#Hitman AU

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 1

tw: mentions of suicide, alcohol use

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you’re too stubborn to bail out.

You tapped your fingers anxiously against your knee underneath the table, the tea you ordered growing cold as you waited. Your eyes darted around the coffee shop, thankfully rather empty apart from an older couple in the corner and a few schoolgirls ordering at the front counter.

You were early, so it was no surprise he wasn’t here yet, but the waiting game proved to be brutal on your mental as you checked the clock that sat perched on the wall. You could practically hear every antagonizing tick that passed with every second.

The ugly monster that reared its head rattled the thoughts consuming your mind. You were making a huge choice, one you wouldn’t turn back on, and the monster named reality was beginning to bare its teeth at you the more it set in.

The sound of your name being spoken in a gravelly voice had you snapping out of your daze, and when you looked away from the clock, you came face to face with the man in question. Tall, very tall, practically looming like the shadow of doom that seemed to wash over you the longer you stared. His face was covered with a mask, successfully hiding his face away and destroying any bouts of curiosity you may have had before this meeting. Thick arms covered by a black hoodie, the hood pulled over his head where you saw tufts of hair poking out.

“Yes. Yes, that’s me. You must be Ghost?” you confirmed woefully, voice small in comparison to his baritone one.

He gave you a curt nod before settling into the seat in front of you. He hunched into it, eyes low as he stared at you for a long moment from across the table. Eyes that kill, you thought to yourself.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Make it easy for you,” he began, and you held your breath in anticipation. “Just need a name, location, date an’ time, an’ a form of payment. Don’t need the logistics or reasonin’, just need what’s necessary.”

You swallowed nervously, shifting in your seat as you scrambled through your mind for the information.

Risking a glance at the older couple across the shop, they were in their own world, not minding the two of you. The thought lingered in the back of your mind that you were sitting here with a hitman you had hired on the dark web after months of scrounging around for one, and they were blissfully unaware of the exchange.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, sitting up and returning your gaze to his. The way he looked at you was all business, and it nearly sent a shiver down your spine.

“‘M waitin’,” he gruffed impatiently. It didn’t settle the nerves.

“Well…” You cleared your throat again, and his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched your throat bob. “It’s me, actually.”

He said nothing as he stared at you, and you briefly wondered if he’d ever gotten this request before — somebody hiring him to take them out because they were too afraid to do it themselves.

“I’d like it to be on Friday. It’s my favorite day,” you began quietly. Your hands continued to fiddle with each other under the table, picking at the skin around your nails and creating a slight sting. “Eleven PM. I’ll be going to bed by then. I’d… like it to be as painless as possible, so I’ll make sure I’m sleeping to make it easier.”

It was Monday now, so that gave you time to prepare.

Still, he said nothing, and his expression didn’t change. It was hidden beneath the mask, but his eyes were enough to convey what he was thinking — or at least, you thought it’d be enough. But they told you nothing. Blank and emotionless, like you were staring into an abyss of nothingness. A void.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, setting it down in front of him. It contained the address of your apartment you spent most of your time in, and would eventually spend dying in.

“I have the money. Won’t be needing it anyway, so whatever your price is, I’ll have it.”

Finishing your spiel, you expected to feel relief, but instead, you felt a mix of things you weren’t sure of. Dread? You thought you’d be comforted by finalizing the deal to end your life from the hands of another, but it certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Alright,” he agreed after the stretch of silence. He sniffed, adjusting himself in the small chair, placing his arms on the table. “You can leave the money for me in your place. ‘M sure I’ll find it anyhow.”

Releasing a breath, you nodded, watching as he took the wadded paper and shoved it in his own pocket.

“That all?”

You nodded again, mouth too dry to speak. After all, it wasn’t everyday you hired a hitman on yourself, let alone did it in the comfort of a coffee shop downtown.

“I’ll see you Friday then. Eleven PM.”

“Okay,” you breathed, watching as he stood up from the table. He gave you a nod in farewell, and your eyes followed his back as he ducked out of the coffee shop, disappearing like a shadow in the night.

Monday went. Then came Tuesday. Then Wednesday, Thursday, and eventually, Friday.

The week came and went like a breeze, and you had spent it making preparations. You told yourself it was for the best. A letter, written and rewritten over a hundred times, explaining what you did and why you did it — even if it wasn’t really you doing the job.

Life had a silly way of treating people. Everybody came from all sorts of backgrounds, some worse than others, and many came out of it alive.

You weren’t one of those people. You didn’t think you’d have the strength to succumb to the standards of basic living if it meant spending the rest of it miserable and alone.

Sitting in your apartment was a constant reminder of how void it was of any sign of life. Of course it had you, but considering you a sign of life was pushing it. You were barely hanging on by a thread, and all you were waiting for was for somebody to come around and cut the last bit with a pair of scissors so you could fully be free.

Time seemed to pass even slower when you knew death was on its way. You spent the majority of the dreadful Friday cleaning your apartment. You didn’t want Ghost to think you were a lousy slob, after all, even if part of you was — but you had your reasons. What point was there to tidy up on a regular day, when the only thing that ever filled your brain was numbness that extended to all parts of your body?

It was truly a never ending cycle, this life. You hoped that when it ended, whatever lay beyond death was much kinder than how life had treated you. The red-headed stepchild. Long forgotten, but forced to remain. It was punishment to even be alive.

When the sun fell beyond the horizon outside your window and the night sky welcomed the moon, you knew it was only a few hours until the course of your destiny would forever be altered.

You laid in bed, eyes locked on to the old ceiling of your apartment. The clock read 8:54 PM, which left approximately two hours before Ghost would arrive to finish the job. Two long, stretching hours by yourself, consumed in your own cage of a mind.

You couldn’t help that they lingered. Shifting focus between your unhappiness, your selfishness, your resentment towards the world and the people in it that had failed you. The pain brought upon you was almost too much to bear, even in these two hours of waiting.

Why had life been so unkind to you? Why you?

Nevermind that. It wouldn’t be long until you could finally get some rest, for good.

You don’t recall getting up from your bed to enter the kitchen, but you found yourself yanking open the cupboard that held an array of liquor you swore to yourself you wouldn’t touch again. It was as if your mind was in a fog, and you were acting purely out of blinded instinct.

Twisting the cap off of one of the bottles, you took a deep chug of the liquor, allowing the burn to slip down your throat and encase you with a temporary warmth.

Soon enough, that bottle became your companion in bed when you returned, sitting up against the headboard with it resting in your lap, cap lost somewhere along the journey back.

Your eyes stared blankly at the wall as you took the occasional sip, time continuing to tick by as you waited. Time stopped for no one, not even in the wake of death.

Eleven o’clock.

You were far from drunk, but you had definitely nursed the bottle enough to give you a buzz that allowed your mind to cloud over with a sense of fuzziness. It didn’t halt the thoughts from revealing themselves, but it certainly made the self deprecation easier to handle.

You hadn’t moved from your spot on the bed, nor had your eyes shifted away from the dinginess of the walls.

The faint sound of the door rattling almost went unnoticed, but even in the broken state of you, you weren’t sure you would’ve noticed it anyway. It wasn’t until that looming shadow from before had appeared next to you at your bedside that you knew what time it was.

“You’re not asleep,” Ghost gruffed out, voice quiet but nonetheless deep and void of much emotion. It was a nice voice to listen to, you thought, and it would be comforting to hear it in your final moments.

“Sorry,” you murmured quietly, finally lifting your head up to look at him. You looked a mess.

When he took in the sight of you, he could see the slight redness of your eyes, how they sunk into your skin, making you appear ghostly. Your lips were thin and chapped, pressed into a line on your face and making you look older than you were. Ghost saw a client nonetheless, but he also saw a tired girl who had reached the point of breaking. He wondered what had caused you to become this way, but it wasn’t his job to care.

“S’fine,” he huffed out, shifting his weight on his feet. “In no rush to kill you, anyway. Mind if I ‘ave a smoke?”

Ghost nodded his head towards the sliding door to your balcony, and you gave him a nod in return, watching as he walked away with a sniff. The door slid open and he went to step outside, before his eyes turned back to you.

“…Wanna join?” he asked, and you stared at him in surprise. “Figured you might enjoy one last smoke before you go about dyin’.”

You blinked dumbly before setting the bottle of liquor on your nightstand and standing up on bare feet to join him.

Outside was cold, the bitter chill causing goosebumps to rise along your skin. You joined him on the balcony, standing by his side like a lost child while he leaned against the railings.

He lifted the bottom of his mask to rest over his nose, placing a cigarette between scarred lips. The lighter illuminated the bottom portion of his face, and you stared as he took a deep inhale, letting the smoke exude out moments later.

His gloved fingers held the cigarette out towards you, and his sunken eyes watched as you took it from him. You inhaled it, feeling the burn of smoke fill your lungs and temporarily numb you for a brief second, before coughs erupted from your mouth.

“Fuck,” you breathed, eyes brimming with tears as you wiped at your mouth.

“Never smoked before?” he asked, and if he was amused, he didn’t show it.

“No,” you confessed grimly, handing him the cigarette, which he took gently. “Alcohol’s more my thing.”

“Mm.”

You stood in silence as he puffed on the stick, eyes casted out to the city around you. It was quiet despite the lit up buildings cascading a faint glow around the two of you, and for once, you felt peaceful.

“Must be going through quite the trouble if you’re askin’ somebody else to kill you,” he spoke after a pregnant pause in conversation. It snapped you out of your daze, and you turned your head to look at him. He didn’t look back. “Coulda just took a bunch of pills an’ called it a day.”

His words had you feeling a bit dumb, and you looked away from him, feeling a frown form on your face. You knew he was right. You could’ve just done it yourself instead of getting another person wrapped up in it, even if it was his job.

But you were weak. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it, couldn’t pull the trigger, couldn’t open the pill bottle, couldn’t throw yourself over the balcony.

“Must not really wanna die all that much if you can’t do it yourself.”

“I do.”

He chuckled, but it was so quiet, it got taken away with the breeze.

“Who are you tryin’ to convince?”

You stared at him in stunned silence, unsure of how to defend yourself. You knew how much pain you were in, and you knew you wanted it to end. But you also knew how much of a weak link you were to your own mind, and how much stronger you could be if you had just put in the effort to get better.

After all, alcohol only solved problems temporarily until they ended up creating more of them.

“I don’t really feel like killin’ you. Pretty girl like yourself doesn’t deserve a fate like that, much less from somebody like me,” he started, taking a pause to inhale another breath of smoke. “So how ‘bout I cut you a deal?”

“A deal?” you asked, frowning at him. “Isn’t it your job to kill, no questions asked?”

“Mm. That it is,” he confessed with a careless shrug. “But I’m not completely heartless.”

That was comical, coming from him. People hired him to kill whoever they requested, no strings attached, and no evidence left behind. He was a hitman, it was his entire livelihood to do just that, yet here he was, cutting you a damn deal.

“…What kind of deal?” You couldn’t help but be a bit curious.

For the first time since meeting, his lips quirked into a smile. It was small, barely noticeable, but in the dim lighting of the butt of the cigarette as it burned, combined with the glow of the city around you, you could see it.

“Two weeks,” he said, shifting his eyes to you. “I’ll give you two weeks to figure out what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours. If you’re still wantin’ to die, then I’ll do it for you. If not, then congratulations. You live to see another day.”

Two weeks to convince yourself to not want to die? The idea seemed silly to you. You had already went through the trouble of finding a hitman, hiring him, and coming up with a payment for when he completed the job of killing you. Wasn’t that convincing enough?

Still, though. You might’ve been a broken woman with little dreams and little remedies, but you were also stubborn. If he wanted to wait two weeks to try and prove you wrong, you’d gladly accept the challenge.

“Okay.” You nodded, tapping your fingers along the railings mindlessly. “It’s a deal, Ghost. Two weeks, and then you’ll be sure to kill me.”

He huffed out a laugh through his nose and extended a gloved hand for you to shake, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Deal.”

starting another au when i already have one ongoing but this came to me in the middle of the night and i literally woke up mid sleep and was like, good lord i wanna write that!!! so i did 🤌🏻

[kroosluvr]

there's some sort of plot here but im none the wiser bc i sketched these at 5am last night (just kidding here are my ideas under the cut)

hai :3

sumire took on kasumi's hitman spot in the Association(tm) they're in (smth smth they got blackmailed so now they have to work for The Association(tm)), because her beloved sister has so much more to live for than blind killing and maiming. her life is expendable anyway. when asked for her codename she blanked and just said violet bc that's just the meaning of "sumire" - hope THAT doesnt bite her in the ass later.

this violet is stoic, straightforward, and violent (Heh) and very goal oriented, just get the job done and get out. she's a good counterbalance to joker, who, though experienced and nimble, is often very impulsive and reckless.

this was also kinda inspired by navi!crow LMAOO u will always be famous........ i think him being exasperated by joker's antics during heists and missions wld be so fun

joker is joker and crow is crow their personalities r basically the same

notice that p2 joker card.. woagh... so when joker does his hitman bs he leaves his Calling card (????) of a joker card but woah suddenly we're encountering bodies with a Different joker card. who could this be.. woah. a mystery...

[hitmanchronicles]

How 41.3 ends.

[sequs-art-box]

Put your hands up! 🔫

[lirethh]

Obsessed. also art inspired by @tibby-art 's hitman au of convexian! I think it's rlly cool concept so to the ppl who see this maybe check it out? 👀

[meowmeowriley]

And if I said my brain was being consumed by a Hitman inspired AU With Agent 141, who his handler Soap (in place of Diana) will latter nickname Ghost, and then actually name Simon as he slowly falls in love with the ICA's deadliest weapon, what would yalls say? Hmm?

Would you say "But Kasey, your other wips!" "But Kasey, you haven't updated in so long!" "But Kasey!"

To that I would say "But the MUSE, the WHIMS! You think I control them? Silly." And then I'd bap you lovingly, like a cat, as I am Meow.

[marchy-emmet]

Some AUs I haven't drawn in a long time! And if they all interacted, the two AIs would be having a silly and annoying conversation while the hitman would want to rip his ears off

[heartagram-vv]

Cate Blanchett and Mads Mikkelsen hitman moodboard

Requested by @agushazxc

Thanks for the request

[r3naissancee]

some art for mine n @not-agoose’s smiling friends hitman au!! 🙏

minor blood tw under cut

[lauronk]

I was watching a movie (that one with natalie portman) and I got an Idea. A ficlet where joel is a professional hitman (or a retired one) and ellie is his daughter. She loves him, and he is devoted for her. He is wrapped around her little finger and he knows that.

What he doesn't tell her tho? he actually killed her father for his client. He only realized there was a baby in the house when it was too late. The truth eats him alive everyday, but he will never tell her. Never.

hi anon! thank you for this prompt, it fully latched into my brain and derailed the other stuff i had planned on working on lmao i hope you enjoy!

(this time baby) i’ll be bulletproof

length: ~2.6k words

tags: pov joel; joel & ellie; modern au; death/murder; brief mentions of blood; tess is alive; kidnapping; ellie’s whole life is a lie she just doesn’t know it; joel’s a hitman so what do you expect; joel’s also a great dad, what did you expect; no beta we die like david

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Gentle finger squeeze on the trigger. Exhale.

The target drops before he even realizes he’s been shot, a small pool of blood gathering on the carpet underneath his head. The man had been nice enough - not that he’d realized it - to leave his window open, so there wasn’t even the shattering of glass to alert anyone. He’d be found in an hour or so, when his wife returned home from her nail appointment, and by then, Joel would be long gone.

-

Sometimes he regretted the path he’d wound up on, the way his life had diverged from everything it should have been. Joel could look back and pinpoint exactly where the fork had occurred - his daughter, a victim of the wrong place at the wrong time, one man so bent on vengeance he didn’t care who he’d hurt in the process.

He had been the first one Joel had ever killed. Twenty years later, and he hadn’t stopped.

Only difference was, now he got paid for it, and handsomely at that.

-

The television is still on when Joel opens the front door, and he pauses, hand on the knob. It’s entirely too late for anyone else to still be awake, and he turns his head towards the dark hallway that branches off the living room towards the back of the house.

He makes sure he makes a fair amount of noise in the process of taking off his shoes and hanging up his keys. His pistol he secures in the safe over the fireplace, making sure it’s locked again before he slides the wall panel back in place. The TV he shuts off, and he pours a glass of water before finally making his way down the hall to the second door on the left.

“Ellie?” Joel knocks gently before pressing a hand against the door and nudging it open.

She gives an exaggerated deep breath, and Joel chuckles, stepping all the way into her room. He can make out the shape of her under her covers, curled on her side, a faint hint of moonlight trickling through the window.

The glass of water he deposits on her nightstand - he knows she’ll want it later - and lowers himself carefully to sit on her mattress near her hip. Her breathing picks up and then slows again, like she thinks he hasn’t already caught on.

“C’mon, baby,” Joel shakes her shoulder gently, his voice teasing. “I know you ain’t sleepin’.”

Ellie rolls over, blinking at him owlishly. She even brings a hand up to rub her eyes, widening them comically like she’s surprised to see him. “Dad?”

“TV didn’t shut off all the way,” Joel tells her helpfully, snorting when her hand immediately falls from her face and her head flops back dramatically on her pillow.

“Fuck.”

He tucks the comforter around her a little more tightly, brushing a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Yeah.” Her hand comes up and wraps around his wrist, squeezing gently. “You’re pretty busted, kiddo.”

Ellie shakes the hand holding his, waggling his arm around. “Why do I even still have a bedtime? I’m fourteen. Dina and Jesse don’t have bedtimes.”

He shakes his arm right back, eliciting a small giggle from her. “Dina and Jesse ain’t been caught sneakin’ out recently, have they? Maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with it, hmm?”

Ellie huffs, but she doesn’t argue. She had been busted after all, caught down at the neighborhood pool with some other kids by Marlene, the HOA president, and brought to his door dripping wet at one a.m. Bedtime and curfew had been reinstated after that, and Ellie had three more months of probation from him before it would be lifted.

It didn’t feel good to do - he’d struggled with punishing Sarah at all too - but it let him give free rein to some of his paranoia, gave him an excuse to keep her locked in the house a little more. It wouldn’t last forever - nor should it, Joel knew well and good that Ellie needed to go out and live her own life - but while she was still young enough, he’d shield her from everything he could.

Sarah hadn’t made it to fifteen - Joel was determined to see that Ellie did.

“Get some sleep, baby girl,” he tells her softly, brushing his fingers back and forth across her forehead in the way he knows will soothe her to sleep best. It’s worked since she was a baby, and sure enough her eyes are already drifting closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Waffles?” Ellie mumbles, rolling on her side and burying her face into her pillow.

Joel smiles down at her, feeling that same tug behind his heart that he has every time since he first held her. “Yeah, baby, we’ll do waffles.”

This time, her breathing deepens out naturally, mouth falling slack, and Joel bends forward to press a kiss to her temple. “Dream somethin’ good,” he whispers, same as he does every night. He ain’t superstitious - can’t afford to be, in his line of work - but he’s always been afraid that the nights he hasn’t been around to tell her, she’ll have nightmares.

Joel shuts the door behind him, padding back through the living room to double check the locks on the doors and windows and set the alarm. When he’s sure they’re as secure as can be, he makes his way back down to his room. He can’t fight the urge to open Ellie’s door one more time and peek in on her; she hasn’t moved, not that he expected her to.

His own room is dark, blackout curtains preventing even a hint of moonlight coming in. He’d wanted to put the same curtains in Ellie’s room for safety, but she’d put her foot down - I need to see the fucking sun, Dad - and Joel had relented. Her room faced the backyard, and they had no neighbors on that side, just a tall fence with motion sensors spaced carefully along it.

Joel doesn’t bother with a lamp, instead making his way straight through to his bathroom and flicking on the light there. As always, he avoids the sight of his reflection, instead turning his back on the mirror and flipping the handle on the shower. He cranks it as hot as he’ll be able to stand and tugs off his clothes, tossing them into a small pile on the floor. He’ll have to do laundry in the morning, get the first load going before Ellie’s awake.

The bathroom is already filling with steam by the time Joel steps under the spray, the water immediately stinging his skin like a thousand small needles. It immediately starts to soothe the aches in his body though, and Joel turns slowly until it’s beating between his shoulder blades.

He’s getting too old for this. Fifty-six, with nearly twenty years of it under his belt. He’s still deadly, sure, one of the best to ever do it as Tess so frequently tells him.

But his recovery times are slower, his reflexes dulling. His already damaged hearing in his right ear is only getting worse.

He’s not far from being a liability - he knows what they do to liabilities.

And he’s got Ellie to think of.

Joel rotates again, sticks his head under the water and lets it sluice down over his face.

He’ll bring it up with Tess soon, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know what the protocol is here - few in his line of work live long enough for it to be a consideration - but they’ll work something out. Better for him to get out now, after a damn near perfect record, while he’s still got enough health and energy to spend with his daughter.

Better that than him getting old and slow, getting sloppy and getting caught.

He shuts the water off and tugs the towel around his waist. The rest of his evening routine he does by rote - dressing, brushing his teeth, turning down his bed - and by the time his head hits the pillow, Joel’s able to slip straight into sleep.

-

He doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps - a side effect, he’d guess, of the way he lives his life. Maybe there’d been nightmares at first, flashes of the lives he’d taken, faint remembrances. But those had stopped with enough time and blood, and his sleep became peaceful again.

Not this night, though.

-

The hallways stretching before him is dark and long, shadows stretching out like fingers, and Joel walks silently as close to the wall as he dares. The floor is less likely to squeak there, but too close to the wall and he’ll brush against a frame or hanging, send it crashing to the ground. Easiest way to get caught, if you’re stupid.

And Joel Miller ain’t stupid.

The first two rooms - a study and a guest room - are clear. Tonight’s unfortunate soul is a widower, a man whose increasingly large debts to Joel’s employer were beyond the point of repayment. Nothing left to do but put the man out of his misery, leave the murky back-end of liquidating the man’s assets to the techies. His only job was making it look natural.

The third room is the master, a four poster bed in the middle, the target in question asleep under the covers.

It’s almost absurdly easy, and Joel leaves the body behind with a mental note to ask Tess for something more challenging next time. He doesn’t know what it says about him that this murder felt boring, but he doesn’t bother dwelling on it.

This is who he is now.

Joel does a final check, sweeping the hall with a flashlight to make sure he left no trace. He’s just clicked the light off when he hears it - a muffled sound of some sort, coming from the only door he hasn’t checked.

Joel advances, feet light, and draws his pistol as he approaches the door, turn the knob slowly with a gloved hand. A faint beam of light meets his eyes, and Joel blinks, inhaling slowly to keep his heart rate low as his eyes adjust.

The sound echoes again, and Joel pushes the door open carefully, pausing when the hinges emit the faintest squeak. Nothing stirs inside, no other sound follows.

Might be a dog or cat, Joel reasons with himself. Wouldn’t be the first time.

After another moment of stillness, he nudges the door open further, eyes scanning back and forth over the room. Taking in the bookshelf, the night light, the tall dresser, the —

The crib against the wall.

Joel’s hand falls limp next to his side, pistol dangling from numb fingertips.

He doesn’t do parents. He’s made that clear to Tess and her bosses a thousand times over. He’ll kill just about anyone, but not if they’ve got kids, and especially not if those kids still live at home. Tess knows - she knows - that’s a hard line for him. So either he was lied to when given the file, or their intel had been bad and they hadn’t known.

But there is - a chubby hand lifts from the crib - there is a baby in the crib. A small, now orphaned child.

Joel orphaned them.

He tucks the pistol into the back of his jeans and takes a careful step closer. And then another, and another, until he’s right next to the crib, hands gripping the railing as he peers down.

Bright brown eyes are staring back up at him, chubby cheeks framing an open mouth. The blanket covering most of her body reads Ellie.

“Ellie,” Joel repeats softly. “‘s that your name?”

A chubby fist waves up at him as if in response.

He should leave. He needs to leave. The job’s done, and the longer he stays here the longer he risks getting caught or leaving behind a trail.

But Ellie is staring up at him from her crib, rosebud mouth opening and closing and little babbles escaping.

He should leave.

But instead Joel bends down, hands carefully scooping underneath her back until she’s cradled against his chest. She rests there easily, something like a contented sigh - if he thought babies could make such a noise - escaping her. The warmth of her against him has something in his chest fracturing, splintering, breaking wide open. All the pieces of him seem to realign, and without thought Joel bends down to pick up her blanket. There’s a nearly full diaper bag by the door, and Joel snags that too.

Ellie doesn’t stir against him as they exit the house through the back and Joel winds them through the trees lining the back of the property. He doesn’t have a car seat, he realizes. He’ll need to get one of those - for the time being Joel lowers himself to sit in the backseat of the car with Ellie still held against him.

He’ll call Tess, Joel decides, back of his finger stroking gently over Ellie’s cheek. She can come get him, get someone else to get his car out of here. She’ll be mad, probably more than a little freaked out, but it ain’t for her to worry about.

Ellie’s his.

She stretches a bit, a small fist making contact with his neck. Immediately Joel starts to rub her back, low voice murmuring in her ear.

“It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

-

Joel blinks awake, the familiar sight of his ceiling coming in to focus above him. He doesn’t dream about the night he found Ellie very often, but every time he does it’s as clear as if it had just happened.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand shows it’s nearing on eight, which means Ellie’ll probably be up soon.

He totes his laundry basket down the hall to the laundry room, hitting the power button on the coffee maker when he passes. He’ll get the laundry going, his coffee made, the waffle batter started. And then they can have breakfast together, figure out how they want to spend their Wednesday. It’s summer, so Ellie’s out of school, and he’s off for the day.

Joel strolls over to the window facing the backyard as he sips his coffee, waffle batter made and sitting in the fridge. He’d moved around a lot before Ellie - hazard of the job - but he’d wanted her to have stability, safety. It made it trickier, meant he could take fewer jobs, but he’d stashed up enough money to make that less of a concern.

Tess had predictably lost her shit when she’d found Joel in the back of his car, Ellie snoozing against Joel, but within a matter of hours he’d had a crib and enough supplies to last two weeks. Within three days he’d had a birth certificate listing a dead woman as Ellie’s mother and Joel as her father. Any trace of her in the target’s house had been swiftly and carefully eradicated.

And Ellie had never known about any of it. If Joel had his way, she never would.

A yawn from behind him has Joel turning around, smile spreading across his cheeks at the sight of Ellie shuffling across the living room towards him in her pajamas, hair tousled and eyes half-open. She all but collapses against him, head thunking against his chest as she yawns again.

“Waffles?”

Joel chuckles, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon, sleepyhead, let’s get you some waffles.”

There was nothing more important to Joel than his daughter. And nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her from learning the truth.

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / FINAL

previous part

tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of suicide, heavy angst, please be cautious as always! <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

The weight on your shoulders was heavy and exhausting. It caused your body and soul to ache with a crushing feeling of grief. Your conversation with Price played in your mind tenfold, repeating over and over until it drove you to the point of insanity. You feared if you stayed stuck in the loop for a moment longer, your brain might short circuit and you’d succumb to life’s torturous game.

How had things come to this?

Two weeks ago, you should’ve been dead. Two weeks ago, you should’ve denied Ghost’s abrupt deal, you should’ve told him the truth – that you had no intentions of living past that very Friday the two of you planned meticulously to end your life.

Two weeks ago, you should’ve never met Simon.

What was meant to be a task given to you with the purpose of self healing had erupted into an even scarier nightmare. Life would’ve never been so complicated had you denied Simon and stuck to your original plan on desired death. It would’ve never been so complicated had you just done it all yourself instead of pussying out and asking him to finish the job for you.

Now, all that remained was a heart beyond repair, fragments of its shattered pieces being taken away with Simon when he had left.

He had the entirety of your heart, and you didn’t think you’d ever get it back. You couldn’t take it back if you wanted to. It belonged to him, and your heart was loyal to its owner.

All that was left was the, what now? Price had made it clear he couldn’t promise anything. Hell, you wouldn’t blame him if he had just said that in a half-assed attempt of comfort. For all you knew, Simon hadn’t a clue what was going on in the first place, or perhaps he didn’t care. Living without closure of what could’ve been had left you scarred and untrusting, even of the very man you’d fallen in love with.

Love was what always got you into this mess, after all. You couldn’t love yourself, so God was executing punishment by making you unlovable to everyone else. If anything, you should be thanking him for steering you away from more heartache.

Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Simon giving you a taste of what life could be if you had just tried harder, before pulling the candy right out of your mouth before you could protest that you weren’t quite finished with it.

You didn’t reach out to Simon. Even though you were blocked from the moment the two of you had sex and he ran, you didn’t dare try and test out your theory to see if he had undone his action. You weren’t even sure you knew what you could say to him.

While it was clear Price played a dirty hand in creating the drift between the two of you, Simon still allowed himself to be a puppet on Price’s string. It boiled you to the core, filled you with resentful distaste that you couldn’t quite swallow.

It was hard to accept that you hated him almost as much as you loved him.

No matter how angry you were at the world for the hand it was dealing you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to leave it. Not on your own. Even through the hole of emptiness that rattled you to the bone, a spark of hope shone from deep within you, and that was what kept you going. It was the faintest of light, fighting to stay ablaze. No matter how puny and weak it was, it was still there, cheering you on in a gentle voice to keep going.

As much as you didn’t want to listen, you did.

Life’s a bitch and then you die. But maybe if you gave it one final chance at redemption, things may work out in your favor this time. And if they didn’t? The original plan was always in the cards.

Simon left Price in the dust the moment he uttered those words. Go and get your bird back, Simon.

He had never heard something so beautiful, so breathtaking. It was his call back home, and he’d be an absolute tool if he didn’t rush to return to its welcoming arms.

He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked running along the streets in the middle of the night. Hell, he didn’t even bother to put his mask on. Tonight, he was Simon, and he was wearing his identity with pride. Ghost was tucked away in the darkest depths of his mind, caged in and hidden. With you, he didn’t want to be Ghost. He didn’t want to be a man who thrived off of the stolen lives of the innocent in order to pay his bills. He didn’t want to be the broken version of himself that imprisoned his own vulnerability.

He wanted to be the man who could give you a colorful life filled with painted sunsets and warm rays. Only Simon could do that, and he’d throw Ghost away if that was what it took.

The closer Simon got to your apartment, the more the nerves wracked his body with a faint tremor. Would you even speak to him? Forgive him? He knew he didn’t deserve it. Hell, he deserved a cold fist to the jaw and a stab wound to the heart.

The least he could do was try.

He pondered if he should get you something. Flowers, maybe, but when it came down to it, flowers were a pathetic excuse for an apology. No, Simon wanted to do this right. He had spent his entire life partaking in wrongdoings. For once, just once, he wanted to be good.

The sight of your building nearly had him throwing up on the concrete beneath his boots. It turned his stomach in a sickeningly sweet way, coating his tongue with bitter cottonmouth. For the first time since he could remember, Simon was scared. Downright terrified.

While the feeling should be seen in a negative light, he saw it as the complete opposite. It meant he was alive. He was still human. He still harbored emotions that Ghost had so desperately tried to get rid of.

Even after everything, he was still Simon.

His feet grew heavier and heavier with every step he took into your building, up the raggedy stairs, and down the dim hall, just like the routine he had always fallen into when waiting for you to return from work. Things may be different now, and he may be venturing on the same path with a different ending this time, but that didn’t mean he was led astray. Different could mean better, and he could only pray to the very God putting him through hell that his outcome would be brighter than before.

Simon didn’t know how long he stood outside of your door. He willed himself to knock, but he was struggling internally. The truth was, he was scared to see you. Seeing you meant facing the result of his regretful actions, and he wasn’t sure he could handle recognizing you as broken because of him.

He dug this grave, he wallowed in it, and now it was time to crawl his way out and make things right.

His fist shook as he raised it to knock on the door. Knuckles collided with the old wood, echoing sharply in his ears. Anxiety crept into his bones, leaving him in an uncomfortable suffocation. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to breathe until you were in front of him. The room felt small, it was closing in on him. He wondered if this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just left you alone, maybe he should’ve kept you out of his mess–

“Simon?”

The air that was tightening in his lungs exhaled in a slow, trembling breath, shoulders going slack from their tightly wound stiffness. Your voice was his oxygen, and he could finally breathe again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and God, did it feel jubilating to say that name again.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, and the bitterness in your tone was clear. It sunk into him like a thousand knives, coursing him with relentless pain.

“I need to fix this,” he gasped out. “Please, sweetheart, let me fix this. I know I fucked up, alright? I fucked up bad.”

You stared at him in disdain, but Simon could see the glimmer of a burning ache in your eyes that matched his own. You missed him just as much as he missed you, but your hurt overruled everything else. He didn’t blame you one bit.

“You left me after you had sex with me, Simon,” you spat with dripping fire that scorched him with every word. “You left me after everything. You expect me to just let you come here and tell me you fucked up, as if I didn’t know that?”

Simon could feel his resolve slipping away. He wanted to panic, to spit out useless apologies until one of them worked and you caved, but that wasn’t how this was going to go. Simon would have to work for it, and he’d be damned if he let you slip away. He’d spend the rest of his life working for it if it meant having you in the end.

“Sweetheart–”

“Fucking– I’m not doing this in my doorway. Just… just come inside,” you sighed out, utterly defeated. You didn’t have to tell Simon twice. He stepped into your apartment cautiously, letting you know that you were in complete control. You were in charge, and Simon was here to take the beatdown, no matter how painful it may be.

Upon entering, your apartment was in havoc. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t disgusting or revolting, but it was clear you spent most of your days cooped up in your room. Simon felt guilt eat away at him from the mere sight alone.

“Tell me how I can fix this,” Simon pleaded. Everything about his body language was desperate, distressed. His hands spoke for him, moving animatedly, unable to control himself. He was begging. For the first time in his life, he was begging.

“I’m not telling you how to fix anything, Simon. You’re the one supposed to fix it on your own. I’m not going to do it for you,” you explained in eerie calmness, but it was unmistakingly exhaustion. He couldn’t imagine how much he had put you through.

He knew you were right. This was Simon’s responsibility, and begging you for the cure would be easy on him and harder for you. He couldn’t allow that to happen. You’d already been burdened enough.

Simon stared at you, eyes glossed over, eyebrows pulled together from his stir of emotions. The way you stared back was empty, and it broke his heart that he was the reason for the light going out so soon after gaining it back.

He contemplated what to do. There were many ways this could go sideways, and he couldn’t risk that. He had to pick what was right in his heart, even if it meant shoving away the pride he’d grown accustomed to over the years of being alone and hollow.

Simon slowly got down on his knees, hands clasped in his lap, and he gazed up at you in woe. He was baring himself to you completely, stripping himself of all defenses, and succumbing to vulnerability. Never had Simon gotten on his knees for another person. His ego was too large, and he refused to let himself express weakness.

For you, he’d hang himself dry.

“What are you–”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice soft yet broken, brimming with anguish. “I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. Nothin’ I say will make it better. I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness for leavin’ you the way I did, for hurtin’ you like everybody else has done. I gave you an empty promise, and even then, I broke it.”

You were speechless from where you stood, peering down at this burly man on his knees for you. Your eyes never strayed away from his, and you recognized the familiar spark of despair in them. They looked just like yours every time you looked in the reflection. He was a mirror of you, just as you were a mirror of him.

“I was scared of losin’ you because of my job. I didn’t think a sweet thing like you deserved to be involved with a man like me. I didn’t want you hurt,” he explained, and the faintest crack in his voice showed you just how hard this was for him as well. You weren’t the only one suffering the consequences.

“Yet you hurt me anyway,” you whispered brokenly, and Simon deflated.

“I know,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I know, sweetheart. I let my fear control me, and it caused me to make things worse. It wasn’t fair t’you. I fucked up, and I’m so sorry.”

Your own resolve was faltering. You wanted so badly to be angry, to kick him out and be done with him. Strip him from your life and return to your days of wallowing in loneliness and misery.

You couldn’t. Every word was like a small bandaid over a too-big wound, but it was an attempt. He was trying. Nobody had ever tried with you before.

“Y’know,” you began, voice as soft as a whisper. “One of your boys came by to see me. Price.”

Simon blinked, surprise morphing on to his face. He swallowed anxiously, fists squeezing in his lap before he forced them to relax.

“And?”

You stared at him for a moment, shifting through your words in your mind.

“He tried to get me to cut you off. Tell you that I was better off, that I didn’t want you around anymore. He thought it would be best,” you finished quietly, shifting your eyes away from him in a moment of guilt. You weren’t sure why you were feeling it, but you’d recognize that uncomfortable lump in your throat anywhere. “I told him no.”

Simon’s eyebrows raised, eyes darting over your face to read your expression. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you confessed, shifting uncomfortably. “Told him… told him you didn’t deserve that.”

His heart ached painfully in his chest. What a lovely woman you were, defending him even after he had wronged you. How stupid he was for letting his own past misfortunes creep into the present.

He should be mad at Price for invading in on his personal business, but if he didn’t, Simon might not be here right now, kneeling before you and pleading for forgiveness. Price gave him an in, he gave him a chance, even if he went behind his back to do so.

Go and get your bird back, Simon.

It made sense now. Simon nearly laughed in bitter humor.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, finally gaining your gaze back. Your eyes had softened from their hardened walls you built back up again, and he prayed he had a chance. “I know it’s not goin’ to fix anythin’. You’re still angry with me, and you have every right t’be. But if you still decide to throw me out, to never speak t’me again, then I want you t’know that I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, chest pulling tight. A mixture of pain and relief coursed through your veins, and you weren’t sure which emotion to listen to. You weren’t sure what was right, but there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that you loved him, too. Heartbreakingly so.

“You do?” you whispered in uncertainty.

Simon rose from his kneeled position, taking a cautious step towards you. When you didn’t back away, he seized the opportunity to cradle your hands in his, holding them to his heart. “I do,” he repeated softly. “I’m not good at this, sweetheart. I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people, yet loving somebody has always been the hardest thing to do. With you, it feels easy.”

You stared up at him, searching for any signs of dishonesty. What stared back at you was pure truth, his eyes flooding with a new light that promised love and confidence.

Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you responded, “I love you, too. Even though I should hate you.”

For the first time since seeing him, Simon smiled. It was a boyish smile, one you’d never seen before, and it lit your entire world up. The sun was back out, the flowers were blooming, birds were chirping, and nature was at peace. It tugged on your heartstrings and pulled away all of the hurt that had resided inside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. It brought you back to the first time the two of you shared a kiss, and the memory was fond. Despite all of the troubles and heartache, Simon was true to his word. Even if the world had failed the two of you, now was the time to change life’s course and rewrite your own future.

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly.

Simon’s kiss was as familiar as before, but this time, it felt much more intimate. It was burning passion simmered down to tenderness, his hands cradling your face with the utmost care, treating you like frail china. He didn’t push or prod and instead moved with you rather than take control, letting you handle the reins this time.

It was a slow dance rather than a waltz, steady and unceasing.

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” he breathed against your lips, and you could feel the curl of his smile. You opened your eyes to peer into his own, unable to contain your own smile.

His lips returned to yours, and you melted into him. All that weight had been lifted so easily. All the rage had dissipated into nothing, being replaced with a warm, glowing light that filled your chest and threatened to burst.

This was all you wanted – to be content. To be happy.

You didn’t want to spend your days, awaiting an early death that would never come, nor did you want to waste it being burdened by the past that haunted you like a demonic spirit. This felt right.

When more and more feeling poured into the kiss, it shifted into something more starved, like two lovers who’d been separated for years. While you were falling into it, Simon was reluctant. Pulling away from you, you had a brief moment of uncertainty before he spoke.

“I don’t want to rush you like I did last time,” he explained gently. “The last thing I want is for you t’feel pressured. I’m not here for only that. M’here to fix this.”

“Simon,” you murmured, a warm smile on your face. “I know you aren’t. I want to do it. Is that okay?”

Simon stared at you for a moment, weighing out his options. While having sex was part of the reason the two of you ended up in this mess, it was the part after that really played a role. This time, things would be different.

“‘Course that’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, returning your smile.

He was careful in guiding you to your room. While anxiety weighed heavy on his mind in messing things up further, he was determined to ensure that wouldn’t happen. The power was in his hands, and he’d use all of it in order to make you feel the love you deserve to feel.

Peeling off your clothes was a slow task. He took his time, reveling in the warmth of your skin, guiding his hands across every inch of flesh. He was worshiping you, showering you in praise and care. Sweet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured affectionately, lips pressing to your cheek, then jaw, then down your neck. You were laid out for him on the bed, looking like a goddess bathed in light. “Don’t know what I did t’deserve you.”

“Simon,” you whispered, feeling tears spring in your eyes. Noticing, he lifted himself up, brushing the pad of his thumb softly over your cheek, swiping away the stray tear. He smiled down at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

He didn’t leave you waiting, but he certainly didn’t rush either. He worked diligently in stretching you open on his fingers, curling into that familiar spot that had your breath catching and your back arching beautifully. Your moans were spoken sonnets that blessed his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to hear them for the rest of his life.

Simon didn’t stop his notions, working you open until you were a squirming, crying mess, kissing away your tears while drowning in bashfulness at the sight of your pleasure. You deserved to feel good, and he’d die making sure of it.

When he lined himself up with you and slowly pressed his cock inside until he was at the hilt, buried in your moist warmth, he let out a blissful sigh, knocking his forehead against yours. He didn’t tear his eyes off of you, watching every flicker of euphoria that flashed in your eyes when he moved his hips. Unlike last time, his pace was slow yet firm, allowing you to bask in the delicious feeling of his cock pressing against the gummy walls of your cervix with every thrust.

“I love you,” he breathed through a sigh, brushing away a strand of hair that stuck in a sweaty mess to your forehead. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. M’so lucky.”

You whimpered as he showered you in praise, wiggling from under him. The pleasure mixed with brimming love had you close to orgasm, clenching around him in a vice. He panted with you, breath fanning your face, only getting cut off when he’d lean down to kiss you.

It was a wonderful display of intimacy. This wasn’t just sex. He wasn’t ruining you, he wasn’t leaving you broken. He was leaving you overflowing with promises that he had every intention of keeping.

Simon swallowed up your moans with lips pressed to yours, fucking you through your orgasm, whispering sweet encouragements. He filled you, sealing those promises, his spend mixing with yours and bringing the two of you together as one.

Breathless and spent, Simon tangled you in his arms and legs, holding you close to his chest so he could feel your warmth against him. It brought him comfort and security, like a blanket being lovingly placed over him and consuming him in a snug embrace.

It was silent for a long time after, but neither of you minded it. You relished in the feeling of one another, and words weren’t needed.

“You’re not going to leave after I fall asleep, are you?” you whispered, breaking the silence with a brief moment of weakness. Simon shifted his head to look down at you, lifting a hand to cradle your head and card his fingers in your hair.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he assured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You nodded against him, snuggling closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest.

“You weren’t here to see me make it to two weeks,” you said softly. Though the reminder hurt to hear, you held no resentment in your tone, which gave him a sense of relief.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with a frown. When you peeked your head up to look at him, his eyes softened. It was like looking at the most beautiful thing crafted on this planet, and he had the absolute honor of calling it his.

“Maybe we can have a do-over,” you suggested, smiling cheekily at him. It enticed a laugh on his end, rumbling from his chest.

“How about instead of puttin’ a deadline on it this time, we keep count of the days that you wake up and accomplish seeing all the tomorrows. Deal?”

Your smile widened, and you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s a deal.”

IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER!!!! I am so sad because I had such an amazing time writing this fic and it will truly always be one of my favorites. so many of you enjoyed it and supported me through it, and I cannot thank you enough for all the love you've given me :,) I sincerely hope this ending is what everybody wanted and more. I love you all <3

[kining-the-evil]

Au where I’m the trophy wife to hitmen!Billy and Stu

[hitmanchronicles]

Luci may or may not be a hermaphrodite.

[sequs-art-box]

I can finally share these drawings XD

Mr. Becker belongs to @ghxstlly !

[dropofbittersea]

Derek Hale is the best boyfriend.

He's sweet. He's funny. He recites Pablo Neruda completely unprovoked.

He also happens to be in the murder business. But hey, nobody's perfect.

-

A romantic comedy with guns and roses.

(Well, maybe not the roses.)

[persli]

No but listen to me, a BingJiu AU in the Mr. and Mrs. Smith style, where Bingge wants to get revenge on Shen Jiu for being an asshole in the past (it was supposed to be just gathering proof that SJ committed some crimes but he also kind of who is tempted to kill him because Bingge is completely crazy). He marries him after convincing the Shen family company that it would be a good business, since they are bankrupt and Binghe's family is full of money. So ok arranged marriage, but it's obvious that Shen Jiu hates the idea, he does it for his beloved brother, Shen Yuan, he doesn't want him to have a life full of difficulties and to live on crumbs, like him. (Or maybe there is blackmail, I didn't think much about it) and he ends up giving in. Forced cohabitation, hey! Luo Bingge ends up getting entangled in the garden of wild and thorny roses that is Shen Jiu's life, and ends up discovering several misunderstandings in the middle of it. Two hindrances rejected by everyone around them, with hardened and darkened hearts end up finding comfort in each other. But not before exchanging a few stabs, of course, because we're talking about bingjiu.

Anyway, it's been a while since I watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith but I think it gives off the vibe of these two

it would also be cool if they were both hitmen having to kill each other