat and buckles them in. Patting their head before telling Jason to get in the back

He's too scared to argue so he gets in behind the passenger seat as Alfred opens the door to get in but stops when the Warden comes marching over

Leaving the door open, Alfred calmly walks over the the man while getting yelled at that he can't just take a prisoner simply because he wants to

Jason flips the camera to show Alfred calmly taking in the yells of the Warden

The moment he tried to walk past the butler to get to the car, Alfred backhanded him so hard the Warden fell to the ground

Jason stared in shock as Alfred got in the car and began driving back towards the City

Jason looks at the child who stares back at him with the same intensity until they looked out the window and pointing. "Where going?"

"To get you some food and new clothes." Alfred speaks plainly as he got to a drive thru. Quickly ordering a kids meal and handing it back the moment it was ready.

Jason watched as the child began eating the moment the food was in their lap. Occasionally offering him a piece which he always denied so the kid ate the much needed nutrients

Alfred drove into the parking lot of a children's clothing store before getting out and carrying the child in with Jason following close behind

Alfred takes the kid through the aisles to pick out some clothes that they would want to wear

Jason chuckling at the sight of Alfred holding different shirts up to see if they would fit because they look so happy to get to pick out one with a derpy looking cat on it

After getting some outfits, they all walk to the checkout. Waiting in line for a moment before Alfred feels a small tug on his arm

Looking down, he sees the child pointing at something. Moving his gaze, he takes notice of a small stand with small Batman plushies on it

Jason holds back a laugh as he points the camera over the stand before looking at the child again. "You like Batman, huh?"

The both got an eager nod as curious eyes look back at Alfred, waiting for an answer. With a small smile, he grabbed one and put it on the counter to be paid for first. The moment it was scanned, it was handed down to the excited hands of its new owner

The kid gives an excited giggle as they held the toy over their head that the cashier couldn't help but smile as well

After everything was paid for, Alfred makes sure the child gets changed out of the prison uniform. He made a mental note to have Bruce investigate on why they even were given one in the first place

Getting back in the car, Alfred drives them back to the grocery store to restart the whole shopping trip with the intention for getting extra snacks for the family's new guest

With the child buckled into the child carrier in the cart, Jason began pushing the cart while following Alfred around the store once again

He tried holding the phone in his own hand, but gave up as little hands keep curiously grabbing at it to see the screen with wide eyes

He smiles as he watches the child make multiple different faces to the camera, a small fit of laughter sounding each time they look back up at Jason

He can help but wonder how such a calm and happy child (calm and happy compared to the teens Bruce took in) could be the offspring of the very man who made his life a living hell

They make it halfway through the store a confused voice called out to the men

Dick had just been grabbing a few snack items for himself to have for his weekend off

The last thing he expected to see was Jason hauling around a child while Alfred finished putting multiple different juice boxes from the shelf into the cart

He walked over with a bag of chips and frozen mini pizzas as he wore a confused frown while looking between the three of them

Jason wore a smirk as he leaned on the handle. Alfred gave him a small nod before he pulled out the shopping list to see what else was needed

The child look at him with a small head tilt. Blinking up at him before holding up the plush toy with a cheerful "Batsy!"

Dick has to bite his lip to hold back is laughter from the single action alone, because how ironic is it that this kid adores Batman specifically

Alfred begins to walk towards the pharmacy area, intending to get some hygiene supplies for the child

Dick begin following behind Jason as they follow behind. Dick leaning over to Jason and asking what the hell is going and why is there now a toddler

Before Jason can say anything, an excited fit of laughter sounds as a small hand points to something once again

It's the electronic area in the store, so maybe it's a movie that's caught the attention of the child

Jason and Dick look over and both of them stare in shock as they see a wall of TVs playing a live feed from a local news station. A group of news anchors smiling as they stare at a screen that was also playing onscreen

What makes the two of them most nervous is the half of the screen that was currently showing a smiling face with purple hair staring down at the camera once again

Jason frantically grabs his phone as he begins to try and figure out how to turn the video off as Dick frantically raises his voice because how did you not realize you were live filming and WHY IS THERE 3.2 BILLION PEOPLE WATCHING THIS!?

Jason finally turns the video off and the TV cuts the video almost immediately which causes half the reporters to boo

Let both let out a breath of relief as the feed cuts out, watching the screen to see how bad the damage was

To their surprise, the headline on screen read 'Happy Little Addition to Wayne Family?'

They both look confused as they hear one reporter talks about how the internet is enamored by this unexpected new appearance in the Wayne family. Grinning as they mention the people who watched the video decided to nickname the kid 'Giggles' because of how happy they were during the whole thing

Jason cursed under his breath as he realized he might have screwed up big time with Bruce because of the whole thing. He didn't get much time to think about it before Alfred came back and pulled the cart along with him

Dick shook his head with a stupid grin on his face as he looked at Jason "Bruce is going to have stroke when he finds out about this."

Which Bruce practically did. He was in a budgeted meeting for the new quarter for the company, so he didn't even have a clue about the whole livestream

He had just got out of the meeting when his assistant came up with a concerned expression. Hastily trying to tell him some news that he really needs to hear

Bruce rubs his temples as he calmly asks if he could get five minutes of quiet in his office before hearing any form of news

His assistant followed after him while trying to explain that it was really important that he sees this now

With a deep sigh, Bruce reluctantly took the tablet into his hand to stare at whatever statistic was on the screen

What he wasn't expecting to see was small clips of video with Alfred holding up different clothes and Jason sitting in the backseat as a kid offers him a french fry

The only reaction from Bruce was a deep sighas he handed the tablet back before saying he was leaving for the day

He was thankful that no paparazzi had come around to get any pictures as he was getting to his car

Damian and Tim had been in the living room when they had gotten back to the manor. Neither of them knowing about the livestream because why would they watch it if Bruce would just sum it up to the others later that night

Alfred came in with the sleeping child in his arms and walked over to the couch Tim was on. Placing them down on his lap before walking away to get the groceries put away

Both of the younger boys are confused as they watch this little clown lean further into Tim while holding a small toy in a death cuddle

After a few minutes, Dick and Jason both come walking in as Jason takes the remote from beside Damian and flips through the channels

Dick sits near Tim as he opens the bag of chips he got as he stares at the child with a confused expression

Everyone looks at Jason for a moment before Tim asks, "Where did you get the kid from?"

Jason settles on a small comedy movie as he gives a small shrug "Alfred picked the kid up from the Asylum. He pulled a gun he keeps under the dash on one of the guards."

Tim and Dick let out small noises of disbelief at the explanation while Damian wondered which gun Jason was meaning. Alfred had both a pistol and revolver in the car that he was aware of

The child slowly began to stir with a small whine as they opened their eyes. Glancing around to see the new environment they had found themselves in

Moving to their own spot on the couch while looking at the movie with confused and sleepy eyes

Damian stared down the child for a while before actually making eye contact

The both stared at one another for a moment before Damian finally spoke up "So the clown had an accident that he didn't want."

"Damian!" Dick begins to scold the boy as he sat up straight. His voice falling short when a little head rests on his chest as frantic cries fill the room

It's hard for them to understand the what was being said between the sobs, but Dick was able to get out was 'don't wanna go back'

Dick holds the child close while trying his hardest to make the crying stop

Everyone feels uncomfortable as the child holds the Batman toy tighter while hiccuping out something along the lines of 'no fight Batsy'

Dear lord, did they underestimate how traumatized this toddler was compared to the rest of them at such a young age

Tim picks up his phone to try and find a video or something that might try and calm down the whole situation

That's when he gets a notification about some video about someone named Giggles?

He clicks on it, thinking it would be able to a couple laughs

The moment it loads, he looks between Jason and the kid because why are they in a video on his phone right now

Apparently, people had made highlight reels of the live stream and were sharing them online. The one Tim had clicked on was designed like one of those joke style ones with the funny little background music

He was about to change it when he saw the kid lift their head up with a confused look as they stare at the phone in his hand

Tim quickly connects his phone to the TV so the video was now on screen

Tears were quickly gone as small laughs soon began to fill the living room

All the boys felt relieved as they watched along with the video. Laughing softly at a few parts that showed up in the video

All of them let out shocked noises when they all watched Alfred bitch slap the Warden like he was a fly

None of them noticed when the door opened when Bruce got home. He immediately went to the kitchen where Alfred was making a few sandwiches

Walking up to the counter, Bruce looked at Alfred while asking him why the internet is showing he basically broke a convict out of prison

Cutting the crust off the sandwiches, Alfred countered that without an actual crime being committed by the person, it wasn't breaking a convict out

Bruce was utterly unimpressed as he crossed his arms saying they had to go back to the asylum where they were placed by the police

Alfred puts the last sandwich on the plate before looking directly into Bruce's eyes

"Alright."

Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion. There was no way it was going to be that easy for Alfred to agree

"You have to break the news of taking the child back though."

There it was

Bruce held his gaze as he raised a brow. He could easily find a way to explain the whole situation and why it would be best-

The tugging on his suit jacket pulled Bruce out of his thoughts. Looking down, he saw a curious face looking back at him

"I have juice, please?"

Bruce had not expected someone who barely even reached his knee to be the child in question. He was thinking maybe it was a teenager who was on the younger looking side of the spectrum

He really needed to talk to his assistant about showing him more detailed photos next time

Bruce looked back at Alfred, who simply raised a brow in response

Cue the whole Batfam on or around the couch while watching a movie. Bruce sending messages to his assistant to remind him to schedule different doctors appointments with little Giggles cuddled up on his lap

No one knew the kids actual name so they were just going with it because it made the kid happy to be called that

Dick was on the end as he quickly took a selfie with Bruce patting Giggles' head as they showed him the stuffed Batman while drinking from a juice box. The others in various lounging positions close by while eating the sandwiches Alfred provided

He put it on his story with the caption 'Bruce is putting this kid in his will right now, I swear'

The peaceful atmosphere was broken when Alfred came walking in with Commissioner Gordon walking in with a deep frown

He looked at Bruce as he explained that Giggles had to go back to the asylum due to the safety of the city

All the boys stared at him with looks of disinterest as they silently dared him to try

Gordon let out a sigh as he explained that Giggles was placed in the care of the city after the bust had happened, so technically the Wayne's would potentially face kidnapping charges if they didn't give the kid to him

Alfred cleared his throat as he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Gordan

He looked it over for a moment before taking in a deep breath while rubbing his temple

He handed the paper back as he mumbles that he doesn't get paid enough. He begins walking away with a small wave goodbye as he quickly leaves the manor

Bruce looks at Alfred as he asks what the paper was. It gets handed to him as a confused look crosses Bruce's face because when the hell did he sign adoption papers

Alfred explains he had messaged Bruce's lawyer earlier hand had it drawn up that afternoon. The signature was easy to get because he had a stamp for emergency reasons

Dick can't help himself as he takes another picture for the scene and posts it on the Bruce's personal account with the caption 'He adopted the kid and didn't even know it'

Dick and Jason laugh to one another as they whisper to themselves about how Giggles is going to loose it when they find out who Batman really was

#batman #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam x reader #batfam imagine

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johnwickb1tsch · 7 months ago

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 31 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

Maybe it’s silly, but you feel as though you have a new lease on life, in the days that follow.

John is still undeniably clingy, but so very sweet. It is a much easier form of obsession to bear.

You are still a prisoner, but at least you feel loved.

Perhaps even more precious, you begin to feel safe.

Whatever possessive madness gripped him before seems to have receded for now, and maybe you’re a fool, but you dare hope in time he might make a full recovery.

Now that you’ve reached a sort of understanding, John seems bent on making up for lost time. There is no doubt that you are still his prey, but now he ambushes you with the express intention of making you cum—whether you like it or not.

Again, you find yourself begging him for reprieve, though this time through laughter rather than tears. He swallows your protests with devouring kisses, eating your cries whole as he slides his long fingers inside you and works your clit masterfully with his thumb.

When you complain of your difficulty sitting down, a gift of a hemorrhoids donut pillow appears. You think he meant it as a joke.

John likes to give gifts, you find.

When one day you walk into your studio to find a bejeweled set of headphones bedecked like a crown, you cannot help but grin like an idiot. It is ridiculous what those fucking things cost, and you’d thought you’d been clever about concealing your enchantment with them in Italy, but nothing escapes John Wick’s sharp eye.

When he finds you later wearing your new coronet, singing out of tune while you put paint down on canvas, he presses you into the worktable with his hips and his kisses, going down on his knees before you with a murmur of, “My beautiful queen.” His words make your knees weak, as does his insatiable tongue in your slit. It’s all so much, and when you beg him to take you there on the table he is all too happy to oblige, scattering your pastels in a rainbow of projectiles with a sweep of his arm before driving himself inside you. With legs wrapped around his waist in a desperate effort to hold on, you take the fury of his adoration with a cock-drunk smile.

If you learned anything in the darker times before, it is that this man is a predator to the bone, and no matter what his mood, he loves a good chase. It becomes your favorite game, and it starts one evening when you splash him while doing the dishes. The look of surprise on his face is priceless, and with a screech you run for the stairs.

You only get so far as the living room before he catches you, his arm like a band of iron around your waist hauling you from your feet entirely. It happens too fast to register, but by some form of ninja magic you are suddenly on the floor, the lean length of his body on top of you. On the plush oriental rug with his thick cock inside you, this man makes you see God.

It feels alarmingly, magnificently, terrifyingly, like truly making love.

“Has anyone ever loved you, the way I do?” he demands desperately, filling you impossibly to the brim.

“Never,” you barely manage to answer, the force of his thrust stealing your breath away.

The next question is much more vulnerable.

“Have you ever loved anyone, the way you love me?”

“Never.”

It’s true, and in the softening of his gaze you dare to hope that someday he will believe you enough.

It is surprising, how quickly the time passes. Despite the circumstances, it is not terribly hard to live with John Wick, like this. He is sweet, and loving, and he spoils you rotten. You could almost mistake your relationship for normal—if one didn’t look too hard at the locks on all the doors.

Soon summer is fading, giving way to the golden hours of early fall. You see it out the window, but since your little car ride, you still have not been allowed outside. You’re an outdoorsy girl, and frankly, it’s starting to drive you a little crazy. You find yourself clawing at the impenetrable windows with a sigh.

John’s mood has been steady, but your heart is still in your throat when you dare ask, “John, can we go out?”

He looks up from his book, the fall of his dark hair covering half his face as he cants his head in thought. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but even after all this close proximity, you still find him beautiful. You do not think that will ever change.

“Why?” he finally asks, and you detect the shadow of suspicion in his tone.

“Because I miss it.”

You used to hike every day off you had. Being indoors this long…is doing things to your brain.

You watch as his nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling as he considers this request. You can tell he doesn’t like the thought at all, but you force yourself to stand your ground. He won’t punish you for this, surely? Just for asking?

Of course, he might punish you for what you’ll do later, if the answer is no.

In the end he nods, though more to himself than to you. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it fast? The weather will be turning soon.”

The look he pays you then is less kind, his eyes sharp as glittering obsidian. “I said. I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, assuming the answer is no, and retreat to sulk in your studio. You are painting the view from your favorite outlook on the mountain trail nearby from memory when you start to hear an odd, rhythmic toque…toque sound, over and over.

You go downstairs, searching for the source. No dice in the living room or the kitchen. You follow your ears to the bank of windows off the living room. There’s another door (locked, of course) that leads to a patio. You see John outside…chopping wood? Watching the pine rounds explode under the sharp blade of an axe in his hands shouldn’t be this fascinating, but you find yourself pressed to the window, transfixed. The definition in the muscles of his forearms as he swings down are a sight to behold.

You’re not sure he can see you, the way the glass is mirrored on the outside, but you knock on the widow anyway. He looks up at you with narrowed eyes at first. Then, a small smile. It feels like a little gift, just for you, and it quickens your heart. Watching him do everyday things moves you, and you acknowledge to yourself uneasily for the umpteenth time that you’re in so deep.

As it turns out, the wood was for a little pit fire, which you sit together and watch with a glass of wine that evening out on the patio. The tall trees loom all around you, pitch black outside the ring of your little campfire. It feels so good to be out of the house, but it’s not quite what you wanted. As though he senses that you’re not exactly satisfied with his offering, John tries to distract you with his kisses, laying you down on the outdoor couch to wreck you with his mouth. You make love with your skin bared to the great outdoors, but no one to really see you in your seclusion. Later you snuggle under a soft blanket together.

Sated, you let it go, for now.

-But John doesn’t forget, and one morning he wakes you early with kisses on your ear. “If you want to hike, we have to go now,” he tells you. You have become spoiled in your captivity, no longer at the mercy of coffee house hours, now used to sleeping through the morning after John keeps you up late with his kisses and his beautiful cock, but the offer of getting to really go outdoors has you up and at ‘em in minutes.

You find your old pair of broken-in Merrel hikers in the walk-in closet, and realize John must have accessed your possessions from your previous life at some point. It’s so strange to see them—you realize in the suspended reality of your current situation, you’ve almost written off everything that came before.

There is a distinct mental separation in your personal timeline—BW, and AW; Before Wick, and After Wick.

You have a quick breakfast and coffee before stepping outside, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

You can hardly describe the elation you feel, at last being allowed to walk out that front door like you are almost normal. You are so happy just to feel the morning air on your skin. You stand in the driveway like a simpleton, your face lifted to the sky, soaking in the sun. There is a cool breeze that smells of pine, and it is the sweetest thing you have inhaled in a long time.

John watches your reaction intensely, and you do not think you invent it, when you see a glimmer of guilt in his expressive mocha eyes. Intent on assuring him, you stand on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his bearded chin with your front flush to his.

“Thank you,” you say, and he relaxes slightly against you, resting his forehead against yours.

You are practically skipping as you hit the trail in his woods that connects to the bigger loop. You cannot help but think about that day in the snow, when you met him, alone, on that very path. How easily he could have had you then. It is another clue that tells you he hadn’t decided yet—or he had not yet cracked.

This early, in the middle of the week, it isn’t likely you’ll meet anyone in the woods. You feel a trill of nervousness, as you wonder what would happen if you did. You have been kept to yourself for so long, the thought of contact with other people out in the world feels strange, a little frightening, even.

As you walk an exuberance overtakes you, fills you head to toe. It almost feels like you’re…free. The only contradiction to that is the tall man in black walking by your side. He has let you have free reign, not insisting on holding on to you. He doesn’t have to, you know. He could just run you down with those delectably long legs of his any time he wanted, surely.

That doesn’t mean the thought of it isn’t titillating, even if you absolutely know you would be destined to lose. Perhaps he truly has broken you at last, but you have come to love the game of chase too. It is your most exciting distraction in your world that is limited to the confines of the Wick cabin.

You are going to be sore the next day, you know. It’s been…forever, since you’ve been able to walk like this. The most exercise you’ve really gotten has been engaging in your sexcapades with John—as much of a workout as that is—it’s a different group of muscles.

Perhaps he does not insist on holding you, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching for him. You squeeze John’s hand in thank you.

Despite everything…it feels like a perfect day.

“Maybe this is far enough for today,” he says as you approach the junction with the main trail, the line of his private property and the park that adjoins it.

Disappointment spears through you. You are not ready to go back into your prison. It’s turning into a beautiful day, and you have so much energy to burn.

You make a pouty face, playing cute while you are flirting with rebellion inside.

“But the overlook is so pretty this time of year,” you insist, batting your lashes. Lately, that’s been enough to get your way on little things in the house. Today you feel like you can’t lose. Everything is too good.

He narrows his eyes down at you, as though he senses your internal mutiny, but in all your elation you feel strangely impervious. You realize you feel high, the kind of mood lift usually people have to ingest pills to get.

“Y/n…” He reaches for you, and without thinking you step just out of reach. You’ve played this game a dozen times now in the house. A game you’ve never, to this day, won, but you’ve found it’s the thrill of a lifetime, to be chased down by this man, trusting he won’t really hurt you. It always leads to mind-blowing sex, and maybe you are thinking a bit too much with a lust-addled brain alongside your elation for the great outdoors.

There is a very pregnant moment between you, and you smile when his intense eyes meet yours, your lips curling in what you know is a shit-eating little grin. What happens next is pure reflex; an extension of a thing you’ve done repeatedly together, with a dash of that age-old ingrained instinct of prey in the presence of a predator. But now you’re outside, and your jubilation is magnified times a hundred.

You run.

“Y/n!”

He lunges for you, his fingertips just brushing your arm, but in the end he’s–amazingly–too slow.

You are a human missile, rocketing down the hill, fueled by gravity and the knowledge of how to move in this environment you’ve trained for since you were just a child. You may as well be a wood sprite, for this is your element. This is your mountain, and no matter how many wealthy interlopers buy it up and carve it into parcels and drive up the price of everything so that locals like you can barely live—this will always be your home.

It feels so good to run.

Your feet fly over the needle-strewn forest floor, jumping over rocks and dodging trees. You laugh like a madwoman, the sweet sweet mountain air filling your lungs. You run like a wild thing of the woods, the way you used to when you were a child, before your parents decided to break the oath they'd made to each other and split your happy world to pieces. While your parents fought you would flee to the trees to be free, and you feel that desperate euphoria again. That feeling like you can fly, jumping over rocks and launching from boulders.

You sense more than hear John behind you, your own ears filled with the rushing of your blood and your racing heartbeat. His fingertips brush your back before you juke him around a tree. You hear him curse and you laugh—you do sound mad.

“Have to do better than that, old man!” you crow.

You realize with another rush that you are far more agile than John is. The trees are your friend, the way you dart around them and power yourself down a new line of retreat. You hear him curse after grazing one, and you realize you might break the poor man’s neck, making him pursue you like this.

In a pine-needle carpeted clearing you make yourself slow down, and you are so high on adrenaline it doesn’t even hurt when he finally tackles you to the ground, your grin like a baring of teeth, giddy from the chase. He pins your hands above your head, sharp pebbles digging into your skin as you laugh.

“What the fuck—” You interrupt him mid tirade with your mouth on his, a hungry kiss that swallows his fury, but does not quench it. Already anticipating the passion of your (and his) reward with his delicious weight pressed down into you, your legs are wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

“You think you’re cute?” he snarls above you when at last you separate.

“I am very cute,” you assert, still giggling to yourself. “Don’t be mad. You love this game.”,

“Maybe I’d love to spank that cute ass of yours raw?”

“Nuh-uh. No hitting.”

You’d made a deal, after all.

He narrows his eyes down at you, and this is when you finally start to sense that maybe he is not half as amused as you are. Your blood runs cold, and before you can blink he has you flipped over on your belly, your pants down around your thighs.

“No—”

You try to squirm away, but his inexorable hand is in your hair—it makes for a damn good handle, the bastard. His big hand digging into the globe of your ass makes you quiver under his fingers.

Your heart plummets into freefall, as you realize he’s serious. And you can tell he’s not talking about the playful little smacks he sometimes gifts you in the middle of riding his cock to completion. He means to punish you, and the knowledge takes you from the highest high to the blackest despair. You can barely hear past the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the familiar fear and uncertainty from before creeping in. Not again. Life was so good. Please don’t go back to this shit again. You can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t live like that again.

A revelation settles over you with irrefutable clarity. You accept it as truth with every cell of your being, and you know there will be no going back after this.

“If you hit me we’re done.”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your tone either now. Just…resolve. You mean what you say, to the very marrow of your bones.

“I think I must have confused you, y/n. You are not in charge here.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you this. If you hit me, I’ll fight you to my dying breath. I mean it.”

Like watching yourself from the outside, you almost find it interesting that this is the true limit of your generosity with him. This is the cliff’s edge. The point of no return. Your resolve is unmoving, even if it fills you with absolute misery. You could lose him now, today, this very minute. This man who keeps you prisoner, yet with whom you have lived happily the past months. This complicated, broken man, who you love with all your heart.

In this insane moment you realize with soul-shaking clarity…you don’t want to leave him. What would you do with your life? Go back to your stupid little existence at the coffee shop, working your fingers to the bone, doodling on the chalkboard, waiting? You’ve spent most of your life just fucking waiting. Waiting to travel. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting…for this man to come through the door, so you could pester him for five minutes, knowing it would be the highlight of your day.

Could you possibly go back to looking up at the mountain, knowing your Beast in his castle resides there? That a man who loved you like no other is there pining for you?

But if he crosses this line—you will have to leave, somehow. Or die trying. That is your heartfelt resolution. That is the promise you make to yourself. You’ve made too many compromises as of late, and this is a battle for your very soul.

You feel him like a malevolent storm cloud behind you, trembling in his fury, but for once, torn as to what to do. You realize this is the only time you’ve seen him doubt himself, when he’s contemplating teaching you a lesson.

You dare to try to talk him down, your voice calmer, or perhaps more distant. You don’t know how you muster the courage; perhaps only in the knowledge that this could truly be it for the two of you. No more we’ll see how it goes or maybe it will be better tomorrow. There is only now.

“This thing we’ve somehow built together, despite everything…” You shake your head, trembling as much out of fear as despair. “It will be destroyed, and you’re the one who will have broken it.”

“You’re the one who ran from me!”

You can tell from the hushed fury in his voice that he is hanging on by a thread. You realize now, what a stupid thing that had been to do. That despite the games you’ve been playing in the house, out here, he just couldn’t handle it. Even just the slightest possibility of you leaving is enough to drive this man off the edge.

“I let you catch me.” You will him to believe you. You even half believe it yourself.

“The hell you did.”

“It’s true. I know these woods better than you. I’m smaller. I’m faster. I let you.”

“Bullshit.”

Before you can hardly think about what to do you lower your face to the dirt, offering your ass in the air. You know he can see your puffy slit, your glistening opening just begging for him. This is how he has warped you; or maybe you were a twisted little thing all along, just waiting for him to show you the way to your ruin. Either way—you want him, and you will him to see it for himself.

“I let you catch me,” you insist again. “So give me my reward.”

You feel the tremor run through him, from his fingertips to his core.

You realize that he wants to believe you. That maybe punishing you was never really the fun for him at all, in this deadly game you’ve been playing.

You feel him shift his position behind you, his merciless hold moving to your hip. When his long fingers slide into your wet folds you mewl like a cat; half relieved, and half just needing him. He makes you buck by circling your bud, before delving inside your weeping channel with two of his fingers. It makes you moan, and if someone walks up the trail my god will they get an eyeful, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Does that feel like someone who’s afraid of you?” you bluff. Because wanting this man has never really stopped you from fearing him. Fearing what, exactly, has shifted over time. In the end though, maybe just that he would be the absolute ruin of you.

He only grunts in answer, spreading your juices around your aching pussy. When his fingers withdraw you whine in protest, but you hear him rifle with his clothing, the zzzip of his fly jerked downwards. When his thick tip kisses your entrance you could weep, offering your ass even higher in the air.

“You are a very bad girl,” he tells you as he slides home, making you writhe with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“I’m your bad girl,” you correct him, and he growls behind you, thrusting again. He’s not treating you with the usual care he pays this position, but you take it anyway. Gladly, if this will mend the thing between you, you’ll take it all.

“I would have found you, you know,” he pants as he thrusts, his hand weaving in your hair. “Even if you made it down the mountain…there’s nowhere in the world you can hide from me.”

You absolutely believe him.

“I know,” you tell him, your face in the dirt, yet somehow still loving the feeling of him behind you, filling you absolutely and completely. “You don’t–have to–lock me up, John,” you pant, interrupted by the violence of his thrusts. “Because I know I can’t escape you.”

This makes him growl again, that primal, possessive sound that touches the darkest recesses of your cavewoman brain. It is as though there is no part of you, inside or out, that this man cannot touch. He drapes his long body over yours, engulfing you in the shelter of his warmth. Even now, you cannot stop yourself from leaning back into him, pressing your smooth cheek to his soft beard. His tone is pure gravel, but you know him well enough now to sense the vulnerability in his words too. “But do you want to escape now?” he asks.

“No,” you tell him, and you know in your heart this isn’t manipulation, or vying for a better chance to run somewhere down the line. It’s just the truth, and you even surprise yourself as you say, “No, I don’t want to leave you.”

He goes still behind you as he evaluates this heartfelt confession, his harsh breathing and the pulsing of his cock buried inside you his only movement.

“I want to believe you.” You only enjoy a moment of relief, before he rears again behind you, driving himself into you to the hilt. “But I can’t.”

Your heart plummets as you realize he still cannot bring himself to trust your word, to have the faith to walk out into thin air, the way normal people do when they dare to fall in love. He cannot leave anything to chance with you, and now you are not sure he ever will.

He really might keep you locked up forever.

You feel the earth beneath you, hyper aware of the pine needles in your clenched hands, the wonderful smell of the dirt and ancient rocks below. The cool breeze on your bared skin, and the dappled light filtering through the pines. What if this really is the last time you are ever allowed outside?

There was always a glimmer of hope on the distant horizon for you, that little light of optimism that never quite managed to extinguish, despite everything he put you through. But now you feel it leave you, stealing the integrity from your very bones. You go limp beneath him, only his iron-grip on your hips holding your ass in the air as he uses you. When he reaches down to find your slippery bud you are no longer in the mood, and perhaps foolishly, you try to shake him off.

“Just get it over with.”

You already know it’s the absolute worst thing you can say, but now you don’t care.

“But I thought my darling wanted to enjoy the great outdoors?” He doesn’t sound half as angry as you expected him to, but there is still something sharp in his tone that puts you on edge. Like glimpsing a dorsal fin parting still waters, you know something dangerous swims underneath.

He slows his thrusts behind you, so that his magnificent length stretches you just right without hurting you. He uses his now expert knowledge against you, weaponizing the hours you’ve spent in bed together making up for lost time. You can’t stop yourself from arching into him, canting your hips to intensify the sensation, and now you bow your head so you don’t have to see his smug smile. “Goddamn you.”

He huffs with laughter, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re too late, I’m sure.”

This time when he touches you, you are desperate for it, your aching walls squeezing him in search of release. It tears a groan from deep in his throat, a sound you know so well by now, and you realize you can use your own knowledge of this man against him too. You squeeze him again, almost in challenge, and it becomes a contest between you, who can bring the other to pieces first. You have to admit that his blunt fingers on your clit are heaven, and your heart pounds too fast in your chest, your head light as you very nearly forget to breathe in your concentration. He tries to hold himself off as you move to take him deeper. He cannot control your body as well as he would like, like this, with his fingers buried in your slit, and you almost smile at his grunt of frustration at you.

In the end you both lose.

You cum so hard on his cock you see stars, a ringing in your ears as a merciless pleasure breaks and explodes through you. He fares no better, filling you with ropes of hot seed as he moans, loud enough to echo across the mountains.

Maybe you do feel a little better, panting in the soft leaf litter with his body draped over yours again, his heavy breathing and soft lips upon your neck. As usual, you feel bereft when he withdraws, wishing you could hold him inside you longer. You didn’t bring anything to clean up with, and you anticipate a soggy walk home back up the hill.

In fact, after sprinting, then fucking like animals on the ground, you’re not even sure you can walk.

It’s John who rises first, groaning with the effort. He glares down at you, as though daring you to make another old man jab. For the moment, however, you are out of quips, out of jokes, and out of clever repartee. Even though you know it shouldn’t be so easy for him to tame you, you snuggle under his chin anyway, kissing the swell of his Adam’s apple. For a moment he sags against you, savoring this sweetness, before brusquely leading you back up the trail.

He is not cruel, or strangely, even outwardly angry now, but somehow you just know you are in so much fucking trouble.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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waksworldrebooted · 4 months ago

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Motorcity X FNAF AU: A BURN IN THE NIGHT (1/3)

The year is 2012 in IRL Detroit Michigan, (no futuristic stuff, just plain ol' Detroit). Two old men Jacob Pirelli and Abraham Kane founded an animatronic company specializing in the mass production of animatronic parts. Kane still has a daughter in this AU (Julie) who was an accountant for the company and made friends with the low-level employees.

In an attempt to boost sales, an attempt to push Julie away from the low-life poor being friends with her, and to try to make his animatronics. He staged an accident involving Julie's friend's bodies getting mangled by the factory machines Framing it as an "accident" as Julie only knows. This causes Kane to use a cultist named Kaia to reanimate the bodies into the animatronics, causing them to have full sentience, but at the cost of these things being bloodthirsty at night.

Julie ends up finding the truth and her lack of caution causes her to get murdered by the exact same machines. A new restaurant called "Backburner Bowling" is opened not just to serve Detroit-style Pizza and bowling services, but to act as a ground for his work and to keep them in check. However, five guards go missing with Kane hiding the bodies by binding their souls into deactivated prototype machines the same way.

A police officer and friend of Julie, Claire Constance, set out as a nightguard gig to find out what happened to her friend. A mechanic named Tennie Yunick sends Claire messages each night to find out what happens:

THE MAIN ANIMATRONICS:

Muttley: The lead of the gang, a cool greaser dog with an electric guitar and a prop muscle car. Do not agitate

Nina Vida: A police cat meant to act as a lover and rival for the main lead who guards the arcade.

Sir Thunderhoof the Vanquisher: A Wizard Horse who is kept by a separate stage at the birthday rooms.

Mr. Whiptail: A robot scorpion located in the arts and crafts room meant to teach kids painting ala Bob Ross.

The Stronghorn: A boxer Rhino located at the play-place, the most aggressive of the bunch.

PART 2 SOON!

#motorcity #waksworldart #waksworldrebooted #julie kane #mike chilton #chuck motorcity #texas motorcity #dutch gordy #motorcity disney #motorcitydisneyxd #fnaf #fivenightsatfreddysfanart #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddys #fnaf au #fnaf fanart #motorcity au #motorcity fanart

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ateez-himari · 1 year ago

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'HIMARI' PROFILE

... BASICS

Stage Name: Himari (히마리) Birth Name: Min Himari (민 히마리) Korean Name: Min Ha-Yun (민 하윤) Nicknames: Sunshine, KQ's Princess, The Siren, Korea's Angel, White Swan, Hima/Hime, The Holy Maknae, God's Touch, Hand of Midas (w/ Yoongi)

Representative Animal: Tiger 🐯 MBTI Type: INFP Position(s): Lead vocalist, Sub-rapper, Producer, Maknae

Date of Birth: November 23, 2001 Birth Place: Kurashiki, Okayama Prefecture, Japan Association: Yeoheung Min Clan & Fujiwara Clan (Hokke) Family: Min Won-Shik (father, 1965-2012), Konoe Asuka (mother, 1970-2012), Min Hanzo (older brother), Adoptive Mother, Adoptive Father, Min Geum-Jae (adoptive older brother), Min Yoongi (adoptive older brother)

Blood Type: O Height: 157cm (5'2")

... CAREER

・As of October 2024, Himari has 207 KOMCA credits

・Was the first 4th generation artist promoted to a full Korea Music Copyright Association (KOMCA) membership in 2022

・Established as an official producer for SHINee member, Taemin, following the release of 'Never Gonna Dance Again : Act 1'.

・Joined JYPE in late 2014 to be part of girl group Twice but was deemed too young to debut after 10 months of training

・Was the first trainee to join Hongjoong at KQ Entertainment and the last to join ATEEZ - following survival show 'Last Qing'

・Became a producer during 'TREASURE EP.1: All to Zero' with credits on 'Stay', 'Twilight', 'Treasure' and 'My Way'

・Officially a part of ATEEZ's 'Demon Line' alongside Hongjoong, Seonghwa and San

・Made a special appearance on the 6th episode of MNet's show 'Good Girl', aired June 18 2020, to perform a cover of Dreamcatcher's 'Red Sun' against the cast.

・Made her acting debut in the K-Drama 'Hellbound' where she played the role of Jin Hee-Jeong. She then obtained the lead role in 'Where We Fall' alongside Yunho in September of 2023.

・She sang the OST 'Suzume' for the animated movie 'Suzume no Tojimari', 'Long Black Night' for K-Drama 'The Glory', 'Rewrite Me' for 'Where We Fall' and 'Blue' for 'The Killing Vote'

・Her fans are called 'Hirangies' which is a play on her representative animal called '호랑이' in Korean as well as her own name and '사랑' which means love.

... INTERESTS

・Her hobbies are traditional ink painting as well as photography and she enjoys leaning how to reform clothes from Hongjoong.

・Loves Studio Ghibli movies, her favorite being Grave of the Fireflies, and K-Dramas, her favorites being Death's Game, The Glory & My Name.

・Aside from the many groups whose fandoms she is a part of, there are quite a few soloists she tends to fangirl over, those being: Gemini, Penomeco, DPR Live, Han Seung Woo, Woodz, pH-1 and Zico. During her room tour in a recent live several albums of B.A.P could be seen resting on a shelf and she admitted to being a BABY whose bias is rapper/leader & soloist Bang Yongguk, whose albums were also spotted in her room. She calls herself a lucky fangirl as she has filmed the 'Bouncy' challenge with him as well as Woodz and Penomeco.

... HEALTH

・Was diagnosed with anxiety around 6 months following the group's debut, then a major depressive episode in the beginning of 2021.

・Suffers from hearing loss on her right side following a car collision costing the life of her biological parents - subsequently leaving scars on that side of her body.

・Has stress induced nightmares, though not as frequent as earlier in her career.

・Fractured her left ribs during a rehearsal for the first stage of 'Kingdom: Legendary War' in February of 2021, then again during the shooting of the 'Guerilla' music video in 2022. She received surgery in April 2024 following Coachella due to the risk of irreparable damage following several health complications.

・Since contracting COVID during the quarantine period she has had breathing problems which have permanently weakened her cardio and cause frequent needs for an oxygen mask especially when fatigued. The condition still remains unknown.

... MISCELLANEOUS

・Her favorite color is white because she feels like it is elegant, which is why she chose it as her microphone color.

・Her birth name means 'Sun' and her Korean name means 'Beautiful Summer' , chosen because the sun symbolizes hope

・The youngest of her brothers, Hanzo, is the National South Korean Soccer Team's captain and currently contracted with the PSG after leaving the Jeonbuk Hyundai Motors at the end of 2017

・When speaking quickly or passionately about something she tends to slip back into satoori (Daegu dialect)

・A palm reader stated that it was both her and Seonghwa's first life, which is why they approach things with such excitement.

・She can play the Koto (Japanese stringed instrument).

・The members tend to refer to her as '우리 Hime' which means 'Our Princess' using the Japanese word for the title and is also a play on words with Himari's shortened name.

・While other members claim that Halazia has one of the easiest choreographies, she finds it to be one of the hardest songs to perform as she has to sing background vocals through nearly the entire song while keeping up with the steps.

・Loves to cook but often tends to be careless when it comes to the amount of spice she puts in. In addition to this, she loves beef and hates any seafood that has a shell.

・Her ideal type is someone warm hearted with a sense of humor and who can accept her care when they need it.

#ateez 9th member #ateez au #ateez extra member #ateez female member #ateez imagines #kpop oc

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inneedofsupervision · 25 days ago

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I didn't ask, did I? (Chapter 7)

Happy begrudgingly steps aside and walks after Tony into the diner. The billionaire skillfully ignores the gasps of surprise and the poor attempt to take pictures of him secretly as he strides straight up to the counter. "Two cheeseburgers and a large fry. To go." "Please get in line and wait for your turn, Sir." "Excuse me?" Tony slowly pulls his sunglasses down and glances at the skinny teen behind the register. "Bad hearing comes with age, huh?" mutters the teen under his breath. Happy makes a choking sound behind him. ___________________ Or, how Tony Stark gets sassed by some high schooler working part-time and makes it his mission to figure out what he did to make this kid he'd never seen hate him. If that means annoying the hell out of said high schooler, that's not his problem.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10

Chapter Summary: Rhodey and Tony finally leave, and Peter is left alone with his thoughts.

(Read on Ao3)

Peter's forehead leans against the door. Only after the engine of Mr. Stark's car howled and the tires started to roll did the teen dare push his fingers between the blinds and pull them aside to peek out of the window.

They are finally gone.

With a deep sigh, Peter raises a hand, ready to run it through his hair, only to stop when he realizes that it's still covered in paint.

If Aunt May knew about what he did, he would get sentenced to a week's worth of house chores. Including a deep clean of the bathroom.

"Not my most glorious moment."

After several minutes, with the help of half a bottle of dish liquid, an old sponge, and lots of hot water, Peters's hands were reddened but free of paint and smelled, according to the dishwashing label, of gentle citrus dreams, whatever that meant.

While drying his hand, the teen couldn't help thinking about his act of revenge. It was petty.

Peter feels ashamed to use his abilities for something so childish and silly. He is Spider-Man. He should be the one keeping people from vandalizing, and what did he do? Smearing one of the most important buildings in NYC, just because he let Mr. Stark provoke him.

"If I simply hadn't said anything. Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?"

The guilty conscience grew while he worked on a persistent sauce stain on one of the tables with his rag.

Mr. Stark mentioned his action costing Stark Industries millions. At the same time, Peter felt like the man didn't care about the money but rather about his image, and the flippancy with which the man talked about losing money sparks Peter's anger anew.

It's already dark outside by the time the teenager closes the shop. With his hoodie deep in his face and his head ducked, he quickly walks down the street. May won't be back until tomorrow morning, and if he hurried, he might manage to patrol for two hours before going to bed.

On his way through the city, he walks past a construction site. He halts, and his eyes wander along the scaffold that takes up the whole facade.

"A truck hit the front at full speed a few weeks ago."

Peter turns away from the destroyed building. A man leans against one of the street lights. He has his, several times patched coat tightly wrapped around his body, a bottle sitting comfortably in his hand. He tosses his head, taking a hearty sip before pointing at the building.

"One of the best shelters in the whole of New York. Never mind how busy you got treated like you meant something. They even let your furred friend in there if you had one. Now, we can only hope they rebuild it. To our luck, they put another cafe here."

"I heard about the incident," manages Peter to get out, voice hoarse.

"You're okay, boy?"

The homeless man squints his eyes at him, and something in Peter's stomach coils as the guilty conscience hits full force at the thought of a man without a roof over his head worrying about a random teenager.

A man who didn't have a roof over his head because Spider-Man hadn't been here.

"Yes, I mean, not really," stammers Peter before taking a deep breath, attempting to collect himself. The man eyes him with worry, partly curiosity, and takes another sip while waiting for the teen to finish his sentence.

"It's just that I knew someone. Someone who came here often."

Peter feels ashamed when he catches the man's eyes widening with realization. The man shortened the distance between them, stepping closer, and despite the strong sense of alcohol prickling in his nose, he knew he wasn't in any danger. A heavy hand lays on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about that, boy."

It's embarrassing how his eyes start burning. Peter had to look away from the empathy-filled, bearded face.

"I don't know who you knew from the bunch, but I know many people hanging around here, and most are decent. I'm sure whoever it was, he would appreciate a fine young man like you to remember him. Many people in this city don't recognize us as humans, but you are alright, boy."

The hand on his shoulder gives another tight but comforting squeeze while Peter uses the back of his hand to wipe over his eyes. He manages to whisper a small thank you.

The man didn't look happy with a crying teenager in front of him.

"You want some?"

Peter eyes the bottle with a high percentage of alcohol before his eyes fall back onto the worried eyes of the man. A small smile blooms on his face, and he has to chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. He sniffles and wipes at his other eye.

"No, thank you. But there's something else."

The man pulls the bottle back with a grin.

"I'm listening, boy. Spit it out."

Peter manages to give him a grateful smile.

"Would you tell me your name?"

The homeless man raises an eyebrow in disbelief before grinning.

"The name's Jason."

Jason holds out his hand. Without batting a lid, Peter takes the hand, including the filthy fingerless glove, shaking it tightly.

"I'm Peter."

#spider man fanfic #the avengers fanfic #marvel fanfic #spider man #peter parker #iron man #tony stark #james rhodes

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weretheones · 2 years ago

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All You Got | Part 2

Part 2: One Bullet

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count:  4.5k Warnings: description of injury, blood, violence. A/N: part twooooo! we learn a bit more about the reader here, maybe a couple more hints about the knife??? oh, and daryl finally asks some pressing questions. enjoy :)

Ropes of ivy invaded cracks in the road, expanding past what must have once been pristinely manicured lawns. The street was quiet. Sober of the previous night’s constant activity. Even the hungry bellies of the wandering dead had been settled by apathy, and, of course, a complete lack of consciousness.

It was odd to watch them this way.

Without a warm body to rip apart, they really just seemed lost. Unsure where to turn until a noise or smell drew their attention. If it wasn’t for their mangled limbs or grey skin, you might’ve forgotten how vicious they could be. Yet, the thought of becoming hollow like them, driven by hunger alone, was almost more terrifying.

You looked away.

Behind you, the man who’d saved you from those same vicious jaws was packing the few supplies he’d found in the house. A fridge full of expired cheeses and cabinets stacked with bottles of wine that must’ve cost a pretty penny, but not even a can of beans; beyond material wealth, even a house as appealing as this one was relatively empty. The new backpack he found, label still attached, was barely half full. Some batteries, newspaper, a couple of reusable water bottles, and one travel-sized bottle of ibuprofen. He’d already given you two to dry-swallow twenty minutes ago.

They were starting to kick in. You stood by the couch with only a dull throbbing to remind you of the fragility of your situation. Wounded by the one-eyed man you’d naively followed into battle and with no hope of reuniting with your friends— hell, even if their bodies hadn’t been riddled with bullets and teeth marks, you weren’t sure you’d want to see them again. Not after their willingness to shed blood, driven by fear, greed, and selfishness.

At least you could say it had only been fear on your part.

With a sigh, you leaned your weight on the arm of the couch, finger tracing down the curtain you held back, hoping to find an exit beyond the road. The white fabric was soft. Thick. An idea popped into your head.

“Do you have a lighter?”

The first words spoken since your defiance made him pause. Eyes narrowed in something other than contempt, for once, as he seemed to weigh his options.

He stood up and walked to the couch, digging in his front pocket. A small, silver zippo sat in his open palm, like an offering. You reached forward to grab it, but he was quick to snatch it back, dirty fingers wrapped tight, as if you were about to fight him for it.

You couldn’t hold back the flash of a scowl. This dynamic was more than clear. He didn’t like you, not one fucking bit. You couldn’t blame him, but it didn’t mean you had to like him, either. Every time those harsh blue eyes dragged across your skin, the grime that painted you felt ten times heavier, as if guilt was seeping through your pores to settle with all that blood and filth.

But of course, there was that pesky part of you, not as deep down as you’d prefer, that wanted to prove to him that you weren’t all bad. People-pleasing, even at the end of the world.

You took a breath and rationalized, “We can’t stay here, but none of those cars work and I can’t run. So we need a distraction.”

“Ya wanna set a fire.”

You shrugged. “Unless you have a better plan.”

His eyes flicked behind you.

“Curtains won’t work. Need somethin’ ya can throw, something that ain’t gonna get weighed down.”

The scowl slipped from your face, briefly replaced with a confused furrow of your brow. You hadn’t even mentioned the curtains. He was certainly observant.

“What about that newspaper you grabbed?” You limped toward the bag.

With a quick stride, he snatched the bag from your hands. Irritated, you were about to protest, maybe even snap at the man who’d been treating you like some child he was forced to babysit rather than the capable and worthy partner you internally swore to be. But he cut you off before you had a chance to do anything other than open your mouth and glare.

“Ya can’t run.”

Intent to set the distraction himself, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall.

—

The cars were staggered throughout the road, one parked by the sidewalk, another one in the middle of the lane, diagonal. A few stragglers had wandered on their right side, but the majority roamed the left. If there was a way to distract those outliers, to send them to the right side with the others, there was an opportunity to use the vehicles as cover while crossing the street.

Another house sat across the street, but from the look of it, the backyard opened into the woods.

That was the plan. Sneak out the side door, set the distraction, then use the cars for cover to get into the forest. There’d be more places for you to hide in the thicket of trees compared to the vast openness of suburban streets. And if you could hide, you could spend more time off that wounded leg.

It also meant more food. Squirrels, rabbits, and anything else the crossbow-wielding man could find.

That was if he’d bring it back for you.

The side door creaked open. He had one hand on the handle, the other holding that crossbow to eye level. Twisting from left to right to scan the alley, steady and cautious seemed to be his typical approach.

That bag, where he’d finally stashed your knife, was strapped across his back now. You glanced down at your empty hands and bit back a sigh— this was not how you wanted to escape a small herd. With your bare hands and a stab wound in your thigh that would just not stop throbbing, ibuprofen and all.

There was a stray biter from the back, hanging around the corner of the alley. It turned toward you, revealing the other side of its rotting face. Skin hung off decaying muscle and black blood dried down its chin and neck. Left eye missing. Its mouth opened, ready to release a strangled moan and alert the others, but a bolt stabbed through that empty eye socket, instead. Limp, it dropped to the ground. He held up a shaky hand, continuing to eye the biter. Waiting to see if the noise had alerted the rest of them and you’d have to retreat into that house for another night, after all.

A tense second later, his hand lowered. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the crossbow cord back until it clicked in place. Reloaded another arrow and turned back in the direction of the front of the house.

Following his lead, you started to move through the side alley. Growls and moans on either side, just out of sight, as cruel reminders of what was waiting for you if you tripped, made a noise, or any mistake. He moved slow, placing his weight on the gravel as even as possible. Thanks to a firm motivation to not die, you managed not to drag your foot with every limp forward, and to fight through the pangs of pain that shot up your leg every time you inevitably stepped on it.

At the corner, he crouched down and turned back to give you another signal to be silent.

As if you needed it— you were doing well keeping quiet, all things considered.

With a single, careful scan of the road, he pulled a wad of newspaper from the bag. He held the lighter, flickering with flame, underneath the edge of the paper. It caught quickly and he waited a second for the fire to catch higher before whipping it around the corner of the building. From the ruffled sounds of leaves and popping flames, the burning pages landed in a bush, which meant that a bigger fire was about to burst.

At least it’d be a good distraction.

When the dead started to shuffle toward the smoke and flame, the two of you moved from behind the house. Faster than you’d travelled the alley now that you had grass to soften the sound of your steps. The first car was a short sprint away. Once you reached it, aching leg and all, you were hidden from the biters walking into that burning bush.

Red paint hot from the sun, you hovered beside the vehicle, waiting for his signal to move to the next. He curved the corner, keeping his crossbow high and attention focused on the dead ahead as you used the truck of the car as cover— just in case.

After determining the coast was clear, he waved his hand forward. Just like the first, you followed him behind the second car. It wasn’t much farther until you could use the cover of the house ahead to get away from the dead, who were much too busy swarming themselves around that smoking bush to notice, anyway.

All things considered, it had been a good plan. A smooth distraction.

Of course, it was in that home stretch when it finally slipped up. The archer’s eyes caught on something; attention narrowed in and his crossbow lowered, slow and hesitant. As if he’d fallen into a trance of sorts, eyes glossed over as he stared past the vehicle’s rear window. You briefly wondered if exhaustion was finally catching up, and if you were about to be the cushion for his collapse.

“Hey,” you whispered, “what’s wrong?”

Ignoring you, he trailed around the car without much care for the biters ahead and yanked the passenger door open. Every movement was harsh. Demanding. One hand held the crossbow, while the other pulled something out and clutched it. Inspected it. Fingers dancing along the orange and red fabric like it’d spell out something for him.

“This is—“ he growled, abrupt, while clenching his fist around the fabric. Neck corded with tension, it seemed the words caught in his throat.

“What?”

Towering over your crouched frame, he stood to his full height, head spinning in circles as he scanned the street.

“Get down!” you hissed, grabbing his forearm.

“Get your hands off’a me!”

Your eyes went wide, snapping between his snarling lip and the swarm of biters well within earshot.

One turned, sniffing the air.

You held your hands up and tried to reason in a hushed whisper, “They can still hear you.”

There seemed to be a split second of realization, the weight of his heavy stare lifting an inch at your meaning. His head bowed before he crouched again. The anger lacing the blue of his eyes seemed to slip away once they landed on the item in his hand, fingers still gripping tight. It seemed like just some sweater, or maybe a poncho, but the way his tone had shifted so suddenly, jaw still tense from the ordeal, you knew it meant something to him.

“Shit. Do you recognize that?”

That was the most you’d let yourself ask. Satisfy your immediate curiosity, don’t push your luck. He always seemed incredibly restrained and you didn’t want to steer a man you barely knew over the edge. Especially not now, with biters just around the corner, already alert and curious from his outburst.

His mouth drew in a thin line, but the vein in his forehead answered you, enough. Something squeezed inside your chest, ringing drops of sympathy from your heart. You knew what it was like, more than he might’ve realized, to find something that belonged to someone you lost. Left abandoned with no trace of them. You blinked as your expression softened, looking out to the street.

Gentle, you asked, “Do you recognize any of them?”

He shook his head.

Your mouth parted, hoping to ease some of that tension that traced his features; the subtle hints of self-discipline in his expression made your heart ache worse than it should have.

Instead, a growl ripped through the air, as rough as the lingering friction between you two. More importantly, it was close. Both your heads snapped over the car to see the dead from the backyard swarming the alley you’d just passed through. They were rushing forward, tripping over their own frail, broken ankles in their dash. Hungry monsters coming straight for you.

The smoke must’ve risen high enough to draw their attention, and when they’d turned into the street, it was the perfect view of you and the man still stuck at the side of that car. Sentiment holding you back.

“Damn it,” he cursed.

The poncho was stuffed in between his broad rib cage and the strap of his bag, and without another thought, you both started running— or, for you, it was the closest thing that could pass for running. Frantic limping, practically tripping over yourself. Hell, you probably didn’t look too different from the dead on your trail. But, if you let up, you were sure they’d rip into you, nonetheless. Blame that on your distinctive lack of rotting flesh.

Dashing across the front yard of the second house and then down the alley was the easy part. The road and lawn were even, so your limp didn’t get caught in roots or loose ground. The forest, on the other hand, wasn’t an ideal landscape. Though it was certainly better concealed than the open road, you had to pay special attention to divots and any other potential tripping hazard below. You weren’t clear of danger yet; biters didn’t tire, and they certainly weren’t held back by any type of wound, like you. You’d seen dead with their damn guts spilling out trap survivors before. Not much other than a bullet in the head stopped them.

Adrenaline could only do so much for you. Pain was heavy in your leg, and a part of you— a scared, pessimistic part of you— anticipated another collision with the damp earth.

It felt like the man ahead was moving ten times your speed, the dead at least five, and you tried not to think about the possibility of this being your end. Face flat in the earth, ripped apart by dull teeth and overgrown fingernails. Instead, you tried to focus on the simple facts that you hadn’t fallen yet, and maybe more surprisingly, that the man ahead of you had looked back to check on you not once, but twice.

Another flash of that orange and red fabric passed you by, only this time, it was stark against green grass. Time seemed to slow, glancing between the man, still moving with vigour ten or so feet ahead of you, and the object of his sentiment, falling to the ground.

If there was one thing you were realizing since meeting him, it was how fucking reckless you could be.

Problem was, it didn’t even feel like a choice. There was still fear in the back of your mind— there always was, it seemed— picking away at your last inch of perseverance, but the second you saw that poncho drop, you swooped down to pick it up, anyway. Even if that meant slowing pace and almost tripping over yourself. But if it’d been his knife, if it’d been you losing the last bit of him you had left, you’d want whoever you were siding with to fight for it, too.

Intentions could be good, but reality always caught up. Pessimism won and the damp earth finally collided with your cheek after a stick in the mud caught your toe. It was less painful than the fall yesterday, but the bruises from that ordeal were still fresh and began to welt again, almost immediately.

“Come on, girl!”

With a low groan, you bit the inside of your cheek, hard, and then pushed back up. Not quick enough, it seemed, because a hand— a warm one— wrapped around your bicep and yanked you up to his side. An arrow cut through the muggy, humid air above your head just as you caught your balance with your good leg, tumbling free of the man’s grip before continuing forward.

That damn poncho, still tight in your grip.

—

The next time you collapsed, it was intentional.

Dirt smeared across your jeans and hands, you palmed the ground you laid on.

Panting.

There wasn’t enough air, there wasn’t enough water, there wasn’t enough of anything— save the beat of your pounding heart. No matter how many deep inhales you tried to take, you ended up sucking in another, too quick, in a desperate attempt to catch the breath you lost miles back.

It’d been mutually decided that a fallen tree trunk was your best cover in case the dead did catch up from the approximate three-mile stretch between the herd and yourselves. A stretch that was hard to believe, but it’d been a while since you could properly hear their hungry growls. And considering that every part of your body was spent of energy, with nothing left to feed your muscles as the adrenaline wore off, you were content to extend your belief if it meant resting for a moment.

Even the pain in your leg had dulled, too weak to do anything but throb.

It was with your head resting on that large log that you finally let go of that poncho. With the little energy you had left, you tilted your head to him, eyes dragging over the drops of sweat rolling down his neck, pooling across the expanse of his similarly heaving chest. The loosened button of his shirt revealed a peak of damp, untanned skin, and his eyes were shut, lips parted to pull in deeper breaths.

You swallowed, then said, amidst heavy pants, “This belongs to you.”

His eyes fluttered open, lids still low, but he managed to turn his head to you too. Exhaustion tore his surly demeanour down; if he’d been trying to hold the usually mean stare he reserved for you, he couldn’t manage it.

A heavy hand landed on the poncho dropped between you. He gripped it as tight as he had your arm when you’d fallen, fingers dipped into colourful fabric.

In all honesty, he’d done most of the work to get here; navigating the forest, killing the biters that came too close, and grabbing you every time you fell behind. If it hadn’t been for his persistence, you weren’t sure if you’d be here anymore.

The poncho was the least you could offer.

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed lying in a mix of dirt and moss.

Eventually, both your breaths had evened out, and a while ago the man had even gotten up and began to make a fire from the smell of it. You’d been staring at the sky, instead. Between the trees, there were flashes of dark wings across the expanse of blue. Shadows of leaves fluttering in the wind, dabbling bits of sunlight across your damp chest. Eyes half closed, you listened to the soft rustle of the wind and the chirp of the birds. You were in your own world of exhaustion, it seemed.

Sometime between the smell of smoke and the glow of embers, your attention dropped from the open unknown above you, to the strong back of the man, similarly stained with uncertainty, ahead.

There was something captivating about him, and in particular, about his stubbornly loyal streak that seemed to get you on the receiving end of his help twice now. He could’ve left you for dead back there. A lot of people would have, or at the least, they would tell him he should have. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble. Distracted the dead long enough that he could’ve stopped running miles ago, given him one less mouth to feed, one less wound to take care of. It might’ve even given him some type of relief to execute retribution on someone who’d wronged him and his people. Leaving you for dead could’ve solved, at minimum, half of his problems.

But he didn’t.

You stuck your neck out for him once, and he saved you after. That made you even. This made you something else. Allies or indebted, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of was his resilience, that much had been obvious since the moment you first met him. Hell-bent on surviving. You figured the stubborn will had something to do with that.

It was odd to know all that, and not his name.

“Hey,” you said, voice hoarse, but still stronger than any muscle in your body. “What’s your name?”

He stiffened, but glanced over his shoulder to meet your eye.

“Daryl.”

You nodded, briefly, before you offered your name with a shaky breath. You rolled your shoulders, adjusting your position across the fallen log. “I figured I should know who I’m thanking.”

His— Daryl’s— glare had always been intense. Abrasive, like it was dissecting you with a dull blade. You tried to soften it with a genuine thank you, slipping off your tongue with a sweet ring of gratitude.

Instead, it was like those two words snapped something within him, patience stretched to its thinnest.

“Ya used a bullet.”

His tone wasn’t a question, but it still caught you off guard.

“I— What?”

He dropped the bundle of sticks in his hand. Full attention on you, instead of the small fire. “Your clip was almost full.”

You caught on then— when he’d taken the gun from you, back at the cabin, he’d been using it to kill the swarming biters. You’d heard a couple of shots before you finally passed out, but considering how far he’d made it while carrying you, it made sense that he’d fired the rest.

Save that one bullet. The only one you’d used before you found that cabin. Before he found you.

“Just one,” you muttered.

“For what?”

Your voice slipped away then, resolve lost at the mention. Cracks of guilt began to run through your heart, deepening with every weak beat. “I didn’t—“ you shook your head, “I never wanted to—“

“I didn’t ask ya tha’,” he growled, standing up. “Who’d ya use it on?”

You swallowed. With every step closer, his want was as clear as his intimidation. No pleading, no regrets.

Just the truth.

“I killed someone.”

Concern twisted his features, just enough for you to realize that he was probably considering all of his people being on the receiving end of that bullet. Imagining the hateful, cruel look in your eye when they finally dropped dead. But if he could see past the anger swarming his vision, he might’ve noticed the curl of your lip, the rapid frequency of your blinks; disgust painted along your features, reserved for your own actions.

“Mitch.”

Daryl knew everyone at that prison. Everyone. Mitch wasn’t one of his people.

“The guy in the tank,” you clarified.

“Ya shot one’a your own?”

“He— he tried to kill a kid. We made it up to the planters, I was— I was trying to find my friend so we could—“

His eyes narrowed, and you backtracked. Only the facts.

“Some kid was fighting them off. He was reloading and couldn’t see Mitch coming, so I—“ you stopped to catch your breath. Slow and deep, just like he taught you years ago— fuck, you wished you had that knife, those initials to trace under your thumb.

“I stopped him.”

Daryl’s eyes were still tight on you. Unforgiving in the way they dug through your weak appearance, the way you tried to balance your fragile thoughts with a heavy inhale. The sight twisted his gut.

Instead, he narrowed his attention on trying to find any hint of dishonesty, insincerity, hell— anything he didn’t even like the idea of— lingering behind your words.

“Why?” he spat, as if he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

You shook your head and exhaled, “He was a kid.”

He looked down on you like something stuck on his shoe. Some small, inadequate thing; it made you feel weaker than any wound or sprint could.

Daryl snarled, “There were a lot of kids there. Sick ones. A baby.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Nah. Ya didn’t know shit ‘bout us, nothin’ more than those lies tha’ asshole told ya.”

From shame, your mouth was sewn shut. An apology hanging off your tongue, unable to break free, even if you knew it needed to.

Would it do anything, anyway? Nothing you could say would bring those fences back up, bring his family back together. Nothing would fix the mess of Brian’s wrath.

A brief moment of wonder passed you by— Brian had told you lies, so many lies, but the story of his daughter, of his town, was laced with such genuine pain and loss. You weren’t sure what had driven him to such violence and anger, or what made him rip away the only good thing left in this world— people. Maybe you’d never know.

Maybe it didn’t matter, anyway. It was over. They were dead, or gone. Nowadays, that felt like the same thing.

Without another word, he crouched by the fire again.

The way he handled the fire was gentle and calculated, even if he’d been so relentless and hostile with you, just seconds before. Eventually, the throb of your leg called your attention again. The sight of the red-stained flannel wrapped tight around your wound, and what it meant— Daryl’s aid, even with something as heavy as the prison’s attack weighing down your integrity— made something grip your heart just as tight.

“Then why’d you help me?”

His shoulders stiffened. For once, he refused you that look. The one that beckoned every harsh, guilt-ridden thought to consciousness. Made you hyper-fixate on your wrongs because there had to be a reason why he looked at you like that.

You weren’t sure how you felt about its lack, now. It might’ve been piercing, but it had a way of opening him up, too. People had always told you anger made you stupid. Even for a man as guarded as him, it broke him down and made those narrow eyes a bit easier to understand. Aggression made him vulnerable, or at least, a bit softer around the edges.

If there was any time you wanted to read him, it was now. Could you trust him to keep helping you, as he had with the biters? Or would you wake up the next morning, alone and defenceless?

The peak of sun shining between bright green leaves was lower than before. Golden light cascading on soft grass and the drops of sweat trailing down your chest. Sunset was close.

He never did answer you.

————————————————————

-> part three

A/N: ok daryl is a little mean but... can u blame him? u kinda fucked up, reader </3 but at least u saved him his poncho hehe.

thank u for the support on this series so far :D it means so much.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

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btreeseo · 1 year ago

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wannabepoeticischiya · 2 days ago

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Weak

[ 04 ] — an offer she could definitely not refuse

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My daily routine is very simple. I wake up and I suffer.

There wasn't a day in (Y/n)'s life where she didn't think about how to pulverize Gojō in multiple excruciatingly painful ways. From the moment she had met him up until the present where her hatred for that blasted sorcerer was at its peak.

Even now as she maneuvered around the city on her black motorcycle trying to get away from the three first years who were still pestering her to help them.

Tch! Persistent brats!

(Y/n) shifted gears and proceeded on running three red lights all the while swiftly and barely dodging the cars that had met her as she throttled full speed on the opposite lane.

I have a bloody helmet on! How can they even tell it's me?!

Detouring through a truck lane, she looked back to see if those pesky brats were still on her tail. Through her tinted visors, (Y/n) saw a huge bird-looking thing up in the sky, seemingly dotting on her current location.

Nue...

At the sight of the flying chicken on her side mirrors, a flash of black, spiky hair flooded her vision, momentarily blinding all coherent thoughts.

Tch! I remember who you are now... blessing.

An ear-piercing sound shattered her train of thoughts. (Y/n)'s head coiled so inhumanly quick that if she had not been a sorcerer, it would've twisted and detached from her neck before rolling onto the asphalt road.

Her (e/c) irises had met with the front of a container truck. The bloodstained cracks painting the windshield, confirmed the existence of a curse. How it even got inside the cabin, she had no idea. What more, how it perfectly intercepted her at this very second, she had no clue.

Her assumptions that were thought of on the spot was proven to be correct when she saw that in the place of the driver was a blob of internal organs all mushed up like a pile of freshly dissected intestines with a mix of vomit, staring right into where she was currently speeding—straight into its direction.

And with not enough time to think, her fingers had moved on their own to cast a perilous technique, one she had not done in many, many years.

"Charge—" with her fingers crossing and holding one another... "Hellfire." She cast.

The atmosphere around the vehicle had erupted into flames, glittering fire that had framed the truck into that single frozen motion. Quickly as the flames had eaten the hunk of metal, (Y/n) jumped from her vehicle and found herself rolling onto the road, barely preventing herself from being consumed by her own Jujutsu. Originally, she was worried about having to replace her handbrake, how expensive it would cost, the meals she'd have to cut to afford that. Now, she didn't have to think about that anymore... because now, had to replace everything! Her motorcycle just drove itself straight into the hellfire that was quite literally her jujutsu.

There goes my baby...

The sorcerer released a relieved breath as what stood now in the place of the truck and was once her bike was a stuffed bear with white fur that radiated a huge amount of cursed energy.

(Y/n) stood up to wobble her way to the little bear in the middle of the road.

This... was... a bad... idea—

Tossing her headgear somewhere, the woman struggled to catch her bearings as anything and everything multiplied into two more versions of itself, distorting her vision as the reality of what she did dawned on her in finality. A throbbing pain ripped at her body as she felt as if her organs were being burned and iced at the same time.

Why... did I do... that?

Her vision began accumulating dark spots as breathing suddenly became such a difficult thing to do, and the constant blares of truck horns did not help one bit. (Y/n)'s hand grabbed the fabric of her shirt as the other held on the railings for support.

This is all your fault, Goj ō !!

The ringing in her ears became deafening as (Y/n) felt a warm, metallic-smelling and tasting substance drip from her nose and pool inside her mouth.

"(L/n)-san!"

(Y/n)'s vision had contorted as she looked up and suddenly began seeing two to three younger versions of an all too familiar Zenin outcast running towards her.

The sorcerer had tried to fight back the urge to pass out, not wanting anyone—especially not his child—to have to be the one to bring her home or worse... kill her.

"I don't need... your... help."

But before the intended words could roll off her tongue, the sense of consciousness and awareness had slowly begun detaching itself from her body leaving her completely defenseless to the young sorcerer in front of her, and to the entire Jujutsu society.

"She's knocked out." Itadori skidded to a stop right in front of the unconscious woman. "Hurry! Let's take her to the school before she wakes up!!"

---

"LET ME GO YOU LITTLE MOTHER FU--"

Yuuji and Nobara both hid behind Fushiguro for protection. Their eyes reflected fear with a glimmer of worry as they watched the older woman scream and thrash around the ropes and talismans they had wrapped around her.

"(L/n)-san, we just really need your help—" Fushiguro tried to reason, holding up his hands in defense as he slowly began to approach the fuming woman.

"I TOLD YOU!" (Y/n) glared menacingly at them, eyes practically glowing with the intent to slaughter these little pests until they were no longer anything but a bunch of compiled meat.

"EVEN IF SOMEONE WERE TO BLOWTORCH A JAR OF RATS ON MY FACE AND HAVE THEM EAT THROUGH MY SKULL I. AM. NOT. HELPING. THAT. NARCISSISTIC. PSYCHOPATH. EVER!" The way she had pressed on every syllable made it obvious that there was no room for argument, but of course... the three first years were persistent.

Although they wouldn't show it, the sight of the sweaty woman tied up on the chair whose messy hair was sprawled all over her face was downright terrifying. And her ragged breath and the deadly glint in her eyes added more effect to her already intimidating and horrifying appearance. The scenery that had met their eyes looked as if Sadako had crawled all the way up from her well and possessed the woman to keep being so irrationally impossible.

The reasonable of the three first years was so close to giving up. A little more push on his patience and the thought of letting Gojo die will begin to seem pretty decent in his eyes.

"(L/n)-san—" This time it was Itadori who tried to talk, he hoped that perhaps a little friendliness and warmth in this harsh, held-against-your-will situation could coax some consideration into (L/n)'s wretched and selfish soul.

But of course, it only caused (Y/n) to exasperatedly sigh and dramatically roll her eyes at him.

Her response caused the young shaman in training to flinch and back away to the far corner, fearing that another meep from him would result in that horrendous witch to obliterate him to dust.

"You're being so unreasonably unfair—" This time it was Kugisaki who butted in, accusingly pointing her finger at the unfazed woman.

"PUH-lease!" (Y/n) exclaimed, startling them all into silence.

"Let us make one thing clear here, brats." She eyed each and every single one of the children who wouldn't stop annoying the living daylights out of her, drilling in the much-needed heavyweights of spooks into their overconfident veins.

"I... do NOT care... what happens to that brainless idiot! Even if he were to die a gruesome death, you would never see me mourn for the likes of him! You three are lucky enough to even have this conversation with me right now much more still breathe with that tone you are using on me."

"So... while I can still manage my anger—" (Y/n) gestured to the ropes that were made binding her, "let me go."

(Y/n)'s suppressed cursed energy threatened their own as her growing rage began thawing what was left of the students' resolve to help their teacher. "I was okay with living my quiet life, alone and away from that eyesore. Now, I just want to regain that peace of mind knowing that I'm a hundred thousand kilometers away from that Oompa Loompa."

Your students take after you... couple of little shi—

"What will it take to convince you, (L/n)-san?!" That pinky boy was the first one to muster up the courage and ask, slowly inching away from the corner he had hidden himself in. His eyes shone with the determination that vaguely hid the looming sense of fear that continued to haunt him.

(Y/n) scoffed at him, spitting her accumulated saliva to the other side of the room.

Desperate now, are we?

The older sorcerer looked them up and down and began estimating that the only thing keeping these first years from running out the door was their sheer willpower and probably the innocent compassion that they had for Satoru.

"Nothing—"

"We'll pay you." Now it was mini-Fushiguro who had bargained. From (Y/n)'s experience with Clan outcasts, they were the ones who were most likely would hold true to their words, as opposed to those who are reveled and worshiped by their family like some sort of god, nothing but filthy, dirty little traitors.

His words had made her put a small gram of adoration for the boy with sea urchin-like hair, the gram that Satoru would never get given his relationship with (Y/n) at the moment.

"Oh yeah? How much are we talkin' 'bout here, spiky?" (Y/n) challenged, teasing the sorcerer to egg him on.

"Five million dollars. Five million and you can leave with your sanity intact."

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#chiya's head rent 🎐#ao3 #fanfic writing #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #i love you gojo

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canyonkingdom · 9 months ago

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love i share

(robocar poli oneshot)

(tw: illness, depression, assisted $u|c|d3)

It's the dawn of my creation. The moment I opened my eyes, the world felt otherworldly.

The first faces I saw were of shock,

but they were basking in unmasked love.

They were my family. Poli and Roy served as my older brothers full of responsibility dare they take up. Amber was my mentor, my undying platonic strewn over. (And whenever leaking spur, my mind was all about her uncontrollably.)

I had been the cheery little brother my team, my family, had grown to see. We were happy on our own, but felt happier ruling over the town. Superiority at its finest is when we plead our strength. We have arms and legs while the inept citizens have wheels to compensate.

We were cars, robots, robocars living until the day we rust hundreds of years later. And there was our leader, our stunning, intelligent, beloved leader. She was a human, unlike all of us superiors, but we grew to love her as part of our team.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

She called me Helly. I was the most loved, yet most hated. Childlike and preserved I show, her tiny hands roaming my metal frame as she looked for imperfections.

She was a mother.

Only pure sweet I felt, none drenched in bitterness. A holding hand reaching me out, tenderness when I touch.

Us four do her every bidding. Independent we are, yet dependent on love. She nurtured us despite her lackings. Every rescue, a fresh coat of paint. Every accident, kisses goodnight. We were grown and we cherish a mother's love dearly.

One dawn in October, I scurried to the control room like a lost rat. My mind didn't fathom any activities yet I felt energetic. I was halted by a ear piercing scream.

Mother woke up. I snuck to the door, peeking slightly. Breathing so fast she did, her hair unkempt. Her hand wavered to the air, looked like she was touching something.

Or someone.

"Is it my time now?" she asked bewilderingly.

Slowly, she nodded, I could feel tears running through her. She sighed, yet a big grin flashed on her face. Light through the dusk basking in the headquarters. I felt confused.

I brushed it off soon after.

I should've come back to it.

It deeply hurt us when October came.

"Tuberculosis." I wish I could unhear the doctor's stern words.

How couldn't we notice? Her frequent coughs, fevers, tiredness; Smart us robots are, we aren't devoid of knowledge when in need.

"It has spread outside of her lungs." I forced a sob. "There's a chance she may survive, but I believe it's by a wide margin."

Doctor's appointments mother always missed, as she never came, seeing herself perfectly fine. She didn't care about her deteriorating immune system, even if she couldn't stand up no more. I should've suspected something when she always tightly gripped her chest, wheezing in clear out of breath state, yet I failed to see her pain amidst.

"How much is treatment gonna cost?" Amber asked. Her eyes glowed with hope despite the previous words.

"It's three thousand dollars for the medicine, and if the patient wishes to be confined, it's twenty three thousand."

"That's pocket money!" Roy bellowed a laugh to lighten the grueling mood. "We'll do it-"

"No."

She was smiling.

"I refuse to take the treatment." She repeated in a longer statement.

The doctor was impaled with sympathy.

Arguing aroused at home. Once a happy household drowned in bickering.

"Why would you refuse treatment, Jin?" Amber asked devastatingly. Her voice cracked every cry and her anger chilled me inside. Laidback once now fuming.

Comfortable in her orange pajamas, "I would still die in a few years even if i take the treatment." her voice was small, weaker than of Ambers.

"But you would still live longer..." my voice quivered when I said that statement. I wanted her to live yet I wished for her death.

"My decision." she simply said. A small smile she wore. Her tired eyes extenuated her frail body.

Poli and Roy didn't talk to her out of anger, only when there are rescue missions. Amber frequently tried to get her to reconsider, yet she stayed true to her word. Mourning was pain in their vocabulary.

But I only wished her best.

She still ran the rescue station beneath her crumbling health. Rescue missions continued, the town blissfully unaware of her sickness. Her pain left ignored. Countless pleas made; yet she never complied.

"Please, Jin. Poli and Roy only want you to get better." Amber tried hard, downward spiral ensues.

"They should respect my dying wish." her lips were chapped as forced a smile.

Nothing was the same.

Arguments erupted about her illness I tend to stay sway from. I cower every shout, I fly away when glass breaks. My fingers touch the outskirts of town, where I banter with the inferior townsfolk.

"Wanna play ball, Helly?" Annoying voice Bruner used, I refused instantly. I'm weeping in my own sadness.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, admiring the stars above. I saw her eyes glowing in the stars. Her smile a million stars I felt.

I felt her love.

Yet I can never feel it.

The undying pleasure where love once shined basked in underlying darkness. Depressing environment I flew in, blooming flowers wilting.

Poli and Roy became distant. Sad glares chipped up their frames, dipped in hatred. They didn't speak with her (I didn't understand how they could leave her love untouched.) and came to the headquarters less and less. I worried for them, but I didn't care.

They left her.

Amber stayed, health deteriorated. Her tears made her rust, bright paint once ladled in sad rustic orange. I kept her bright, painting over the scars. Yet they still persisted. Her pain leveled with the tuberculosis.

They couldn't take care of themselves no more.

Thankfully, the missions died down. I became Amber's nurse, ironically. (Mother didn't want a caretaker watching her every move.) Calm her premature tears, engine oil leaking, I become despondent seeing everyone lose hope in my eyes.

I was in the repair center, she looked me dead in the eyes. I didn't feel love pulsating from her veins.

It's sad.

It's been months. Mother's health is down the drain. Amber was getting better, her mental state didn't. Her days spent by looking over the port, finessing the sea. She shouted at me when I disrupted her peace of mind (which it wasn't, she went insane). Amber long ago stopped convincing mother to take treatment.

I have been on her side since illness shown. Making small talk, and didn't rush her need to get treatment. I only wished her wish to come true, live her best life as I serve her day and night. But her love never bloomed once again, like a wilting flower, bits chopped.

It was a cold October night, I finished my patrol immediately going back to her side. I'm greeted by Amber in the door, her eyes sunk, her metal rusting once more. I smile at her dearly, and she smiles back. I make my way to her room.

"Helly," she says bluntly.

I open my mouth to speak, yet interrupted. "Meet me at the garden, strictly midnight." her frail voice reminds me.

This was going down a dark path, but I trust my guts, trust her mind. Her body was of thin breadsticks and a orange bonnet she wore, lost of all her hair. Yet one sweet smile still remained on her face, though pale and wrinkled.

Midnight came by. I spot Amber in the race track. She was sobbing. She was always like this and I leave her be. I fly to the garden solemnly, spotting her amongst the array of flowers.

I retract my propeller as I land. It was so peaceful. She was looking at the sky above, twinkling stars and the glowing moon. I love seeing mother happy.

She looks at me. She smiles. "You came."

"I always will." I reply.

"Helly, do you know why I didn't want treatment?"

I sigh. "Why?"

"I wanted to die, Helly."

My eyes widen with that answer. Never did I see her as suicidal, she showered us with her affection and never showed herself her own. I felt terrible, rust crawling through my metal frame.

"Don't think about it the wrong way," she sighs heavily, "I love all of you, Poli, Roy, Amber, and especially you. But-" she paused.

"Why?" I blurt out painfully.

"They're calling me, Helly. Heaven." angelic tears, "My dad, he's calling me. I've got to leave this world."

Her dad has been a controversial topic. Like her, he had gave her love, looking up to him. Yet he died, sadly.

"Why?" I repeat, more sincerely.

"I miss his love, Helly."

Her painfully stupid but passionate decision shot daggers through my running engine. Death called her attention and was willing to sacrifice it just to feel love.

I forgot she was a real human, one that was amazing.

"I'm sorry," I say,

"I love you," I mutter.

She died, her glow fading in my arms. Her skin as pale as snow. Amber wailed so hard, cursing the world. I felt tears streak my frame.

Mother was a joy.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

Lies.

For once, I hated her love. Selfishness engulfed her being. We wanted her to be okay, and she didn't consider our feelings in the matter. All she wanted was to feel love.

Love.

Poli and Roy returned for the funeral. Awkwardness ensued when we sat together. Though they were deeply cracked inside, they found a way to smile. All of us. Amber's rust didn't show.

"How are you?" Roy asks, his voice husky from crying.

"You left us." Amber mutters harshly.

"I'm sorry." Roy sobs, "I- i'm sorry, I was angry a- and I didn't- I didn't fucking- fuck!"

Poli kept his cool, weeping in silence.

Her dark umbre casket lowered down and covered in dirt. Flowers dumped at the grave. Poli on his knees, begging for forgiveness. I stood there blankly.

Life never returned to normal, for me. Poli and Roy wiggled themselves into Amber's forgiveness, yet I enver forgave them further. They were stupid for even returning after leaving her for a simple misunderstanding of decisions.

Yet the only reason they returned was because of,

me.

Their stupid asses will never know. Never further looking at the autopsy report. They will never know her smile when I wrapped my arms around her neck, the crack of her bones, how I sobbed on her body throughout the night. When Amber found it, she was speechless. Thought she died of her illness.

I hid the autopsy safe in my room, none suspecting a single thing.

That night, she was persistent.

"Kill me, Helly."

Her love blinded me.

I felt it.

Her love, shining once more.

I watched Poli, Roy, and Amber hug each other goodbye. I watched the consequences of my decision thrive.

-///-

I cried a little while making this and that says a lot

pls don't cancel me /j

#robocar poli #oneshot #robocar poli oneshot #i love me some angst #robocar poli helly #helly loves mother #no one abandons mother #robocar poli amber #robocar poli roy

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