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meaninglessblah-writes · 4 years ago

Note

For the made up title prompts: Flowers for the moon. 😊

201120

Thank you very much for the inspiration, lovely ♥ It definitely ran away from me. For you, what is perhaps a JayTim Reverse Robin AU, even if I didn’t get to cement it as such. Just know the intention was buried somewhere in there.

I had some vague idea about Bruce being a Moon God, and the other Robins being iterations of his form - Damian as the devastating tidal Perigean/Super Moon, Tim as the rare Blood Moon/Lunar Eclipse, Dick as the young Blue Moon. Jason is chosen as their tribute, though I haven’t nailed down exactly what happens to him after the ritual. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the concept!

"Flowers for the Moon”

The cuffs are heavy on Jason’s wrists, glinting polished silver in the light of the setting sun. They weigh his arms down at his sides, though the only chains he wears are the ones the acolytes had draped over his collarbones and around his palms, kissing the skin of his knuckles between murmured hymns.

Their gentle touches are still as surreal now as they had been when they’d first scooped him up and through the temple’s mahogany doors. A day ago, he had been a street rat scavenging through the slums of Gotham. Today, he was the chosen tribute of the Moon God.

Jason’s not sure how long the adjustment period is supposed to last. He knows these things happen rather quickly. It’s not every day the Moon God demands a tribute from the masses, chooses a charge. It’s not like he’s had cause to prepare for this sort of thing. It’s not like he ever dreamed it would happen to him.

Everything is moving so suddenly; he feels tugged in every direction, swept - quite literally - off his feet. He hasn’t even had time to work out how he feels about this, how he’s expected to feel. Grateful? Angry? Upset? Overjoyed?

The whiplash is enough to have him feeling nauseous, perched on his seat at the centre of the procession of acolytes and holymen, bustled through the crowds gathering on the cusp of dusk.

The same men who had chased him from their doorsteps in the winter months are now gathering to shower him with silver coins as the wagon climbs through the streets, icons of favour and tithing clattering on the wood between his bare feet. Jason tries not to flinch with every ring of metal, the chorus competing above the bleat of his own unsettled heart.

Their small procession makes its way up rough cobbled streets that shift to smooth marble, and then they’re easing to a standstill. Jason’s head is bowed towards his lap, as he’s been instructed. Unable to tear his gaze away from his trembling hands long enough to look up at the temple he knows they’d arrived at. The one that is visible from every corner of the city, no matter how far into the gutter you’ve crawled. The shadow of their allegiance to the Moon God swinging over the streets like a looming sword.

“Come on, boy,” the acolyte says, and then strong hands are tucking beneath his underarms to hoist him out of the wagon. He’s deposited on his own two unsteady feet a moment later, in the shadow of the altar. When Jason’s bare toes touch the white marble, a chill laces up his spine like ice cracking over a spring lake.

The acolyte pauses, shifting fingers through the ethereal streak of white hair at Jason’s crown. A kiss from the Moon God, they had called it. Jason’s not so sure yet that it’s the blessing everyone’s proclaiming it to be.

He’s nudged forward, across the gleaming, glowing tiles that sear the soles of his feet with their cold. When he reaches the base of the obelisk, he draws to a halt, neck craning back to drink it all in, from its sturdy, engraved base all the way to its towering peak where it splits the night’s clouds. It’s made of the same white marble as the floors, and Jason feels horrifically unclean juxtaposed against all these blemishless surfaces.

He’s never been cleaner, he knows. The acolytes of the temple had bathed him in milk and honey, scrubbed the streets’ filth from his skin until it burned, and then left him to soak in their baths. They’d washed his hair too, combed it out until it was soft to the touch - even the new white streak that painted his forehead like a lightning strike across a black storm’s sky.

He’d been painted too; his lips, and his lids, and his cheeks. Brushes trailed down his collarbones and chest to paint white lilies - the effigy of the Moon God - on his warm skin. The paint had been chilled, and whenever he passed beneath the glint of the rising moon, they would shimmer with a translucent light, refractions dancing over every expectant face.

The robe he’d been fitted with is barely decent, nearly sheer enough to bear him to every transfixed gaze as he crosses tentatively over the threshold towards the obelisk. Bouquet of flowers clutched tight to his chest. The petals waver with every tremulous breath that wheezes past his lips.

The acolyte follows him up the steps, an incentivising hand between his shoulder blades that only falls away when his toes touch the dias - and only then to lift to his shoulder to push him down to his knees. The picture of terrified reverence beneath the last rays of the setting sun.

The gold bleeds from the stone as it fades below the line of the horizon, leeching all colour and warmth from their surroundings as Jason kneels and waits. His breath hitches in the ensuing cold, heart thundering in his narrow chest, knuckles as white as the lilies in his palms.

It’s quiet, for a while. There’s an expectancy layered over them all, like a shroud of snow. Unbroken and pure as they await the moon’s rising.

The moment when the Moon God will climb down from his vaporous throne to claim his gift.

Jason realises, suddenly, dizzyingly, that he’s never heard what becomes of the Moon God’s tributes. They’re always spoken of so highly, so reverently. Of how they were chosen. Of how they ascended.

To where, Jason doesn’t know. Hasn’t the slightest idea what becomes of the favoured tributes once the Moon God takes what’s owed to him. Do they even survive the ritual? Does anyone even care? Or do the acolytes simply sweep the lifeless bodies out of the way, dispose of the husks once their deity has had his fill? A sombre sacrifice for the promise of a season’s bountiful crops, a city’s steadfast protection, a council’s yearlong prosperity? A short but necessary candle snuffed to appease a greater shadow.

The petals shred between his fingers when his grip constricts, every muscle braced in terror as he stares directly at the rune carvings he can’t read, kneecaps aching from the unyielding stone. He’s shivering, he knows. Shaking in the darkness as the moon slowly rises into the newborn night.

Jason feels the spectre moreso than sees him. He leaves no shadow on the tile, materialising from the yawning eye of the moon to approach the altar. He feels him in the rise of the hairs on the back of his neck and the stiffness that takes his spine. Feels him in the chill that ruptures through him, dosing him in numbing cold.

Jason gasps, the sound more a choke of air than a breath, willing himself to turn, to look, to run.

He hears footfalls, the sweep of smoke over marble, intangible. The altar blurs before him, smeared across his vision with his tears as terror takes him.

A ghost’s fingers slip across his throat, tilting Jason’s jaw upward to revel in the sight of the Moon God where he stands before him.

The flowers slip between his fingers and splatter to the tile between Jason’s knees.

#meaninglessblah answers #franticvampirereads #Jason Todd #201120

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iwritethat · 5 years ago

Text

UnreQUITed - Part 4

Request: Unrequited part 4 requests in general

A/N: FINALLY!! Here it is, the finale, I hope it isn’t a disappointment - no guarantees tho :’)

Warnings: Angst(???), swearing

>>>>—————————>

~ Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~

Two shots.

Piercing and heart stopping.

They continued to echo even months after they'd been released, they haunted those who overheard like a temperamental ghost and every time successfully provoking feelings of guilt, pain, regret.

"(Y/n) is okay y'know..." Jasons calm yet frustrated voiced snapped Dick out of his overthinking trance, the cold breeze of Gothams evening setting a tense atmosphere between the two brothers. The eldest remaining eerily silent.

"The assassin that shot her is dead by the way." He continued with a more dangerous topic and little remorse, after noting Dicks lack of response that is.

"You shouldn't have done that." Nightwing gave a heartless sigh, tone lacking any of its usual warmth - a new normalcy over the recent months.

"Oh trust me - I wish it had done it, but someone beat me to it."

"Who?" Dick flicked his head toward his brother, skeptical eyes narrowing in confusion whilst Jason simply gazed over the vast array of stones, his breath leaving it's trace on the cold winds surrounding them.

"Me." The cruelly familiar voice brought killer glares to both vigilantes, their eyes translating their harboured hatred toward his damn audacity. He had some nerve or a death wish making his presence known here, to the brothers he was trespassing on sacred ground which they did not take lightly under the current circumstances.

"(Y/n) was important to me too, so I killed the bastard myself."

"You don't get to say that name! It's your fault she was even in this mess Slade!" Of course the explanation was not wanted, Dicks immediate vile retaliation proof of that though it didn't intimidate the former assassin, nor discourage his intent by a fraction.

"No Grayson, it's yours. (Y/n) was an ex assassin like me, the League kill deserters but since she was around Damian they left it be. Of course, the moment (Y/n) left because of you she became a target. Though she didn't realise it, I had her under my employment so I could protect her just as she'd do for me. But yet again, you pulled her away and (Y/n) died taking a bullet for you." Slade casually finished but untamed anger resided in his voice, unfortunately it was dripping in truth - the League of Assassins were cautious when confronting Slade Wilson, especially when you two were together as you'd always worked efficiently as a duo.

The harsh response left the two silent - Jason hadn't much left say, but he could feel the pure unadulterated rage radiating from Dick like a barrier pushing people away - Slade took the opportunity to fulfil his original purpose, string past them to place a single red rose under the engraving of ‘(Y/n) (L/n)’.

——Months Earlier——

The shooter stumbled in the distance, no doubt armoured enough to prevent a shot being fatal although you couldn't quite dissect what was occurring around you until you heard Jason's voice echo from Nightwing's communicator

"I missed! These fucking rubber bullets I swear I'm switching back to the real deal -"

Relief flooded your veins, yourself slipping around the corner and sliding down the wall as you tried desperately to overhear as much as you could.

"You got him, thank you Ja-"

"No I didn't! He shot! Dick he shot!" That silenced the love of your life, his blood running cold considering he couldn't find your figure anywhere in his peripheral vision - only splatters of crimson marking where you once stood. Where you'd stepped in front of him. He felt sickeningly feint, unable to compose himself of the gut wrenching worry radiating from his body.

It's like your mind went blank as soon as he'd ask anything of you and you'd agree on instinct, you'd die for that man if he so much as needed it...

Your past thoughts almost made you laugh, a weak cough replacing the gesture and it seemed you'd predicted your own future rather accurately even if you didn't know it at the time. Regretfully you weren't as silent as you'd hoped, Dick skidding down to your level and meeting your smug gaze with sheer regret once zeroing in on the sound, all you could offer was a kind smile and playful punch to his arm despite your pained wince.

"Hey Dickiebird, did Jay get him?"

"Don't - Don't move, you're gonna be okay." It was unclear whether he was attempting to convince you or himself of that blatant lie, you were beyond comforting and had already accepted your fatal mistake whereas he remained stupidly optimistic. A facade for your benefit by your judgement.

"Yeah you're right, I'm going to be just fine and so are you... But could you please do me one last favour?" Either way you played along, irises betraying the sympathetic smile you'd adorned.

"Anything."

"See me your best friend, just one last time and remember that I love you alright." It was merely a platonic request, his memory shot back to the photographs you'd taken and the message inscribed on them.

"I - I can't do that..." Dick sorrowfully responded, once again meeting your eyes with regret as you lolled your head back against the wall trying to withhold your tears concocted from both the splitting puncture and his decline but you couldn't let that show through your haphazard reply.

"I suppose I deserve that."

It was true, you'd disappeared from his life for 6 months without warning or trace. A friend wouldn't do that, shouldn’t do that, but you had to think of your self preservation for once.

"I wish I could... but I can't see you as just a friend anymore, not now, I - because I -" His tone was so painstakingly genuine, so filled with an array of warring emotions that you had to do a double take to ensure you were hearinh him correctly.

"Don't." You knew where it was headed and honestly you didn't want to hear it anymore, once upon a time you'd have given everything to hear those 3 beautiful words, words that'd bring euphoria - now you were a third of the way there and all it brought was nausea.

"It's too late."

He silenced himself, your voice derived of it's signature charm only sharpening the cut of your words. What hurt most was the the painful truth of them, he was too late and he knew that - you deserved this side of him months if not years ago but he was both blind and too apprehensive to fan those glowing flames. Instead choosing to suffocate them with the placement of another that could never burn as brightly.

Although despite your tongue, your eyes held those flames he'd once bathed in and he understood that you'd felt it too, a conversation worth a thousand words was conveyed as well as the hopeless feelings in your hearts that created a comfortable silence. It didn't ease the plague of memories, nor answer the countless what if's swirling your mind but it helped.

"I need you to call Damian for me, I won't leave him again without saying goodbye this time." Your voice was merely a whisper, one that was obeyed disheartenedly but quickly and soon Damian's bored tone left you smiling.

"What Grayson?"

Dick however not so much, it took a moment to organise his emotions enough to disclose the situation in the most delicate way - he'd managed that but his unsteady tone let him down.

"You - Ah, (Y/n) needs to talk you alright?"

"That's not how you start a conversation, what's -" The wait was already killing you and you couldn't hold back any longer, you didn't want to explain - only enjoy one last conversation without underlying sympathy or guilt that'd surely surface once he discovered your condition.

"Hi Dami, I'm sorry I didn't get to properly see you when I came back."

"There's still plenty of time (L/n), how about a walk tomorrow?" He seemed calm, you could practically hear him shake his head over the phone with that classic TT.

"I - I can't, I'm leaving but I wanted to tell you this time, and I know that I'm going to miss you so much Damian. S-so you better look after your dumbass brothers whilst I'm gone." It made you happy, undeniably so with your tone laced with playfulness that you felt you needed, felt like things would return to how they used to be.

"Where are—" Damian cut himself off, he was perceptive in every sense of the word and observant enough to hear the way you bit back tears even if not in sight. He remained silent for a few seconds, long enough for you to close your eyes in order to keep the tears at bay knowing he'd now read between the lines and was finding the most comprehensible way to deal with it. With the fact that you're leaving. And won't be coming back this time.

"I'm proud to call you my companion (Y/n), I hope you find happiness in the next life and know that I will carry you with me, always." Initially it was strong, a false charade to both comfort you and hide his betraying emotions but neither of you mentioned anything. It was better this way, silent understanding and respect.

"Me too Damian, thank you for everything."

"Goodbye sister. And (Y/n), please forgive Grayson's idiocy..." He was hesitant on the last sentence, and you could each detect the shared heartache regarding your final conversation yet remained composed purely for the emotional well-being of the other.

"Always, see you Dami."

When you hung up, you couldn't hold back the sobs any longer, practically choking on the pent up emotion in them. Dick remained quiet, pulling you into his shoulder and soothingly running his fingers through your hair, he feared that if he spoke he would fall apart too, especially when the only person he could truly blame was himself. He held you for what he wished could be an eternity, yourself pulling back with a watery gaze that apologised for your breakdown despite knowing there was no need to.

"Dick what's happening?! Is (Y/n) okay?!"

Jasons’ voice - it was erratic, demanding and his dire question lead to Dick and yourself exchanging a sentimental but knowing glance, weak smiles had been ruthlessly defeated and you could only gently rest your forehead against Nightwing's seeking useless reassurance.

"Fucking answer me!" It grew more desperate now with the growing animosity on Jason's side but Dick couldn't even vocalise the situation, he didn't want to - that would make it real.

"She's..."

Jason's deductions were quick, the broken tone of his brother being the obvious indicator but his initial outbreak was frustration.

"No, fuck no! Everyone I - damn it... You tell her that I love her! She needs to know, tell her for me in case I don't get there in time."

He gave no chance to respond, the communicator muting once he'd finished and you managed to make light of it now that Dick could barely look at you.

"I'm gonna miss him, never knew he cared that much with the amount of shit he gives me." You released a pained laugh, ending short with a wince as your fingers tightened around your wound and you could see Dick empathise, instinctively aiding in your efforts to cease the bleeding whilst maintainining a close proximity.

"When Jason cares, he really cares..." Was all the eldest could correspond, he didn't quite understand his brothers feelings toward you as it was a subject Jason actively dodged but it frustrated Dick to no end.

His brother could say those 3 words to you so effortlessly, with so much meaning, and yet he could barely even acknowledge that feeling in his heart for the past 4 years. For Jason it wasn’t being in love, he no idea what it felt like to be hopelessly in love with you but Dick had years of suppressed experience - for him, it was like watching the sun fade from the sky and he desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to race to your apartment to find you boredly scrolling through your phone and he'd tell you how he felt then and there. Even now, at a time when you deserved them, more than anything, it was the one thing he could give you that'd hopefully make you smile - feel something other than the lightheaded tiredness of blood loss.

So then, why didn't you want them?

"This isn't how it was supposed to go (Y/n), I finally found you after missing you for so long and I still couldn't give you anything worthwhile... I'm so sorry for being such an idiot!" At his crumbling tone, you lifted from his shoulder, already finding difficulty in keeping your eyes open due to the sheer lethargy of your body but pushed on regardless.

"That's more than enough Dick." You shook your head silencing him with your content expression, and your free hand brushing through his hair. Instantly he captured your hand relaxing slightly with your gesture but soon was overcome with contrasting frustration.

"How is it enough? You took a bullet for me! Why didn't you let me take the hit for you?! Our roles would be reversed and you'd be safe, which is all I care about -" You refused to let him finish, refused to watch him crumble under the weight of blame he'd placed on his shoulders and the only way you could clear his mind was a simple one.

You met your lips with his, Dick instantly melting into you with furrowed brows but he remained gentle, aiming to display everything he had in these few intimate moments he had with you. Carefully you pulled back, meeting his apologetic gaze with your soft one before leaning against his side, head resting against the crook of his neck as you closed your eyes.

"It's enough because you're here now, when it mattered most you were always there for me even if it negatively impacted your life. I loved you for that, for choosing me when I wouldn't even choose myself. So thank you, for being you. I love you, don't forget that." You voice was incredibly gentle, a sincerity to it that allowed him to feel the high regard you still held him in much like you felt his and with your breath slowing to dangerously distant rhythms you both basked in the warm contentment.

Dicks fingers ran up and down your side in a soothingly slow manner, and when accompanied by the balanced beating of his heart seemed like enough to lull you into a state of heavy slumber. The pain had numbed now which only encouraged the magnetic sensation of blissful peace and though the majority of your senses had failed you - the damp smell of Gothams air faded minutes ago, as did your awareness to the clutches of the nipping wind - your hearing remained semi active, weak enough to capture the sentimental murmur of your best friend.

"I love you."

The ones you'd longed to hear ever since he'd won you over to his side all those years ago, after all of the adventures and after all of the connections you'd forged so with them, you slipped into the arms of eternal sleep.

For once, he loved you.

Not her.

——Present——

"We cannot change what happened, and (Y/n) wouldn't want you to blame yourself so I apologise for my recent words - instead, let the blame die with the assassin who killed her." Slades' unexpected and most likely sole apology earned Dicks genuinely confused gaze, the hero still adamant that his decisions were ultimately responsible but hearing the reluctant kindness eased his current internal war.

Yet he knew, Slade only offered such a lifeline out of his loving respect for you. Yet again you'd inadvertently provided your warmth to save him and he couldn't even thank you for it anymore.

Dick glanced back to your sculpted gravestone once more, Slade walking to his side with his usual deadpan expression but less edge to his tone as he too had felt the familiar pain of lost love before.

"She'd want you to have this." Handing the small object to Nightwing he kneeled at your stone giving his silent last blessings before disappearing into the surrounding fog of the graveyard. Next time they'd encounter each other it'd be filled with violence no doubt, but whilst standing before your spirit neither opponent had the intention.

Dick flipped the thin item in his hand, recognising the Polaroid as the one he'd given you before you disappeared as a good luck charm, the one from his Robin days when you'd first ran into each other and the one he'd so innocently written on as a futile attempt to at least hint at the love he carried for you.

'To my one and only. ~ Love your Best Friend.'

However, upon closer inspection he'd noticed the addition of your gracefully inked handwriting, though, your intention behind it will be forever unknown to him.

'Dick Grayson, the best person anyone could ask for - don’t ever change, even if our paths no longer cross. ~ All my Love, (Y/n).’

<——————————<<<<

Tagging: @palmtoplion , @lionjelli , @givemebooksorgivemedeath , @sun-through-canyon

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #dc #dc imagine #UnreQUITed #batfam

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zombiesbecrazy · 5 years ago

Text

So Much More

Summary: Despite the no kill rule, sometimes accidents happen. Jason gets an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night and has to take control of a situation he wasn't expecting.

AO3

Jason was brushing his teeth when he heard the tapping at his living room window, a soft but intentional sound, barely heard over the howl of the wind and the splattering of rain against the glass. It was a terrible night to be out on patrol, wet and windy and just down right miserable and Jason wasn’t surprised that one of the others was dropping in, either calling it a night or taking a short reprieve to warm up a smidge before heading back out. It happened more often than Jason really wanted, someone encroaching into his space unannounced, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the visits. The tap happened again, a little louder than the first time. It didn’t sound like Tim’s usual rhythm of knock when he dropped by and Dick had a habit of not knocking at all, simply slipping in and making himself at home whether he was invited in or not, so the list of usual suspects was dwindling fast.

Unlocking the window, Jason stuck his head out and spotted a familiar hooded figure sitting on his balcony, back curled against the wrought iron railing, looking small and chilled as the wind violently whipped through the alley.

There was a click of the tongue and the hood was pulled off in one motion of feigned dignity. “I need asylum.” A crack of lightening punctuated the statement and lit up the sky, only for a moment, but it was more than enough for Jason to see everything he needed to.

Damian was covered head to toe in blood. Unlike the rain pelting down, it was sticking to his uniform and no longer slick, clinging to him, threatening to never become clean and with a thick and dried smear on his cheek just below the edge of the mask. Bruises were blooming on his neck, large hands and fingers clearly marked as they had curled around his throat.

“Shit. Get in here.” Jason opened the window fully and stepped back as Damian stumbled through, tripping over the edge of the frame and into Jason’s conveniently positioned arms. Two deep but shaky breaths later Damian struggled to stand on his own, swaying a bit but shrugging off the hands hoping him up and taking a step out of reach. He pretended to ignore Jason and glared at the floor as if it has insulted his Father. Or Dick. “Are you okay, Kid?”

“I am unharmed,” sniped Damian but it lacked any sort of real bite, more of a reflexive reaction of a hurt animal growling when someone had time to help and Jason really didn’t have any patience for that sort of nonsense when said animal had shown up on his doorstep asking for help.

“Like hell you are. You look like you sliced an artery clean through.” His eyes flew over the smaller boy’s form, trying to suss out where the bleeding was coming from or where the worst of the damage was when Damian’s nostrils flared, only for a moment and it would have been easily missed if someone wasn’t paying close attention, but it was his version of flinching back violently after being burned, hand blistered and scalding after touching a stove. Such a small motion but it told Jason everything that he needed to know; an artery had been sliced, but it hadn’t been one of Damian’s own. “Oh.” Jason took a step back into his space and crouched down in front of him, hands sliding down Damian’s arms, no longer looking for injuries but in order to grasp his hands and squeeze them gently. "Self defense based on the marks on your neck." Damian avoided his look but nodded, rest of his body remaining statue still on the floor with a tremble coursing through his veins that Jason could only feel through their joined hands. “It's okay. You're alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He stood, dropping one of the hands but holding onto the other one tight, and led Damian through his bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. They were silent as they worked together to remove the Robin armor, greens and yellows stained by the red, and dropped it to the floor piece by piece until Damian was only wearing the base layer. Jason worked against the edge of Damian’s mask with delicate fingers, peeling the edges back with practices ease to minimize the pull against his skin. Once the mask was gone, Damian quickly reached up to rub his face, but not before the redness and puffiness were seen.

“Thank you. For letting me in. I cannot go back to the cave. Father will…” Damian’s voice was soft, but threatening to break apart with the smallest misstep, continuing to rub at his face. “I cannot go to the cave.”

“Never a problem. Why me though?” Jason hadn’t asked, but it had been running through his mind. He understood the hesitation to go back to the cave better than anyone, especially in a situation such as this, but he still shouldn’t have been at the top of the list for the kid to come to for comfort or help or whatever this was. He wouldn’t have even put himself in the top half of the list. “Why aren’t you on your way to Bludhaven?”

“Grayson would take me in but…” Damian’s eyes cast down, to his hands and rubbed them together roughly in a way that Jason was all too familiar with, trying to get rid of the feeling that they were still caked in blood despite his gloves now being in the pile on the floor. “Maybe later if I am needing a more permanent housing solution. For now I need…” his voice trailed off and he stared at the shower knobs.

Fascinating as his generic faucets were, Jason had a more pressing concern. “Do you need help with the evidence?” He really should have asked sooner. It really should have been the first question when Damian was out on the balcony, but now was better than never. “I get it. I’m the brother that will help you with disposal of a body.”

There was a small head shake. “I took care of it.”

“You sure?”

“I said it was taken care of, did I not?” snapped Damian, shoulders tensing in… something. Rage. Embarrassment. Guilt. Or a little bit of all three or perhaps something else entirely. “No. I just needed somewhere where I wouldn’t get that look, if only for a little while.”

“What look?”

“Disappointment.” Damian broke his stare-off with the shower, closed his eyes and let out a long breath in a clear attempt to try and centre himself. The gesture felt eerily familiar, like looking in a mirror from the wrong side and Jason was uncomfortable when he realised that Damian had pick up that particular routine from himself. “Whether Father yells or accepts it calmly, or if Grayson pretends like everything is fine or insists on comforting me, it is all the same. I let them down.” Damian turned slowly, craning up his neck to set his eyes on Jason, hard and cold and challenging him to be prove him wrong. “Even if tonight wasn’t intended, I am still just a murderer. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever shall be.”

Hugging Damian when he wasn’t expecting it was always a risk, but knowing that all of his weapons were currently on the floor of the bathroom helped Jason make his decision. Hell, Jason would have done it anyway because he hadn’t even thought to consider it, just automatically dropping and wrapping his arms tight around him. “You aren’t ‘just’ anything, Kid. There is so much more to you than any blood on your hands.” Damian’s small body relax against him. It wasn’t a lot but it was enough. Jason massaged the back of Damian’s head softly and as he did, Damian returned the hug, hesitantly at first but then his arms were tight around Jason’s neck. “Maybe you are right and we can’t wash the red out, not completely, but that doesn’t mean that is all that we are.”

Damian’s head nodded against his shoulder and dropped his arms, breaking the hug. Jason turned away, giving Damian the illusion of the privacy that he knew the boy wanted to believe to be true after such a visible display of emotion, and turned on the shower, steam rising quickly against the cold air. “Need any help in the shower?” Jason knew what the answer would be, but he had to ask. As the Robin costume had been removed, Damian had become more unsteady, becoming less of a well trained machine and more like the child that he still was. Like all of them had been. Shaky and scared and more than a little out of his depth now that the adrenaline was wearing off in a familiar and secure environment.

“I’m not a child, Todd. I can shower unassisted.”

Jason nodded. “Towels are on the counter. I’ll look some clothes out on the bed for you. I’m going to make tea. Any preference?”

“I’m sure whatever you choose will be suitable.” The response did nothing to settle Jason mind though because it wasn’t like Damian to not have some sort of opinion on anything, even something as basic as tea. Especially when it came to tea. Jason went to leave the room when Damian's hand grasped around his wrist to stop him. "It was truly an accident, Todd. I threw him off of me and he sliced his throat on some abandoned machinery. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too fast and he was gone in seconds. I couldn't even call for assistance in time."

It was what it was. It wasn't something that they liked to talk about a lot, but accidents happened in their line of work and this was far from the first time that something like this had happened, but as far as Jason knew, this was the first time that it had happened to Damian and he had clearly panicked, as anyone would.

Accidents always felt a thousand times worse than something done with purpose.

"It's alright, Damian. I'll take care of it."

The bathroom door locked behind him and Jason leaned against it and sighed, running his hand through his hair and taking a moment to sort out his plan of action. He took three deep breaths to try and settle the twitching that had started beneath his skin, the want and need to go out and do something rash, before pulling clothes out of Damian’s drawer for him, setting them on the bed and headed to the kitchen.

After starting the kettle, Jason opened his laptop and accessed the Batcomputer, logging into the tracker surveillance that followed where all of them went in their suits. It wasn’t something that was actively monitored on a regular night, only when something big was going down or if someone requested some back up, so Jason hoped that anything irregular wouldn’t have be noticed yet and narrowed down the filters to just watch the green dot indicating Damian’s trail, travel through the city at high speed. He had left the Manor at 8:37 and had seemed to be following patrol route C, a familiar one that followed a path through the western side of the city, far away from Crime Alley and the Ace Chemical, but still through neighbourhoods that tended to get ignored by the cops because they were not important enough to be protected but simultaneously not bad enough to have a regular presence. It was one of Tim’s favourites, but it wasn’t uncommon for Damian to take it.

It was when Damian’s tracker hit the farthest point of the route, at an old canning factory where a residential neighbourhood hit industrial, where things got interesting. Jason didn’t have any way to know what was going on because Damian hadn’t activated his mask cameras but from what he could deduce from the tracker staying fairly stationary, at least in the same building, for over an hour of time was that this is where whatever it was had gone down. He pulled up the health monitors, synced up the timeline and noticed that that Damian’s heart rate had risen, obviously showing that a fight had gone down, but then the heart rate had stayed high for far longer than it normally did and his respiration and cortisol readings were off the charts. Jason huffed in irritation because this was something that should have set off alarms in the cave, alerting someone that Damian was in trouble but it clearly hadn’t.

It was then that he noticed that the alarms had gone off and that Damian had used his comm to assure Alfred that he was fine and just winded after a hit to the chest. Alfred’s notes in the system had then had even said that Damian was going to go to Jason’s place instead of back to the manor to ‘take refuge from the storm’ and signed off.

It was smart and stupid and sneaky rolled up into a mess. He really should have told Alfred what had happened then and there, but he had clearly panicked instead and this is where they were now.

In the end, whatever had happened in the warehouse had been an accident and in self defense and the other person involved hadn't been an innocent bystander because Damian's reaction would have been much more extreme. It didn't make it better, but it could have been far worse. What he had to focus on was what to do about it now.

He wanted to trust Damian on the evidence situation, he really did, but the kid was rattled and not thinking straight and Jason couldn’t just leave it to chance. He couldn’t call Dick or Tim or Bruce. Not yet. What he needed was someone who could separate emotions in the moment see the bigger picture and help fix the problem rather than get upset by what was already done.

He pulled out his phone and called Barbara.

“Jason.”

“Red.” The kettle started to whistle on the stove and Jason stood up to remove it from the heat, pouring the water into the pot to steep. “I need a no questions asked kind of favour.”

“Why is that?” He could hear a something on in the background, some sort of sitcom based on the laugh track, and he could almost picture her curled up in her apartment because the two of them were the only ones with enough sense not to go out on a night like tonight unless absolutely necessary.

“You are doing terribly at this no questions asked thing,” he said, and she chuckled in response. “Please, Barbara? You know I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important. I need some old school Oracle magic.”

“Jason…”

“Help me, Barbie-wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” He could keep this light and fun, he could try and convince her that nothing was wrong and everything was fine. He could do this.

“You’re big nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” There was some tapping on the other end of the phone and he knew that she was on board. “What do you need?”

“Old warehouse on Vanderlei and Fifth. The cannery. I need to know if there is any evidence of something going on there tonight. Anything… messy.”

The tapping stopped and there was a pause and he knew that he had said too much to just slip by Barbara like that. “What did you do?”

“No. Questions. Asked, BG. And nothing. I’ve been a good boy and stayed in all night reading a book about evolutional linguistics for fun because, like you said, I’m a big nerd.” She was completely going to figure out what had happened.

The tapping started up again and within moments, Barbara hummed in the way that Jason already knew meant that she couldn’t tell him what he needed to know. “There’s no cameras there and all of the drones are assigned to other things tonight that I can’t redirect.” There was silence between them, Jason trying to think of what to do next when Barbara continued. “Would it be okay if I send Canary to check it out? She’s in the area on a stakeout that is about to wrap up.”

Jason considered his choices. He trusted Dinah and she wouldn’t ask a lot of questions about it, especially if the request came from Barbara, and it was a better option than doing nothing or leaving Damian in the apartment alone for him to go check it out by himself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was good enough until tomorrow. “That’s fine.”

“I can see that Robin’s tracker was there for quite a long time earlier tonight,” Barbara commented flatly and Jason was about to remind her again about what kind of favour this was when she cut him off at the bit. “That was an observation, not a question.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And Jason?” Jason raised an eyebrow, forgetting that she couldn’t see him but it didn’t seem to matter because she probably already knew. “There seems to be something wrong with the trackers tonight and there is some glitching happening. I may have to scrub the system to reboot them properly. Some data might be lost.”

There was no way that she'd permanently delete it. She was simply buying him some time to get everything in line. It was her way of saying ‘I’m trusting you to look after this’ and Jason had no way to repay her for it, but he’d try to think of something. “Night, Red.”

Jason was pouring the tea when Damian shuffled into the room and sat down at the counter, too big hoodie hanging past his hands and fluffy purple socks on his feet, making him look a lot younger than he already was. It wasn’t the shirt that Jason had taken out for him but he recognized it as one of Dick’s, which meant that Damian had gone hunting for it on purpose instead of putting on his own.

He understood Damian’s hesitation to go to Dick with this, but having Dick around would have been useful right now, as someone who knew the kid better or just as someone who was better in general at the whole comforting people thing than he was. Did Damian need to talk about it or did he want to ignore it? How much did Jason need to know? The who or why or how? Or did it matter?

“It’s peppermint oolong,” said Jason, immediately feeling stupid for not having anything better to say or any way to make any of this better.

“Smells good.” Damian took a sip and winced as he swallowed, the bruising around his throat and the unspoken strong choking that must have accompanied it for the bruises to be appearing so fast must have made it hurt to swallow, but he said nothing so Jason let it go. He was sure that there was more bruising and pain that Damian was hiding, but Jason was trusting him to manage it on his own or tell him if he needed medical attention. Minor physical damage was unimportant tonight.

As far as his brothers went, Damian was the one that Jason knew the least. He knew his background of course, and basic things like that he liked animals and that he was a talented artist, but there was so much that he didn’t know about Damian as a person and it left him a little bit in the dark about how to make him feel a little more at ease.

In the end, he decided that the best person that Jason could pretend to treat him like in this situation was Jason himself. He wouldn’t want to talk about it, at least not now. He’d want to process with a mild distraction in the background and just be by himself for a while, whether it be alone or not. He would want to feel quiet and safe and secure. He would want time to just be.

These were all things that he could do.

They each finished their cup of tea at the same time, Jason deposited both mugs in the sink and nodded towards the living room. “Come on, squirt.”

Jason walked slowly with Damian following closely behind, grabbed the remote, starting up episodes of Planet Earth and turned the volume down low. Damian settled down onto the couch, head on the pillows at one end and curling his body out so that his feet were just over half way across the middle and Jason draped a thick blanket over top of him before sitting at the other end. Damian’s socked feet dug into his leg and he could feel the cold from them seeping through despite the overly fluffy socks and hot shower, and he found himself tucking the blanket around them tighter, trying to keep the warmth wrapped around the younger boy. Damian’s attention turned to the TV, and Jason picked his book that he had abandoned earlier that night off the coffee table and picked up where he had left off, losing himself in The Unfolding of Language all over again.

Twenty minutes in, his phone vibrated with a text, but it turned out not to be from Barbara but from Dinah herself.

Queen Canary: O sent me to an abandoned warehouse that looked like it hadn’t been touched for months for absolutely no reason when I could have been home in my PJs and not freezing my ass off after the stakeout that would never end. I cussed her out but she said it’s your fault, so fuck you. You owe me a beer.

Jason sent back a thumbs up emoji and let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realise that he had been holding in, and his hand was trembling as he put his phone back on the table. Owing Dinah a beer was a very small price to pay for what she had done for them, whether she knew it or not.

An episode and a half passed with just the background noise of the program before Damian shifted around and flopped down again, this time the other way around and using Jason’s thigh as a pillow, curling the blanket around him tighter. Jason set his book aside and watched the boy who was keeping his focus on the TV, but looking distracted and probably not paying a lot of attention to whatever David Attenborough was talking about on screen. Jason reached down and carefully carded his fingers through Damian’s soft hair, and watched as a single tear slide down his cheek, quickly followed by another and then some more, but neither of them said anything about it. Jason had always loved the feeling of hands in his hair, remembering when his mom did it when he was sick as a kid, and how Bruce had done it after Jason had woken up with nightmares or had been injured or sometimes just because, and it appeared that Damian felt the same way.

It made him curious is Talia had ever done this for Damian when he had been a child. He hoped so.

Thirty minutes later when the episode ended and blackness took over the screen with just a prompt to click on the next episode left, Damian spoke up. “I have to tell Father.” Not a question, just the acceptance of reality. He was quiet but resigned, tear stains on his cheek not leading to a crack in his voice. He was calmer than before, more relaxed after being given the time to decompress.

And maybe having a good cry helped a little bit.

“You do, but not tonight. Tonight you are going to stay here and watch nature documentaries and then in the morning I’ll make you breakfast before you head home.” He paused his fingers and Damian let out a barely audible whine at the lack of motion, so Jason started up again and Damian cuddled in further. “I can come with you if you want. Be there when you tell Bruce.” He was a good kid. Bruce was going to see that; his firm no kill rule had unspoken leniency for accidents which this clearly was. Jason knew that everything was going to work out fine and he was sure that deep down inside, Damian was sure of it too. That didn’t mean that it was any less scary, to tell someone of your mistakes and know that you disappointed them. The undercurrent of anxiety would never leave when it came to something like this.

Jason felt the small head nod against him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Want to keep going? The next episode has giant salamanders.”

Damian made a noise of assent, and Jason started it up again, this time choosing to watch instead of ignore it for his book. Waves crashed on the screen and Damian turned his head to look at Jason, locking his eyes on him, full of determination. “I hope you know that you are as well. What you said earlier. We are both more than just this one thing, brother.”

Hearing his own words back at him and the way that Damian had lumped the two of them into the same category made Jason’s heart soar in an unexpected way. It felt so good to know that he had been able to help in a way that was unrelated to his size and his violence. Maybe he had been the right person for Damian to come to with this. “That we are, Kid.”

#jason todd #damian wayne #batfic #sometimes accidents happen #tw: death

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 5 years ago

Text

Save Me: Chapter 22 - Alone

~Hey Guys! Chapter 22 is out now ❤️ Molly encounters Saviours as Rick confronts Negan about Molly’s presence at the Sanctuary...I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and chapter 23 will be out on Sunday 🤟🏻~

It was better to be alone, than to hurt again.

There I was, lying wrapped tightly in his arms. He kissed my neck gently through my hair.

I could feel his warm breath against my ear, tingles rushing down my spine and a smile now plastered across my face as my eyes remained shut.

I awoke abruptly to hear a gunshot outside.

It had been a dream, a perfect dream. I was back in my surroundings, the abandoned damp house.

I darted towards the window, and peered outside, shielding the majority of my body from anyone's view.

There were a group of men standing close to the house, with a car that I recognised.

Shit. Saviours.

They were standing around pointing at the various houses. They meant to search them.

Negan sent these guys to bring me back? Or worse kill me?

He let me go. It didn't seem like something he would do.

I was amidst my thoughts as I still crouched by the window.

Suddenly, one of them looked in my direction, frowning as I shifted frantically out of view.

I could still hear them outside, 'check it out!' one shouted.

My eyes widened. Fuck.

I took out my gun and held a knife below it. I paced quietly to slide behind the bedroom door.

I heard the front door creak open as a couple of guys walked in slowly.

'Could've been a walker' he warned the other guy.

I smirked, oh boy you've got something worse coming for you. I would never let them kill me or take me back.

They walked up the stairs and went into separate rooms to check them out.

Seeing one guy walk into the adjacent room, I slipped round the side of the door and followed him in.

I made no sound as I crept up behind him.

'Hey Mike check this out' he said softly as he bent down to reach for an old Pac-Man game.

I wrapped my arm around his chest and slit his throat quietly.

Blood splattered against the wall and I set him down gently on the floor.

The other guy said 'what?' as he came round to enter the room.

I waited against the wall and had my gun aimed at the door ready.

He walked through the threshold and shouted 'you!' as I shot him in the head.

There were still three other guys out there and the gunshot had now alerted them to my position.

I crept round to the window and opened it slightly to position my gun.

They were arguing and shouted 'Mike, Robbie, what's going on?' from outside the house.

I managed to get a clear shot on one of them and killed him instantly. The other two ducked and ran into the house and up the stairs.

They fired on the room I was in repeatedly. They had far more ammo than me.

After firing for a few minutes, seeing all the bullet holes in the wall. I dragged one of the bodies over to the door so that the blood would spill through under the door.

They mumbled to each other, thinking I was dead.

I heard their footsteps slowly get closer to the door. I looked around the room to see if I could use anything.

I smiled when I saw an aerosol can of old deodorant. Fuck yeah.

I crawled to pick it up and counted a couple seconds until I knew they were close.

I opened the door suddenly, through the can out and shot at it.

They gasped as the can spluttered and exploded, sending a cloud of white powder through the hall.

They were disorientated and shouted to each other.

Seeing the back of one of the guys step backwards towards me, I grabbed the back of him and held him with a knife to his throat.

Once the mist had cleared, the other guy stood in front of us and aimed his gun at his friend.

'Put down your weapons' I shouted to him as his friend struggled in my arms.

The other guy started to lower his gun slightly as I said sternly 'tell me who sent you and I won't kill you'.

He looked at his friend and sighed saying 'Simon. He told us to kill you'.

'Really? I'm guessing that asshole will kill you if you don't kill me' I retorted, tightening my grip on his neck.

He winced, 'do what she says' he said shaking.

'Be smart, me or Simon' I said slowly.

He sighed before saying 'I'll take my chances' and raised his gun back up at his friend, willing to shoot us both.

Seeing his intent, I shot him in the heart immediately, his friend said 'please' as I slit his throat.

I dropped to my knees, weary and numb. I felt no remorse killing those men. It was me or them.

I was more like Negan than I thought, or even worse, I was already like him before we met.

I wiped my brow, pushing all thoughts of him out of my head.

I snapped back into action seeing walkers approaching the house. They must have heard the gunshots.

I grabbed my rucksack and swept supplies into it as I ran down the stairs and out the front door.

They were getting closer and started to clamber and snarl around the Saviour's car. I ran to it, shooting the walkers nearest the door.

They dropped as I pulled open the door and shut it just in time as more walkers now encircled it.

I started the engine and saw that there was a half tank of gas. Thank god.

I pushed my foot down and floored it sharply away from them. The ones in front of the car flung wildly over the bonnet.

I had no idea of where I was going but I just kept heading further and further away from the Sanctuary.

I drove for about half an hour as I began to see roads that I recognised. I was close. These were the old routes to Alexandria.

A smile grew across my face in relief which was quickly replaced by a scowl seconds later.

I stopped dead in the middle of the road.

I couldn't go back. I couldn't go home.

How would I even begin to explain? How could I even look at Maggie, Rosita or Sasha?

Rick would banish me like he did to Carol years ago.

I was better off out here.

I couldn't stay too close, given that Negan and the Saviours would come to collect each week, I couldn't risk anyone seeing me. Least of all, him.

Negan's POV//

Silence, complete silence.

I sat there, in my room with Lucille propped by my side. My hand slipped slightly as I poured myself another glass of bourbon.

I was almost through the entire bottle.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I missed hearing her voice.

I lifted the glass up to my lips as I heard a faint Negan echo around the room. I stopped dead and put the glass down.

It was her voice, Molly.

'Fuck, I'm going crazy' I whispered to myself. I stood up and smashed the glass against the wall and walked to the window.

I gripped the window ledge firmly as my eyebrows furrowed. I was trapped. I had lost the only thing that made life worthwhile.

After Lucille, I never thought I would find someone like that again. I fucking ruined it.

Suddenly, my thoughts were ripped from me by a slight knock and the door opening slowly.

'I thought you might like some company' a hesitant voice said.

I sighed, knowing it was Frankie. 'If I wanted your company, I would've asked for it. You're not my wife anymore' I snapped at her.

She was silent for a second before she closed the door again.

I bowed my head against the window pane. I needed news of her, anything.

I threw on my jacket and marched over to the door, I spun back around and picked up Lucille, almost forgetting her.

I strolled to Simon's room and knocked loudly on the door.

'Negan' he answered.

'Molly. Was there really nothing you found those first weeks?' I said exhaustedly.

He looked at me with surprise.

'No, nothing really. Except this' he said coldly as he handed me a necklace. It was her locket.

'We found it round the arm of a walker' he said with an amount of admiration.

I scowled in disbelief as my eyes began to water.

'She can handle herself' I said, smiling weakly with hope.

'It didn't look good sir, there were a hoard of them around it' he said looking down.

I gripped the locket in my hand and marched away back to my room.

I was full of guilt, rage, fear and regret. To think that I had put her in this situation. I might have killed her.

It was overwhelming me and I was drunk. At least that's what I told myself later on.

I found myself stumbling into the wives lounge. Ex-wives.

I leant against the doorframe and looked around. None of the other wives remained, only Frankie.

She sat there in her black dress and looked up at me. I just needed to forget her and feel like myself again.

'Frankie, baby. Come with me' I said smirking at her.

She grinned widely and jumped up, running over to me. I tried to seem interested but really I was using her.

The next morning...

I woke up the next morning, her arm wrapped around me.

My eyes opened as I felt her behind me. I sighed, she didn't feel like Molly.

I got up and looked over at her as I got dressed. I felt nothing.

As I picked up Lucille, I grabbed Molly's locket and pressed it against my lips before holding it in my pocket.

I was wrong. She didn't make me weak, she gave me strength. Holding that locket in my hand showed me that.

I was regenerated with a vengeance.

I ordered everyone into the meeting room, it was time Rick got what was coming to him.

At least there was a comfort in knowing Molly couldn't hate me more than she did.

At that, there were bullets fired against the walls, smashing in the windows.

I peered out of the window to see Rick's group shielded with metal barricades.

'What's the plan?' Simon said sternly as I simply scanned around for her.

'We talk. Otherwise we're just wasting metal on metal' I said as I walked out of the door.

Dwight, Simon, Arat, Gavin and Eugene following me.

'Well shit! I'm sorry, I was in a meeting' I said sarcastically, swinging Lucille over my shoulder.

I looked at all of them.

'I see you got your little mud flaps with ya. So I'm not exactly feeling a reason for us to try throwing lead at each other. I care about my people, I'm not just gonna throw them into the line of fire because I wanna play my dick is bigger than yours!' I yelled.

I smirked before softly saying 'it is, by the way. We both know it'.

I paced on the balcony, looking now at Rick.

'But, I'm also comfortable enough to accept the fact if it wasn't. But I'm certainly not gonna let my people die over that shit, like your about to' I said, pointing to him with Lucille.

'So Rick, what the hell can I do for ya?' I asked mockingly.

He paused before moving out into full vision.

'Give us Molly' he yelled. I froze at her name.

I looked down awkwardly, 'she's not here, she left' I said, choking slightly.

Rick just nodded in frustration, probably thinking I lied.

'Dwight, your name's Simon, you're Gavin and you?' Rick said pointing at my people.

'Arat' she replied.

I was now fed up with his bullshit.

'Rick I'd feel remiss-' Eugene spoke before he was interrupted by Rick.

''No! I know who you are...' he said now scowling at him.

'Listen you five, the Saviours inside, all of you have a chance to survive here, to survive this. Y'all can live if you surrender. Can't guarantee it anytime but now. Right now' he spoke, almost pleadingly.

I just smiled and a light chuckle escaped my lips.

'So they surrender, and you and your little piss patrol doesn't kill em. That sounds like a good deal!' I said sarcastically.

I now looked down at him, saying 'what about me Rick?'.

'I told you, twice. You know what's gonna happen' he yelled.

I nodded, 'I do, I do know what's gonna happen. You have no idea the shit that's about to go down. Lemme ask you something Rick, you think you have the numbers for this fight?' I said gesturing to the Sanctuary.

'You don't' I added.

'Let's find out shall we?' Rick stayed confidently.

I was silent.

'You're gonna make me count. Okay, okay, I'm counting. Ten, nine, eight, seven...' he yelled before he opened fired on all of us.

I ran down the stairs and round the back while my guys ran back inside.

Rick followed and fired on the scrap metal I was crouching behind.

'Rick! It's not about you' a voice said to Rick, making him ceasefire.

He went round the side and I ran towards the nearest base.

The old trailer.

Walkers encircled it and I was trapped inside.

'Fuck' I mumbled.

I sat inside, in darkness when the door opened to reveal Father Gabriel...

#negan x original female character #negan imagine #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #twd #twd negan #slowburn #thewalkingdead #negan #jdm #jeffreydeanmorgan #rick grimes #daryldixon #twdromance #slow build #negan smut #the walking dead negan #mollychambler

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setsailslash · 5 years ago

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Congratulations on reaching 200 subscribers! That’s amazing!!!! ❤️✨ for my ask, can I request an earth-3 Jason Todd where he is used as a fuck hole but owlman and talon? Like after a meeting or a mission, they come home to a boy tied on the bed (sleeping or no) bare bottom facing them and they just take off their suit and start playing with him TT Thank you! I hope it’s not too much. Congrats again!!!!

first things first: i’d just like to say i know nothing about earth-3 but i couldn’t get this prompt out of my head so i read like three earth-3 dc wiki pages and smacked this together. minimal editing but also this got way longer than expected, please do not expect this speed or fic length (200w who???) 😂

tentatively titled a pound of flesh, pairings: thomas wayne jr./jason todd/dick grayson, a touch of thomas wayne jr./bruce wayne, rated: E.

A hard day’s work makes Talon a dull boy if there isn’t any fun to be had at the end of that day. And Owlman agrees.

There is always time for some play time even if the man has to physically carve it out of the day for his pound of flesh.

Jason is in their bed. Not quite centerfold.

But he’s got the dark mob of his hair hiding most of his face, cheek turned against the sheets, stark naked and lying on his front with his legs folded neatly under him.

It can’t be a particularly comfortable position but he holds it perfectly.

After this many nights, after all those early ones where Jason learned the consequences of going against Owlman’s words, he can now hold it without twitching a muscle for hours, eyes sliding shut, his breathing easing out as seconds and minutes and hours trickle by.

Jason wakes at the first touch. He doesn’t startle, nothing that violent. He comes to with the tip of Talon’s fingernail dragging almost dauntingly up the raised bumps of his vertebral column, going from his coccyx to his lumbar to his thoracic spine before slowing right down at the vertebrae of his cervical spine.

Talon’s fingers curl over the nape of Jason’s neck, turning his head so they can watch the way his eyes blink open. Bleary and just a bit bloodshot.

There is no hint of trepidation to his gaze, his mouth pulls thinly into a smile that is a slow crawl to reach the pretty blue of his eyes when he truly registers their figures in the room.

“Slim pickings tonight?”

Because it’s early by their count.

“Picked off all the ones we needed to so we can come back to you, little wing.” Talon answers, already halfway out of his costume, every move made carelessly smooth, like the slide of silk just before it is pulled into an impossible knot. “Couldn’t have you warming an empty bed all night.“

Talon is Owlman’s partner, or that was the intention anyways.

Jason is not quite that. He is a Talon in training with plenty of other uses, much sweeter uses that get used much more often.

Out of these sheets, Jason’s a heavy hitter on the streets owned by the Syndicate. Knuckles all rough, scars running like tendrils over his hands, callouses building up on top of each other when he swings and he swings and he lands every last one on the intended target with a resultingly solid thud.

In them, his knees sink into the mattress with considerable weight, he spreads his legs for them without being asked.

And there’s the rush of blood beneath his skin, flushing him all pink, his cock hanging hard, having dripped precum to stain a patch into the sheets where he settled in their bed long before they came home to him.

“The Man gets first picks and he wants to fuck you just the way he likes you, y'know. Until your hole is all sloppy and loose,” the pad of Talon’s fingers pushing gingerly against his rim, “it’s going to be fuckin’ messy when he comes inside. Probably once or twice, or however many times he’s going to until he empties his balls out in you."

Talon doesn’t go by Richard even if that is the name his parents gave him. He goes by Dick, in love with the obscenity to it, especially when he gets Jason begging him for dick.

He barely pauses for breath.

"And then I’ll have you bouncing in my lap, working yourself on my cock, going up and down and up and down,” and Dick says this with a rhythm in his voice, like a wave washing into shore, undulating and slow when he is barely pressing a fingertip in, “either until I can feel you wrapping your tight little ass around me again or the sun comes up.

Whichever comes first, okay?”

Jason likes an outline of how his night is supposed to go, it provides expectations that he can go about fulfilling.

Even if some requests are impossible ones because how is he supposed to be able to tighten up when his body doesn’t get a break. It’s unfair when it’s daily where they use him, sometimes with him taking both of them at once.

He is a warm wet hole to sink their cocks inside when they want and how they want, one to put away once he is a perfect picture of debauchery: He is dripping their semen down from between his ass, the imprint of their teeth bloody on his inner thighs, bottom lip split, hair sore at the roots from how hard they like to pull, jaw aching something painful, and sometimes his cock is still hard between his legs.

Thomas comes up on the bed with them, and he’s still in most of his Owlman costume, the cowl pushed back to reveal his face, his pants undone, cock jutting out, hard and curving and red at the head.

Jason nods to any demand they can make of him from where his face is turned to them. Dick smiles, showing teeth, reaches around and spreads his cheeks wide apart, brandishing a slick pink hole for Thomas to fuck him from behind.

Like this, the sight of Jason sparks something terrible in Thomas. Reminds him of his little brother with his black hair, blue eyes, that last touch of remorse in that shaky moral center.

Bruce was, after all, the one he loved most.

It feels like a prelude that Jason will break at his hands too. Blood soaking into the carpets, blood splattered against the walls, a cold black hand gun pressing against the bright red of that mouth goes blindingly hot when he finally pulls the trigger.

If that comes, it’s an end that Thomas can live with. He pushes in to the hilt on the first thrust, slams home without pulling any strength with the full expectation that his boy will take him whole.

And he does, beautifully.

The short little rasp of a scream that rips out of Jason makes it perfect.

Thomas curls one arm around Jason’s waist, drags him bodily up from the mattress to his chest so the line of Jason’s spine is pressing against the front of the Owlman costume. Every catch and hidden zipper rub starkly against the expanse of skin on every thrust, leaving lovely little scratches.

Ah-ahh, ah, ah.

Each gasp and moan and whine and mewl to fall from the plush of Jason’s mouth, Talon swallows down. And he is sincerely diligent with it too when he savours every last noise like it could be Jason’s last. Dick sinks his teeth into the tip of Jason’s tongue, bites until they can taste rust.

Like fresh blood in the open waters, it gets them both in a bit of frenzy, especially when Thomas isn’t swayed, keeps going at that same brutal pace.

Thomas pulls out until just the head of his cock catches at the rim of Jason’s hole, the thickest part stretching him out for a second he feels keenly, and then Thomas is shoving right back in, sheathing himself all the way inside the clench of Jason’s body, feeling the way he squeezes down, all soft and wet and fever hot, pulsing perfectly all around him.

While Thomas keeps his other hand at Jason’s hip, pinning him still against him, Dick’s hands don’t stray far.

His fingers fleet from the bob of Jason’s Adam’s apple to the hollow of his throat, leans in with a swipe of tongue to catch the sweat pooling while he pinches a nipple between finger tips. Dick lets his nails pinch into the tender flesh, pulling it harshly until it stands erect.

Dick feels himself harden painfully at the eager tilt as Jason pulls his head back, bares his throat like an open invitation, eyes squeezing shut while his jaw clenches down on a wince when Dick yanks again.

Dick cannot wait. For how Jason’s voice breaks the prettiest when he is subdued and sobbing between them. It’s the sight of Jason’s pupils blown wide, glittering wetly when Thomas leans down and tastes shared blood in their kiss.

This is a prelude for all the tears to come.

#jaydickthomas #thomas wayne jr #jason todd #dick grayson #dc #earth 3 #anonymous #kuro's 200 subs promptathon #can i just say thank you to anon because asdfhgjk this prompt would not leave me alone until i broke and speed wrote this #prompts still open (approx 8-9 spots still i think if i can count) so keep em coming :)))

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sirpeachess-casual · 5 years ago

Note

Hi could you write something alternative to the episode where Dick goes to Slade by himself to save Jason and instead of using Jason as bait, Slade actually trades him with Dick and captures him

We (Won’t) Make a Trade

Part 10 of the Dick Grayson Must Die series

Summary: In which Deathstroke takes Dick up on his offer to trade himself for Jason and Rose.

TITANS TOWER

SAN FRANCISCO

“Jason!” Dick called, bursting onto the roof. The teen was standing with his back to him, precariously perched on the edge of the building.

“It should have been me,” he said, tears in his eyes. He was thinking about that night. The night he was suspended from the side of a building, the night he was strung out like a feather on a string, waiting for the predator to pounce. The night his life was reduced to a bargaining chip. The night Dick traded his life for Jason’s.

Dick swallowed, watching him carefully. “It’s okay.”

“Except it isn’t, is it? Nothing about this is. It’s all kinds of fucked up. He wanted me. He had me. You… you shouldn’t have done that.”

“It wasn’t you he wanted, Jason. Not really. Trust me.”

Gulping down more tears, the teen shook his head. “How do you know that? How do you know it wasn’t what I deserve? I… Stuff happens to people around me. They die or they get sick… It’s like I’m a virus, like this curse follows me, intent on destroying everything I touch and everyone I… Everyone I care about. I need to remove myself from the equation. It’s the only way.” It if hadn’t been for him, Dick wouldn’t have traded himself. If he hadn’t been so reckless, he wouldn’t have gotten captured and Dick wouldn’t have been tortured to an inch of his life.

Dick averted his eyes, searching the gravel of the rooftop for the answer. “You aren’t cursed, Jason. And you don’t deserve what happened to you.”

“How can you say that knowing who I am? What I’ve done? How can you say I don’t deserve to die?” Because he did. It should have been him Deathstroke took his vengeance out on.

Dick swallowed thickly. “Because…” Flashes of blood and pain tore across his vision, and he closed his eyes against them. Screaming, begging, torment and torture. And for what? To avenge a dead boy? To bring catharsis to a grieving father and mother? Or to send a message, to make a point? “Because what happened? It’s what I deserved.”

Jason blinked, finally turning to look back at him. “What…?”

“You don’t deserve what happened, Jason. Being kidnapped? Tortured? Held for ransom? That wasn’t on you. It wasn’t even about you, not really.” Lip quivering, Dick looked around the skyline, sunlight catching the tear in his eye. The dam he had been holding back for so long, the straw house in the way of a hurricane, was starting to crumble down. “But what happened to me? What I went through?” Jason was looking at him fully now, hanging on every word, intrigued by every exposed crack in Dick’s usually impenetrable armor.

It only made him cry harder. “What that - that monster did to me?” He hadn’t told anyone what had happened. They could guess by looking at him, by examining his bruises and wounds, but torture always ended one way. And that’s with the deepest scars on the inside. Dick pulled in a breath.

“How he cut me up? How he humiliated me? How he…” No. Not that. “He hurt me. So many times, in so many ways. And I… For what I did to him? For what I did to… I deserved every piece of it.” He pulled in his emotions, finally dragging his eyes back to the teen. “Don’t blame yourself, Jason. Please. I had it coming, I… He got his pound of flesh, just like he was promised.”

With a soft thud, Jason stepped off the rooftop ledge. He faltered, just for a second, before inching carefully forward. “Dude…” he asked, eyes roaming over Dick’s body just once to take inventory of his injuries, the tremors in his hands, the sleepless hysteria in his eyes. “The hell did he do to you?”

Dick dared to look him in the eye.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

THREE DAYS EARLIER

SAN FRANCISCO

“You want your pound of flesh, revenge for what happened, and I want this to end once and for all. So how about we make a deal, huh?” He took off his bulletproof vest, tossing it aside.

“You can have me,” he offered, hands raised near his head. “Instead of Rose or Jason. Pretty sure I’m the one you’re mad at anyway.”

Gulping, he lowered himself to his knees, fingers intertwined in his hair. “Here I am. Unarmed.” In his thin T-Shirt and jeans, Deathstroke would be able to tell he wasn’t packing. Knives could be more easily concealed, but this specially selected outfit left little room for that. He wanted this to go cleanly and took every precaution necessary to make sure it did.

Three bullets pinged into the ground before him and Dick flinched. His detective brain automatically tracked the trajectory of the bullets and he knew Deathstroke was behind him before the man even started talking.

“You never learn, do you?” he began and Dick had to force himself to keep his eyes forward, just like a good little hostage. “Always the hero,” the man continued, emerging from the shadows. “But you’re not going to dictate how this will go. You aren’t a martyr. You’re a conman, preying on those weak enough to follow you.” Deathstroke stood before him and Dick dared to look him in the eye. “The problem with conmen is that they never know when to stop. And someone else always pays.”

“Let’s just get this over with, huh?” Dick interrupted, tired of all the talk. He just wanted to know Jason was alright. All hell would break loose soon but not before he was sure Jason was safe.

Deathstroke took several steps back, lone eye trained on Dick like a predator. “Get up.”

Dick obeyed, keeping his hands behind his head.

“Take a look,” Deathstroke commanded, flipping a switch. The screen lifted and Dick could see Jason tied to the suspended scaffold outside, hands bound behind his back. Once the screen rose enough and Robin could see it was Dick watching him, he started struggling, grunting and jerking against the bar. There was a bomb strapped to the suspension cables and Dick didn’t have to think long to figure out what would happen if it went off.

Deathstroke rose a hand, a detonator clutched in his glove. “Say goodbye to your little friend,” he said, thumb moving for the button.

A lightning bolt went off inside Dick and he panicked. “Wait!” he begged, hands outstretched. Deathstroke paused, head tilting curiously. Dick breathed heavily, eyes flickering to Jason. It was different when he couldn’t see the kid, when he thought this was going to be a peaceful exchange and no one would be any the wiser. But with Jason here to witness, it changed the game.

And Deathstroke knew it. Dick’s large eyes flickered to him, betrayal and understanding swirling in the dark orbs. Deathstroke didn’t want Dick to surrender, to beg quietly in the sanctity of this secluded room. No, he wanted to humiliate him, to make him beg in front of his replacement, his charge - the very person Dick was trying to protect. The new Robin would bear witness to the fall of the old.

It shouldn’t have, but somehow the realization surprised Dick. He just didn’t think one man could be this cruel.

He pulled in a breath, holding it captive in his chest. “I’m sorry, Jason,” he whispered, easily finding the undivided attention of the teen before him. Slowly, Dick rose his hands again. He took several steps back, moving to a respectful distance, and lowered himself to his knees.

“You can have me. Just let the boy go. Please.”

Deathstroke seemed to consider it and it took a half-second longer for Jason to realize what was happening. As soon as it did, though, he started yelling in rage, jerking against the rail. His voice was muffled by the thick glass and Dick was thankful for small mercies. Not that there was any doubt what the teen was shrieking at them, but at least Dick wouldn’t have two voices haunting him. He could barely handle the one.

Thanks, Bruce.

Deathstroke approached him, eye narrowed in thought. Jason stilled. Then, the man drew his sword and pointed it at Dick’s throat. That got Robin rioting all over again, and Dick had to wave a hand at him to settle down. If he kept struggling he wouldn’t need the bomb to break the scaffold; he’d do it himself. And that would defeat the purpose of everything.

“You would so easily go back on our arrangement?” Deathstroke taunted. “Rewrite the rules to benefit you and your selfish interests? Turn yourself over for this boy?”

Dick huffed at him. “Yes, I would,” he snarled defiantly. “Because this isn’t a fight that has anything to do with him or Rose. This is between you, me, and what I did. And I won’t let any more innocent blood be spilled. Not over that. Not when there’s already been too much.”

Deathstroke yelled, swinging his blade. It slashed Dick across the face, cutting a short but deep canyon into his cheek. Jason roared outside and Dick toppled to the side, the entire side of his face on fire. Blood splattered to the floor and he was sure the blade had touched his cheekbone.

“You will not come here and slander his name!” the larger man scolded.

Dick coughed, raising his hands. “I didn’t come for that!” he replied. Jason had gone quiet and Dick sat up to find a gun pointed to his forehead. He calmed his breathing, hands at his ears. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not Jason, not Rose, not anyone.”

“No one but yourself.”

He gulped loudly. “If it saves them…”

His mask tilted to the left. “And why should I accept your offer? Do not forget, Grayson, you gain more out of this trade than I do. You get your little sheep back, just as I promised, while I still don’t have my daughter.” He pulled the hammer back.

“You got me instead, though. And I’m the one you’re really after, right? The one you’re really mad at.”

“You did not follow the agreed upon rules, Grayson. This trade you propose is not equivalent. So, how are you going to make up the dividend? What was it you said: that I will get my pound of flesh?”

Dick sighed, staring the devil in the eye. “You will get your pound of flesh. It’s yours. I am offering you my life, a chance to have the one who…” The gun pressed to his forehead. He waved Jason down again. “The one you want. Have my blood, my flesh. And in return, all you have to do is let Jason go.”

Deathstroke waited, almost expecting Dick to continue. Dick held his form, jaw tight and breathing heavily.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

The devil blinked first.

“Very well,” he said, pulling the gun back. “I accept your deal.”

Dick could almost breathe again but didn’t dare let himself feel relief. Deathstroke could turn on him on a dime and Dick had to be ready for it.

“Get up,” the larger man instructed and Dick slowly rose to his feet. Deathstroke waved with his sword. “That way. Walk until I tell you to stop.”

Jason watched them walk into the building, leaving him and the window behind. “Dick! Dick, get back here! Don’t do this!” he shouted to the man’s retreating form. “Dick, stop!”

Dick paused halfway to the elevator, glancing back at Jason. “What about him?”

“They will find him.”

“When?”

“Our deal was that I would release the boy. Not rescue him.”

Dick turned forward, biting the inside of his cheek angrily. He wanted to argue, demand that leaving Jason strapped to the outside of a building with a small bomb the only thing keeping him in the air was hardly letting him go. But Bruce’s voice came back to him, loud enough it was almost like he was standing right there.

“Choose your battles, son. If you fight every fight, you reveal your hand. You open yourself to exhaustion and allow the enemy to learn more about you than you would ever permit. Better to lose some battles if it means you save yourself for the war.”

Save himself for the war. That’s all Dick had to do. Wait until they were out of range of the bomb or anyone else and strike back. It would be a fight, a glorious and bloody brawl. And this time, only one of them would walk away.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

UNKNOWN

SAN FRANCISCO

They had to enter Slade’s house through a short iron gate. A series of steps lead to a small rock garden, surrounded on all sides by the thick glass windows of the house. On one side, a dining room and kitchen. Another, a lounge. A third an office and the fourth was hidden behind thick black doors. Wintergreen swung the doors open and Dick was escorted through. The interior was all black steel and polished marble. Immaculately clean and decorated. Dick had been around money long enough to know when someone flaunted it or simply used it to keep up appearances. Slade was the latter, he decided as they crossed the small balcony, walking down more steps to arrive at the sub-level. Another lounge, a short hallway, a corner, and more steps later they finally arrived at a locked door.

Dick wasn’t stupid. He knew what this was. Slade was taunting him, showing off his home and knowing full well that Dick would be taking stock of every security measure, every re-enforced door, and doubly thick glass window. He was allowing him to get a feel for the land because it wouldn’t do him any good. He could know the layout by heart, have every access code and blind-spot memorized, and he still wasn’t leaving this place.

It was a professional courtesy, giving the captive a tour of their tomb.

Finally, they arrived at his cell. They had to walk through the armory to do so and god, the hubris of this man. The cell was a small glass enclosure in the center of a slightly larger room. Wintergreen inputted the code for the cell door and Dick noticed the cameras in opposite corners of the room, red lights watching his every move. The door unlocked and Wintergreen held it open, turning expectantly. Another taunt, the two men standing on either side of him, just out of reach of any coordinated attack.

Dick took some solace in knowing that the mind games wouldn’t work. If he could identify them for what they were, they wouldn’t have an effect on him.

At least, they wouldn’t in theory.

He ducked his head and entered the cell. It was criminally small and contained only a military-style cot and a steel toilet and sink combination. The cot was the entire length of the wall, the room was so small. The cell walls and door were made entirely of thick glass, a thin bar of steel holding the pin pad lock for the door.

The door clicked shut behind him, beeped locked, and Dick turned to look at his captives. Wintergreen stepped back, him and Slade eyeing Dick like a trapped zoo animal.

“Is that all you’ll be needing from me?” Wintergreen asked, hands folded behind his back politely.

“For now, yes. Go and ensure we weren’t followed. Then you can leave for the night.”

The man nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He nodded to them before turning to take his leave.

It all hit Dick very suddenly once the outer room door clicked shut and he found himself alone in a confined space with Slade Wilson. He was at the man’s mercy. He had agreed, in great emotional distress, to trade himself for Jason and Rose. He had promised Deathstroke his pound of flesh for Dick using his son. Jericho was dead, it was Dick’s fault, and now Slade had all the authority and means in the world to beat that into his head until his dying breath.

It would be okay, though, even if Dick died. He had done some crazy shit to keep this secret buried. And if he was to buried alongside it, so much the better. He didn’t want to die, per se, but not having to fight or hide in shame anymore was a tantalizing prospect.

“Clean yourself up,” Slade demanded. “And rest. We start early.”

Dick gulped, frowning as the man pivoted to leave. “Start what? You’ve already shown me your house. Had your PA lock me up, stripped me to look for weapons…” He shrugged. “What’s next? Are you going to strap me to a chair and make me watch sad movies? Beat me? Make me bleed, make me beg?” Maybe it was the adrenaline drop off. Maybe it was an overwhelming sense of fuck-it or the relative safety of a thick glass wall between him and the larger man. He wasn’t sure what was fueling his outburst, but he was feeling especially snarky, desperate to snag hold of any shred of power in this dire situation. So he did what any scared kid would do; he bit, he snarled, he taunted and teased. It was stupid. But he was stupid, and tired, and his face hurt like hell thanks to the slash in his cheek.

Slade turned to him, crossing his buff arms. “I’m not going to make you do anything, Grayson.” Slowly, methodically, he advanced on the cell. “At the end of our time here, you will be begging me to kill you of your own free will, grovel at my feet and plead with me to end your miserable existence. And I…” He raised a hand and Dick took a small step back. “I will not have laid a single finger on you. I will destroy you exactly as you coerced my son into dying for your paltry plan…” Curling his fingers, he tapped his temple once. “By corrupting your mind. I know what made you into what you are, Richard John Grayson. And I know how to dismantle it all.”

About facing, he marched to the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Dick was left alone in the cell, breathing heavily and working his jaw. “Shit,” he muttered, hands pulling at his hair. Heavily, he collapsed to the cot, scrubbing at his face.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

He hissed, fingers pulling at the wound on his cheek. They came away slightly red and that was just great. He must have reopened it. Huffing, he stood and made his way to the sink to wash off. When he looked up from the bowl and found Bruce standing behind him, he was hardly surprised.

The ghost shrugged. “I told you not to do that. It will make a hell of a souvenir, though, you’ve got to admit. A real conversation starter.”

Dick ignored him, rolling his eyes. He yanked the thin blanket off the cot, tearing a sliver of fabric from it. It wasn’t ideal, but a covering was better than no covering. And Dick really didn’t want the cut to scar. And, yes, he was vain enough to admit it was partly because he didn’t want an ugly ass scar on his cheek for the rest of his life. But he also tried not to think about the looks of pity and inquiring stares he would get from the Titans, the League, everyone who knew him whenever he walked into a room.

Slade’s mark was on his face and Dick would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to make it go away. Scar his arms, his shoulders, his stomach, or his back. Rip up his legs, go for the shins or knees. But being cruel to his face right off the bat? That was just rude.

Wound cleaned best he could - too bad he couldn’t stitch or wrap it properly - he kicked his boots off and settled onto the mattress. He was loathe to admit, but as far as cots went, it wasn’t the worst he had ever slept on. Standard military issue, which made sense considering Slade’s past as a soldier. A sniper in one of the most elite squadrons, before they took him and experimented on his body.

Dick lowered himself to his back, the thin blanket pulled up to his chin. Slade promised he would torture Dick without laying a finger on him. Did that mean he was going to experiment on him like the military had? Pump him full of performance enhancing drugs and hope his heart didn’t give out? He rolled to his side. No, there were plenty of ways to torment someone without touching them. Gas and drugs, for starters. Then there were long-range weapons like whips and percussive ones like bats or clubs. Fire and water could be deadly, or even earth if he was feeling creative.

Sighing, he scooted to his other side, letting his sore cheek taste the open air. Would Slade involve Wintergreen? If Wintergreen touched him, would that count? Slade certainly seemed like the kind of man who would have someone do his dirty work just so he could save face. He was a sniper, after all, a class of soldier who didn’t exactly operate up close and personal. Except he finished all of the fights Dick had seen him pick and was skilled with several kinds of swords and blades.

Would those count as touch? Were there specific parameters, like distance he had to be from Dick’s flesh or was it physical only?

Fingers snapped loudly in front of his face and Dick blinked, large eyes focusing on Bruce’s curious expression.

“What do you want?” he sighed.

The ghost looked offended. “Thought I lost you there, is all. Caught up in your own dark fantasies?” he asked, raising a hand to stroke Dick’s hair.

Dick swatted him away. “Don’t fucking touch me. And no, I wasn’t fantasizing about what’s going to happen. Slade’s going to torture me. I’m probably going to die. End of story.”

“The end is only what you make of it. They can see you, you know.”

He frowned. “What? Who?”

“Not the cameras, though I’m certain that sadistic prick is enjoying watching you fret. And certainly not if they don’t try.”

Rolling his eyes, he turned his back to the ghost. Maybe putting pressure on his cheek was the way to go. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you-”

“No, no. Don’t do that. Just shut up. I need to sleep.”

Even though he was faced the opposite direction, Dick could perfectly see Bruce’s shrug because that was such a fucking Bruce thing to do. “If by sleep you mean toss and turn for hours on end, haunted by visions and thoughts you can’t hope to explain and worries you won’t be able to satisfy. Then, please, by all means. Fret all night long if that makes you feel any better.”

“The only thing that’s haunting me right now is you. So if you could kindly fuck off that would be appreciated.”

“But I can’t, though.”

“Maybe if you tried.”

“They can see you, son. They’re watching.”

He shook his head, snuggling deeper into the cot. “I don’t know what you’re saying and I don’t care.”

Bruce was silent for a long moment and Dick finally closed his eyes, satisfied that he would be able to sleep in peace. Or, at least toss and turn for hours, caught up in overthinking and plagued by guilt until he got so tired he gave up entirely and decided passing out from exhaustion would be better. So like any other night, really.

#ttians #dick grayson #titans dc #titans dcu #dcu titans #titans tv #dick grayson whump #whump #slade wilson #deathstroke #jason todd #robin #batman #nightwing #this took A G E S and im still not super duper happy with it but here i guess #heres chapter one #sorry for the wait #writing #fanfiction

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iphoenixrising · 5 years ago

Note

you know, I really love how badass and capable Tim is but I’m weak for the trope where a character gets in a bad sitch (maybe held captive) and their love interests go nuts trying to get them back and they’re furious seeing he’s hurt and restrained (baddie tied + gagged them too tight?)when they do rescue him maybe Jay and Dick are so tender and caring oof what are your thoughts?

WELL BABE. I mean with characters like Tim Drake and Tony Stark, overprotective (boy)friends tearing through bad guy installations with feral intent to get Tim/Tony back just waters my crops and clears my skin. It’s fucking beautiful.

I mean, let’s just say

Once and a while, every vigilante has a bad fucking night.

It just happen to be Red Robin’s turn.

The residual owfuck isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. That is, once he gets himself out of this before terrible bad guys with an apparent fetish for brass knuckles and knives come back to finish the job. After a lucky shot took his zip line out mid-leap, the night had gone from generally shitty to progressively worse. Catching a hard fire escape knocked him mostly out on the way down. He’d initially come to when the fist to his solar plexus is just about agonizing.

Whatever hits he’d taken on the way down to the street damaged the suit’s security, which is the only reason it didn’t shock the shit out of anyone when they grabbed him by the arms, held him there for the first round of blows.

It’s an occasional thing, for one of them to get balls deep in imminent fucking peril. There’s nights when sleep dep and stress, the day job and night job colliding, too many bads and not enough goods, nights when a one wrong step, one bad contingency, one hesitation, is enough for them to get the drop.

Which leads them to this disgustingly dingy, blood-splattered warehouse down on the East Side, where Red is dangling from a chain in the ceiling like a side of raw beef for the slaughter.

And while blood is sluggishly running down the side of his face and his jaw feels like it’s on fire, while his gauntlets are useless and the manacles are on fucking point, when his chest fucking hurts and the fire in his side makes his eyes water because really, just a concussion can’t be enough.

(R – Robert, heh.)

When he’s giving himself a few minutes to just breathe it out, take a second to let the pain settle, half in meditation to try getting mentally past this for an epic kind of escape he’s about to pull off.

Any minute now.

But really, he just had a rough night, and the fact these ass hats left the damn door open is really just a testament on how easy this is going to be once he feels up to taking down a few thugs or twenty.

(And just why did he have to walk into an impromptu gun fight between two rival gangs that decided to work together instead – against him. What’s taken the groups out of the room is arguments on who was going to get the glory and what bosses to call and inform. He’s pretty sure he’s got about at least ten minutes or so before everyone comes back for another few rounds of kick the shit out of the vigilante.)

So, he’s good. Totally got this.

It’s in the bag.

Ten minutes.

His forearms get tight, wrists immobile when he starts pulling his weight up to get some slack on the connecting chain, going to need to have room to pick the locks–

when the abrupt tremble and loud sounds of shit just breaking comes through the open door, jarring him too much for his warped brain pan to handle, and he drops back down a few inches, grunting with the jerking motions on his upper body.

Gunfire explodes and people are absolutely screaming. Things get a little more real because at this juncture, it could be anything from more fighting between themselves or another rival group walking in on an obvious base of operations.

It’s apparent he’s out of time when several come running back in, guns out, panicked and talking over one another.

Dammit. His brain hurts.

But even if his fingers are numb still in his glove, he’s slowly working the lock pick set out of his useless gauntlets, looking forward to getting free fast enough to take out the room before even thinking of taking on the fuckery happening behind that door.

What he expects is to get more roughed up before the night is over. What he doesn’t expect is for a body to slam into the room, blood arching in the same angle as the nice landing right at Red Robin’s bound feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The second body immediately following fell close enough for Red’s whiteouts to narrow down at the face beaten to hamburger, a thoughtful noise muffled through the gag shoved in his mouth.

He has a moment to register, that looks familiar, before the impressive silhouettes fill the door, and the calvary has apparently arrived.

To say he is literally boned is probably an understatement because he can see the tension all over them. Tight fists and forearms, shoulders squared, thighs tense, and game faces right the hell on.

It’s the terrifying vigilantes Nightwing and the Red Hood, towers of kicking ass and taking names –

and the thugs in the room gape at the picture those two make, blood sprays all over their suits, smoking barrels and sparking escrima sticks, lips curled up off N’s teeth to snarl, Hood to lower his chin enough that those whiteouts are fixed.

He catches a breath through his mouth since he’s pretty sure his nose is broken or dislocated, beaten body tensing for one of the thugs to get smart, turn, and fire at him.

But, it doesn’t happen because the Red Hood and Nightwing strike like an avenging wave of brutally beautiful justice. They move together like water, the fight never stopping until the bodies are piled high, a job well done. And as much as Red Robin would like to say he feels something crazily like relief, the all together different noise he makes through the gag is telling on what else watching them fight (for him) does to him.

“Aww, Big Wing, lookit what those fuckers did,” is slightly distorted through the synths, and he must have blinked a little too long because suddenly both of his vigilante boyfriends are right there, bracketing him in, being absurdly careful when they run gloved hands over him to find injuries. Hood goes for the gag tied so harshly, N hurriedly helping from behind him.

“Hey Baby, you with us?” is soft and gentle, the contrast to the savage beat-down N just had a hand in a few minutes ago.

Once the cloth is out of his dry mouth, gloved fingers rub the indents, and the helmet is tilted up at him.

“H-how did–”

“Shh, shh. Gonna getcha down, yeah? S’good, Sweets, we gotchu.” Already stretching up on his toes to work the manacles fast while N sweeps up his bound legs from behind, holding him up to take the weight off his wrists.

“There we go,” and a nuzzle against his face, sweet relief when his wrist and hands pop free, and he tries to work the feeling back in his fingers, laying against Nightwing’s chest for just a moment to be dizzy and relieved.

“Thanks for the save,” Red Robin woozily banters, “bad guys can be such ass hats.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hood gives a solid kick to one of the bodies twitching on the floor before coming around to gently fit a gloved hand on Red’s bruised jaw, thumb the mask so the whiteouts slide up and they can see how dazed his eyes are. He n’ N exchange a worried glance while Red pats the hand on his jaw and maneuvers himself out of the octopus hold, a little wobbly but still on point.

“All right, I’m on clean-up since I was the metaphorical damsel this time–” is cut off with a whoosh of breath when he leans over enough to brace a hand on the wall when owfuck gets a little more serious than he expects.

“Nothin’ doin’.” Is Hood nipping that little sitch in the bud, already a towering presence at his side, a heavy arm sliding around his back, “me n’ N done already gave the coppers a heads-up, you feel me, Sweets?”

“We’ve already tied up most the rivals in the building,” Nightwing soothes the one to step up into his space and tilt his face up this time, “and you are going right back to the Manor to be patched up. You’ve got a concussion and who knows what else.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really–” because missing a spleen anyone? He’s been through worse, worked through worse, and still brought out his inner bad ass. These two? Need to take a pill.

“Nu-uh. Ya try ta ged outta it, then we’re callin’ in the big guns. You feel me here?”

And oh no. No, no, no.

“Too late,” is growled somewhere in the vicinity of shadows over their shoulders.

When Red Robin spins on his heel and almost falls, Hood and Nightwing move fast to catch him by the arms so he doesn’t fall in front of the very stern-looking Robin suddenly steps from the shadows, both hands out to steady him by the hips.

Looming over him like Hood and N, Robin’s forehead is wrinkled in that special way when he’s scowling behind the domino. Red Robin manages to gasp before all six-foot-two of concerned vigilante is all over his everything.

Everyone is well-aware Robin doesn’t take any of his shit and is extremely efficient. What few, select people only know–

–he can also be extraordinary gentle.

This time, when Red Robin is swept up against another chest, another symbol, he doesn’t fight it, not when the youngest leans down and says something softly against his ear.

“Let us care for you, Beloved.”

He sighs a little and lists closer, throwing an around around those shoulders and idly fiddles with the cape.

“Better,” Hood uses a gloved thumb to run over his busted nose.

“I want a hot shower and bed,” Red admits wearily, “I can be a stubborn ass about it some other time.”

N chuckles sadly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s a good choice, Timmy. We’re going to find a second to eat between that, okay?”

He hums a little, trying to lay his face down on his arm somewhere that wouldn’t hurt. “I guess. Hot shower first, please.”

The bang of grapples echo against the sirens screaming in the night, and the Bats take off, flying over the rooftops to transportation not far off. Hood and N take driver and shotty so Robin can continue to cradle their bird on the ride back.

He might bitch good-naturedly about Hood driving the Red Bird like a literal bat out of hell, but it gets all kinds of shut down when Robin tenderly presses his mouth to the bruises on Red’s jaw and rubs soothing circles on the back of his neck.

Nightwing is the one that hops out and takes him from Robin to carry up to the Perch, talking low against his ear about the pick-up from the GCPD so he honestly feels better about where the night has taken him.

But it’s Jason Todd that runs a bath instead of the shower and strips down, runs gentle hands over the bruises and contusions, soaps him up to wash away the night. The two of them wrapped in towels while Jay sets his nose fast enough that it’s really not as bad as it could have been.

Dick towels his hair dry while he sits at the kitchen table, shivering, and Dami kneels by him to check out each injury with the first-aid tackle box in easy reach. Coffee is off the menu (a crime against humanity!) but the hot chocolate has been left to cool enough not to sting his sore mouth.

The eventual clothes are a combination from the communal drawer so he’s swimming in Dami’s shirt and Jay’s cut-off sweats, several ice packs bandaged over them on the worst of the swelling.

Grilled paninis and soup are utter heaven because A) Jay and Dami can cook, B) everything is easy to eat with a bruised face and cuts on the inside of his mouth, but also C) cute boyfriends keep giving him gentle kisses and touches whenever they come within a literal foot of him.

And they’re so good about it, taking care of him without being too smothering (at least no one has threatened to call his team – yet) through getting patched up and fed.

No, no, they wait for it.

Once he’s wrangled into bed, the three of them surrounding him in warmth and comforting touches, he’s pretty much trapped until morning.

Honestly, it’s probably the best part of the night.

#winter answers #with hurt/comfort #dickjaytimdami #night sky #my writing #cute boyfriends #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne

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odetolove · 4 years ago

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you look so breathtaking beneath him, coming undone without being touched at all- he’s practically whimpering, feeling himself twitch and throb while he’s surrounded by you. he’s gliding between your chest easier and easier as his precum slicks the skin. it’s messy and sticky, but when you slide your tongue out to meet his head and taste him from the source his eyes roll to the back of his head, teeth popping free from his lip so he can gasp.

fuckfuckfuck- pretty girl, you feel so fucking good, ‘m gonna cum soon and paint you so fucking nice, gonna look so good coated in my cum.

his own words egg him on, the sound of wet skin on skin slapping throughout the room only making the blood in his ears throb. but then his eyes widen, vision almost going completely white when your orgasm hits you- cumming without his touch, just from him using your body to get himself.

did you jus- oh fuck!

his voice breaks, head falling forward once more as his free hand cards through your hair, trying desperately to praise you while his own orgasm hits him, spurts of his cum flying forward with each thrust as he fucks your tits through it. it lands on your chest, your lips, cheeks, all over your upper body, really- he’s almost impressed he had that much left in him after cumming twice earlier.

l-love you! love you so much! fuck, love you love you love you!

the last ‘you’ is drawn out, his whole body shaking from the force with which he finishes, hips finally slowing to a full stop. -tadashi

he has me absolutely dazed, blinking up at him for as long as i can- to watch him cum, but my reflexes get the better of me, eyes closing at the first splatter of him against my cheek. i open my mouth, tongue out whimpering as i do, getting what i can, but the combination of his heavy thrusts and velocity of how much he cums makes it a little difficult.

i only close my mouth when he stills, and even though its mean- i squeeze my tits around him, locking my fingers together, making sure hes dutifully emptied out.

thankful he didn’t get any on my eyes, i open them- meeting his own eyes, smiling at him as best i can with the hot cum painting my face and chest. being marked like this satiates a baser part of my needs, its so dirty- but feels good and after licking my lips, everywhere my tongue can reach- i give him a weak smile, still also reeling from my own orgasm.

love you too- ‘dashi.

i answer quietly, knowing he can hear me now, careful to not move, not wanting it anywhere other than on my body. my fingers still kept locked together, holding my tits around his softening dick, not having any intention to move unless he moves me.

#plsss I NEARLY CRIED WHEN HIS VOICE BROKE #I LVOE HIM SM I MIGHT GO CRAZY #U WRITE SO WELL AND IM A MESS #yama.love #favorite.love #literally a mess

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morelike-bi-light · 6 years ago

Text

AU Where Victoria and Bree Join the Olympic Coven

And Also Vampires Can Cry Now Because Fuck Smeyer

Starting with Twilight

So in this AU Laurent tells the Cullens that Victoria and James are mates while he's info-dumping, because James isn't a total moron on top of a dick and tries to utilize Victoria's power of self-preservation to aid in his hunt by having her guard the studio instead of... whatever he asked her to do in canon. Unfortunately those powers only work when her adversary's goal is to kill her, and in this version Bella asks Jasper to stay and guard her dad so he can use his powers to provide comfort to Charlie while Bella's away. So Esme takes his place at the studio and she proposes that instead of destroying her, they use Victoria as a bargaining chip to trade for Bella.

But when they confront him, he just laughs and tells them to kill her. That she was just a toy and a tool for him to get what he wants. Tells them how pathetic she was before he started hunting her down, too afraid to interact with even the weakest of vampires. He tells them how she was so grateful to be left alive when he hunted her down, how she’d do whatever he said, how useful her ability to evade was, how amusing it was to see her scramble to appease him. He tells them that if she's so weak that they could overpower her, then she's outlived her use to him anyways. Victoria’s humiliation grows as she listens, and eventually she restrains him herself, gleefully helping Edward and Emmett destroy him. However, Bella’s wounds distract them soon after, and they fail to make sure his body burns with the ballet studio.

When they return to Forks, Carlisle and Esme offer her a place to stay, seeing as Laurent has already left for Alaska. While she refuses at first, unwilling to take the vegetarian lifestyle, after a month or so of living alone, she makes her way back. She shows up at the school prom, confessing that she just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Victoria needs a purpose, and James may have been abusive and cruel and heartless but he had offered her that. Bella convinces Edward to take her back to the house and the Cullens take a vote on whether to accept her. Edward and Rosalie are the only ones who vote against, so in she’s brought. They spend the rest of the school year and then the whole summer teaching her how to control the bloodlust, and how to be a part of the family.

She stays very close to Esme whenever she can. Esme is the first one that Victoria really tells her story to: her sister and her getting beaten as servants, working as prostitutes to stay off the streets, finally finding happiness in her coven of sisters, only to have the Volturi steal Heidi and slaughter them all. Getting hunted and then recruited by James. Esme cries (fuck smeyer) when Victoria can’t, and she asks for permission to touch her until Victoria tells her she doesn’t need to. And even when Victoria is itching to scream or cry or tear the walls of their perfect house done, she’s patient and gentle. She sees Esme reading a book one day and mentions ofhandedly that she only barely knows how to read, despite being alive so long, and that’s when they start reading together, starting with Anne of Green Gables, who also had fiery hair, freckles, and a found family. Esme is home.

Of course, the whole coven comes to mean something to her. Carlisle fills her with a feeling of safety and hope. He doesn’t let anything happen to his family, and she’s part of it now. Emmett makes her feel a different kind of safe - the kind that comes with knowing that there’s someone who doesn’t care if she screws up, who will invite her out for a run through the woods regardless of what she’s done and who she’s been. Jasper, she feels a kinship to. He comes from bad blood too - no pun intended. They’ve both down awful things to innocent people to appease those who controlled them. And she can always count on him to bring her calm when everything else is driving her crazy. Alice’s optimism, while irritating at first, has often been her only source of hope for the future, and Bella, though she smells delicious, is even more valuable for how normal she can make Victoria feel. Edward is still cold, but Victoria trusts him, and he seems to have accepted that her intentions are genuine. Rosalie is distant, and when they’re alone together, they’re quiet, but she walks with her at school, and sits with her around the house.

Then Onto New Moon

At Bella’s party, it’s not just Jasper who can’t control himself when Bella bleeds - Victoria loses control, too. After all, Jasper can’t calm her when he can’t calm himself. She feels bad about the whole thing, but secretly she thinks that Edward pushing her into the glass made everything a lot worse than it had to be. Edward argues that this is exactly why they should never have taken her in in the first place, which hurts more than she wants to admit, but to her surprise, Rosalie comes to her defense, pointing out that Jasper lost control too, and they’d never use that as an excuse to throw him out.

When the clan decides to leave, she’s scared that they’ll figure out a way to leave her behind. That when they move, they’ll bring her, but something will change. That they’ll figure out that she’s a lost cause and just be rid of her. But nothing happens. They move, for Bella’s safety, and her absence is the only thing that changes. Esme still cuddles with her on the couch and reads with her. They’re working through Anne of Avonlea now. Emmett and she still go racing through the forest, and despite his talk, he still never wins. Rosalie and she still sit at the table. Alice still does her hair in the mornings. She catches Esme drafting letters, then throwing them out while shaking her head and trembling. They’re crumbled and scribbled on and addressed to Bella. Victoria wonders if they’ve all made a mistake but bites her tongue. She doesn’t have the right to question their decisions, not when she is still one of the most recent ones.

When Edward decides to commit suicide, and Bella and Alice go to bring him back, the Volturi mention concern over the adoption of Victoria into the Cullen clan. Edward sees the memories of Aro and the rest hunting down Victoria’s coven, and feels a pang of guilt over his dismissal of her as unfeeling, untrustworthy and a threat to Bella. Among their other complaints and suspicions, they demand that the Cullens ensure her control if they plan on keeping her in the same area for as long as they usually do, and warn that if they fail to turn Bella and control Victoria, the Volturi will be forced to take drastic measures to protect their kind.

When they return, Victoria refuses to talk to Edward for a while. Her head pulses with memories of her sister’s cries cutting off abruptly, with just the echoes left to listen to. Of the sound of her coven members’ footsteps fading, until hers are the only ones still crunching through the snow. Of screaming and collapsing and being utterly alone once more. She wants to yell at Edward, demand he tell her how he could do that to Carlisle and Esme, who love him more than should be possible. How could he do that to his siblings? I mean, maybe he doesn’t care about her, and she knows that, she’s accepted it, but to do it to Emmett? To Alice?

It’s weeks before they reconcile. He approaches softly as she sits alone, in the house, and he sits next to her. She glares at him, and he flinches. She tells him he was stupid. She tells him exactly what he knows she’s been thinking - that he is lucky to have found a family that loves him so much, and he has proved how unworthy he is of that love, to throw it in their face. She tells him that she is older and has been lonelier. That he must be a fool to not recognize the gift he’s been given in Carlisle and Esme. He stares at the floor as she hurls her abuse at him. When she’s done, he looks up, pausing, and tells her that he’s sorry that he left, and that she lost her sister. She freezes, scowls at him, and disappears.

A few days later, Esme talks with her about it. She thanks her for caring so much about her and Carlisle, and for valuing them so much. She asks her to consider what Edward must’ve been feeling, to consider what he did. to commit. She starts thinking about it more and more. In the end, she approaches him, and gives him a reluctant, awkward hug. She doesn’t say anything - he can read her mind. No point in being redundant.

And Some Major Changes to Eclipse

By the time that summer rolls around, Victoria is just starting to relax. She knows better than to expect it to last, but she takes a cue from Esme and Alice, and determines to take comfort where she can. At least, she does until she slips up and bites an injured human while running in the woods a few miles from Seattle. He’s a young man, wearing a U of O shirt that’s splattered with blood and mud from the wound on his shoulder. In the midst of drinking his blood, she thinks about the reactions of her new family, and wrenches herself away from the body. She’s so overwhelmed by her own self-loathing and fear, that she doesn’t process the padding of paws or the rustling of branches that linger in the brush.

Sprinting all the way back to the house, she admits her deed to Esme in the dead of night, and then Carlisle the next morning. After some debate, they decide to wait before they tell the others. Unfortunately, it’s only a week or so before they get wind of a string of murders and disappearances cropping up in Seattle. Edward immediately learns of Victoria’s guilt when they bring it up and is furious that she has put both the clan and Bella in danger. Rosalie, too, is frustrated, but the rest of the clan does their best to keep things from escalating. Edward and Victoria’s relationship worsens further when in a moment of discomfort and disgust, Victoria points out that James would also prevent her from seeing other men without his permission.

While Bella and Edward deal with drama concerning their relationship and her connections with the pack, Carlisle helps Victoria work on her control using first animal blood, and then whatever human blood is about to expire from the local bank. Eventually, Jasper and Alice join in on the sessions as well. While the sessions are a struggle, and increase in difficulty with each success, Victoria finally starts to feel like her future may remain in her control. But everything feels like it’s crumbling when Alice gets a vision of James surviving to seek revenge on the Cullens, but even more than them, Victoria. On top of the lessons on self control, Jasper starts giving her lessons in self defense, should James catch her unawares and the rest of them aren’t there to help.

After some time, Jacob, on behalf of the wolf pack, informs Bella that the injured man that Victoria fed on has been helping James to build an army of newborns, who are responsible for the corpses scattered all over Seattle. The coven begins to prepare for an attack, though the Denali Coven refuses to come to their aid. Apparently, Laurent thought that supporting James was wiser than defending her and the Cullens, a choice that had resulted in his death at the hands - or teeth - of Bella’s pack of shapeshifters. She doesn’t feel anything but a vague irritation at the news. The La Push pack offers to replace the Denalis in battle, although her presence in the coven certainly doesn’t make them more enthused about it. Edward, Bella, Jacob, and Seth go up the mountain to wait out the fight.

While Victoria had fervently hoped that James would be too angry at her to bother chasing after the squishiest member of her new family, he decides that going after Bella is the only way to get his revenge - as well as finally complete his hunt. However, his beating at the ballet studio has weakened him, and Edward manages to kill him before he can do any damage. Seth kills his right hand man Riley, who himself had sworn to kill her, as she was responsible for his transformation and had abandoned him in the woods. Meanwhile, the Olympic coven and the pack work together to destroy the newborn army, and during the battle, Victoria and Jake’s combined efforts protect Leah from a newborn. (It’s lucky she was there, too, or she suspects Jacob would’ve broken something.)

On the other side of the battlefield, Carlisle and Esme offer Bree a new home in exchange for her surrender, and she immediately agrees. Victoria and Jasper are initially suspicious, and have Carlisle and Esme leave her with them. When Edward and Bella arrive, Victoria asks him to read the girl’s mind and they discern that she has genuine intentions. Bree is obviously terrified, and Edward tells Victoria that the newborns were fed horrible stories of what would happen to them should they be captured - especially by the red-haired target herself. Victoria feels a pang of regret and empathy, knowing exactly what it’s like to have James slip inside your mind, draw out your greatest fears, and paint them onto the world around you, until everywhere you look, you see a threat. When Victoria looks at Bree, she sees her previous self - except wiser, clearly, as the Victoria of the past would never have been able to discern foe from friend under the influence of James.

That’s when she looks across the field and sees the Volturi have started to arrive. It’s been over half a millennium since she turned, but at the prospect of experiencing a repeat of the events that claimed her original coven, she’s never felt more damned. Things only get worse when Victoria recognizes her former coven member, Heidi, emerging from their ranks, and surveying the scene with disinterest, until their eyes meet, and her brow quirks. If Victoria was human, her stomach would be rolling. Jasper tries to ground her with a feeling of calm and peace as she starts to tremble, and Esme and Carlisle slowly drift over, placing supportive hands on her back as the two groups come to stand before one another.

When the Volturi demand that Bree be handed over, for interrogation, Victoria nearly collapses on the spot. “No,” she whispers, even as Bree slowly stands, resignation etched into her young features. “No, they can’t.” She grips Esme, leaning into her embrace, staring up into her kind, horrified eyes and pleading as she never has before. “Esme, please. Esme. Please.” She’ll offer herself in the girl’s place - she’s had aeons to become something worthy of existing, and this girl has surpassed her with hardly a childhood. Carlisle implores the Volturi to entrust the girl with the Olympic Coven, and Aro makes a show of pretending to consider it. Victoria remembers, looking through his curtains of dark hair and into his mercilessly red eyes, exactly why she spent so many centuries hiding from her own kind. Heidi whispers something in Caius’s ear, and a murmur breaks out among the coven’s core members.

When the whispers stop, Aro turns to the family with a hard glare, looking them over one by one before his eyes land on the fifteen-year-old on trial. He pins up a saccharine smile to tell them that the Volturi will bequeath her to the Cullens, but only after a short and painful interrogation, the screams from which are muffled by Jasper’s kind smothering, and a vow to to uphold the laws of the Volturi. Bree doesn’t really feel alive until Carlisle steps forward and grasps her by the elbow, leading her back until she’s pressed between him and his wife, with Victoria and Rosalie maneuvering forward to flank their sides, crouching defensively in case they should change their minds. Esme curls one hand into Bree’s hair, and places her other in Victoria’s hand, chin lifted defiantly in the direction of the Volturi.

Aro isn’t done, however. He asks the Cullen how the newborn army’s leader was turned. He says, looking at Victoria, that whoever is responsible for the spawning of the first newborn must face the consequences of their failure to clean up after themselves. Even as Esme’s grip tightens, the redhead doesn’t blink, meeting his eyes. She knows what her lack of control has cost her family - and isn’t it funny, that it’s the first time she doesn’t hesitate to think of them as that - and she won’t cost them anything else. Carlisle, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye as he tells the Volturi that they don’t know who is responsible, that he imagines it must be James. That Alice has only ever seen him in her visions. Aro smiles and points out that wrongdoing is not always a matter of choice, but before he can continue, Edward interrupts, claiming that one of the shapeshifters has something to add. One of the wolves begins to change form, and when the process is done, the wolf is now one of the most beautiful women that Victoria has ever seen, with cropped black hair, and merciless eyes that simmer with disgust.

Leah steps forward from the pack and testifies that she was present during the initial changing of Riley. Aro beckons her forward, and she complies, though her pack rumbles with discontent. Carlisle joins her side as she walks forward, explaining softly how Aro’s powers work, and hesitating before informing her that she does have the option to refuse to comply. Leah nods, glancing away, before silently presenting her arm to the red-eyed coven leader. Aro ghosts his fingers along her forearm before wrapping his icy fingers around her warm wrist. Edward whispers to Bella and his clan about what he’s seeing in the shapeshifter’s mind. She was taking a familiar run that summer night a ways outside of Seattle, when Riley was first bit. She’d caught a whiff of blood in the distance as well as a hint of something nauseatingly sweet, and decided to investigate. Riley’s initial injury had been inflicted by a weakened James from behind, who upon recognizing Victoria’s scent, had abandoned his victim in her path. The temptation to drink was too much for the new vegetarian, but when she realized what she was doing, she’d wrenched herself away and sprinted back to her home as quickly as possible, leaving the injured boy behind. James then emerged from where he’d been watching and soon after dragged him away.

Leah had warned the pack of what she’d seen, and soon thereafter Jacob had informed Bella of the pack’s interactions with James. Victoria’s eyes are glued to the shapeshifter as Edward relays her memories. When the account has been given, Leah firmly removes her arm from Aro’s slackened clasp and takes a step back. The Volturi leader gives the shapeshifter an odd look, as though he’s both fascinated and disgusted, before reluctantly announcing that Victoria is not technically at fault for the newborns, but she will be watched carefully by the Volturi - and should she make even a minor mistake again, it will be her last. She doesn’t flinch under his gaze as he says this, but Esme loops her arm around the redhead’s shoulders, providing support without releasing her hand.

Finally, the Volturi leader inquires about Bella’s humanity, noting with distaste their failure to honor their word. The Cullens assure them that the date for transformation has been set, and that as soon as Bella graduates from high school, her disappearance will warrant much less panic. Carlisle notes that this is actually in better keeping with the Volturi’s philosophy than if they were to change her and disappear without a trace. At long last, the Volturi admit satisfaction, and reluctantly depart with only warnings and threats in their wake. Victoria watches Heidi’s back as she follows the clan leader away from the battlefield, and tries not to feel a pang of rejection. They haven’t seen one another in centuries - and even if that wasn’t the case, there would be none of Heidi’s former sentiment surviving under the influence of Chelsea.

After they depart, the battlefield slowly starts to clear, first with bodies piled and burning, then with the coven and the wolf pack’s diplomatic exchanges. Victoria hesitates to leave Esme’s side, but she glances down at Bree, still glued to the matriarch’s side, and determines to learn to stand on her own feet more often, so that she could support Esme - who would surely be doing the brunt of the work of acclimating the newest Cullen, just as she did with Victoria - as well as Bree in her own right. She glances across the field, at Leah, and thinks there is no better time to start than then.

She pulls away from Esme and slowly pads up to Leah, still in human form. She thanks her for testifying on her behalf, and Leah thanks her for her part in protecting her from the newborns. She makes her laugh at some point, and Victoria makes her smile and blush. The vampire pretends not to notice. After all, she imagines that if she were human, Leah would’ve turned her red more than once already. Eventually the two groups part ways, returning to their respective homes, and as Victoria returns to the coven, Esme and Alice are watching her with strange looks on their faces - strange, mischievous looks. She pretends not to notice that either.

That summer, Bree slowly begins to acclimate to the clan. Victoria feels a pang, watching her go through the motions. After all, she’s only barely gotten used to being in the family herself, and there are still so many days where she wakes up wondering when they are going to abandon her, or destroy her, or worse. Rosalie is almost as protective of and attentive to the teenager as Esme and Carlisle. In fact, the entire clan seems to have decided to involve themselves with her healing.

Victoria swallows the bitterness, trying to remind herself of the sensibility in the clan’s initial reaction to her, but it scares her how little reason soothes her anxiety. Emmett, Bella, and Carlisle seem to understand her worries, though, and with their help - distracting games with Emmett, indulgent hangouts with Bella, and long talks with Carlisle - she learns how to manage and erode any lingering envy or fear. (She never worries about Esme though. They finish Anne of Avonlea, and complete Matilda before the summer ends. She’s gotten better at reading on her own, but she has a feeling it will always be easier with Esme.)

Besides, she adores Bree. Bree is kind, and quiet, and goofy. She is a kid the likes of which Victoria never got to be, and, according to Edward and Carlisle, the likes of which Bree never really got to be before she was bitten either. Of course, Rosalie loves her too, to everyone except Emmett’s surprise. She pulls Victoria aside one day, with newspaper clippings and social services records, a month or so after Bree moves in. They disappear the following weekend, leaving just a note claiming the need to go hunting and a desire to bond. Carlisle frowns and furrows his brows, but Emmett is a good boy and stays tight-lipped about the whole thing. When anyone asks, he just shrugs. “They left a note, you know.”

Esme is the only one home when they return two weeks later in the dead of night, with black eyes, and human blood crusting under their nails. She’s wiping down the kitchen counter after one of Alice’s wedding planning sessions. “What’d they do?” she asks, without looking up. The blonde and the redhead glance at each other, before answering. “He killed her mom,” Victoria murmurs, thinking of her sister. “And tortured her,” Rosalie continues, remembering her death. Esme pauses, using her rag to wipe any glue or glitter stuck to her own hands. She pays special attention to her wedding ring. “I’m glad you’re home.”

While Alice is obviously involved with the wedding as soon as it’s announced, Bella asks Rosalie, Esme, Victoria, and Bree to be bridesmaids as well. Bree is shocked and starts to tear up immediately, but Victoria turns to stone at the proposal. She nods her acceptance, but she can’t find her voice. Later when she’s sitting alone on the balcony, pondering the situation she’s in, Bella approaches and asks her what’s wrong. Victoria asks why Bella asked her to be a bridesmaid, and Bella tells her she doesn’t have to be one if she doesn’t want to. Victoria asks her again why Bella asked her to be one. Bella thinks for a moment, then slowly comes over and sits next to her. She asks Victoria why she is asking.

Victoria lists everything she’s ever done to endanger Bella, every time her decisions made it harder for Edward and Bella to stay together. It seems liek she’ll never run out of reasons for Bella not to have asked her, until Bella interrupts and tells her that first of all, none of what she’s said was Victoria’s fault. She tells Victoria that she has never blamed Victoria - for James, for Laurent, for Edward, for Riley. She suggests that Victoria’s should consider therapy - obviously she couldn’t tell a therapist everything, but she could start to work on some of the trauma and self-doubt she has at the very least. “But that’s not the point,” she continues. “The point is that you guys, all of you, are my family. All of you. And I love all of you. You’re my sister, Victoria, just as much as Alice, and Bree, and even Rosalie. I love you, and how you came to be a part of this family doesn’t change that. We’re in this together, right?”

Bella still hangs out with members of the wolf pack from time to time, and during their trips to theaters, game stores, and bowling alleys, Victoria gets in the habit of asking after Leah. Apparently, Leah asks after her, too. Eventually, Bella gets sick of being the messenger and just sets them up to hang out without her. At Alice’s suggestion, they go to the movies and see an animated film about a garbage robot who falls in love with a space robot and accidentally-on-purpose helps humanity return to Earth. It’s nice, and afterwards they go to a cafe where they both order dinner so that Leah doesn’t have to deal with rude looks for ordering so much food. They talk about silly things, like music, and art, and eventually books get brought up and Victoria mutters that she likes Anne of Green Gables before clamming up. Leah gets the hint and changes the subject.

Spending time with Leah becomes a thing. It’s not habitual enough to be casual, but it’s just often enough to be a thing. Having plans with her feels like an event, and the first few times Victoria spends way too many hours fighting with herself over what to wear and how to do her hair and if she should use makeup - aren’t they already supposed to look perfect? What if she can’t do better and just messes things up? Not the point. The point is, Rosalie takes over her Leah-plan looks from then on, because enough is enough, and Alice is too busy planning a damn wedding to do the job for them. The third time they hang out, Victoria confesses that she’s still learning to read. The next time they meet up, Leah admits that she did some research on adult literacy and found a few articles and pamphlets about helping friends who learned how to read late adjust and continue their growth. Victoria tries to play it cool but her eyes are wet the whole time and she’s smiling like she’s psychotic for a week straight.

They’re walking back to the border of their territories after the sixth of such hangouts when she glances over at the shapeshifter and starts to notice an ache in her chest. They stop at a midpoint and stare at each other before awkwardly saying good night when the ache drips lower and turns to a burn. Victoria hasn’t wanted to attack somebody for a reason other than hunger in a while, so she blurts her goodbyes and gets out of dodge as quickly as possible. It’s only when she’s bursting through the front door and Emmett is asking how her date went that she realizes that she’s burning not with the urge to drink, but with the urge to touch. Bree gives her an odd look, asking if she’s okay, and Victoria chokes out a hoarse ‘yes’ before locking herself in her room and having a minor mental breakdown.

She avoids hanging out with Leah for the last few weeks of summer, all the while cursing herself. But she can’t help it. For the first time in centuries, she wants to be touched. She wants to be wanted. And the magnitude of what it would mean for Leah to reject her or to return her feelings, overwhelms her to the point of breaking. They have time, she tells herself. Time for her to overcome her fears. Time for her to become somebody worthy of Leah. She has time.

And We End Before Breaking Dawn Because I Guess I’m Writing a Fic Now And No Spoilers

@alaska-blu @cmgmurphy @michaelalovesseaside @loudlyglorioustragedy @habblez-the-babblez @fiercehunter411 @snailcullen @shittytwilightaus

@a-checkered-mate @imawednesdaygirl @twilight-mademegay @twibidriveby @the-bilight-saga @trashanddrivel @bog-vampire @maryaliceswan @bellaedwardcullenswan @gaybeauswan @maryalicebrandon @orange-twilight @vampireguarddogs @thechangingcolourswithinthewoods @kerrym1516 @bitchrosalie @bellatops @alicemcullen @once-and-future-thot @super-lady28

Thanks to everyone who showed interest in this post/fic! Also, sorry that this thing is so fucking long and monstrous, but I’ve honestly never felt so inspired by an AU before. Special thanks to: @the-bilight-saga @shittytwilightaus @snailcullen @trashanddrivel for messaging me and talking to me about stuff like this! My inbox is always open.

If you want to be tagged in posts related to this au or in posts regarding the fic I plan to write for it, message me, reply to this post, or reblog with a request in the tags! If you want to be taken off the taglist, let me know and I’ll do that immediately. If my post or ideas inspire you to create your own fic/art/post/work, even if it’s different, go for it! And tag me or message me! I’d die.

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taexual · 7 years ago

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BTS / Mafia AU - They’re jealous

REQUESTS: @dcwonderwoman54: Can I ask for an arranged mafia au for bts where they get jealous?

anonymous: what i'd like to request is Mafia! au BTS when someone flirts with their s/o.

WARNINGS: overreaction, exaggerated jealousy, all of that unhealthy stuff + strong language & some sexual themes

OTHER MAFIA AUs: BTS / EXO / GOT7

Jin

Jin was just watching. Observing. Plotting.

The guy at the bar of the restaurant had to arrive to talk to you as soon as Jin left to the bathroom. He was still talking to you with no intention to leave you alone whatsoever, so that meant he’s been running his mouth for about five minutes now. That’s five minutes too long.

“Get your ass up from my seat and out of the restaurant in the next fifteen seconds if you want to keep your head attached to your shoulders,” Jin growled, stopping right behind the guy.

Slowly, the guy turned around, a cocky smirk still plastered on his face. “Chill, man, I was just—”

“—leaving!” you finished for him, jumping up from the bar stool where you’ve been sitting before. “He’s leaving.”

The guy turned to look at you, licking his lips before opening his mouth. “Am I leaving, baby gi—?”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Jin charged. Jin’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw and sent his head flying to a side as blood splattered from his mouth to his cheek. You gasped, jumping away.

“Fuck, Jin!” you yelled, looking around at the people who have turned to stare at the three of you, shocked expressions on their faces. “We’re at a restaurant!”

“Fucking shit, man!” the guy echoed, wiping the blood from his cheek. “I was just talking to her!”

“The only thing you’re going to be talking to is my fist,” Jin replied, not a single trace of compassion on his face.

“You need to get the hell out of here,” you told the guy, knowing very well that Jin wasn’t going to repeat his warning, but he sure as hell would repeat his actions and punch the guy again. However, the guy didn’t seem to grasp that. “Are you deaf? Leave! Now!”

Finally, your louder tone got to him and he nodded, glaring at Jin one more time, and then almost sprinting out of the restaurant when Jin pretended to run after him.

“The punching wasn’t necessary,” you grumbled, annoyed, yet aware that you should have been used to this behavior already. Jin was impossible to change.

“His entire existence is unnecessary,” Jin shot back, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the restaurant. “We’re leaving.”

“Oh. That’s the first smart thing you’ve said tonight!” you said bitterly. “Let’s leave before the police gets here.”

“No,” Jin replied, stopping suddenly, so he could turn to look at you and let his eyes reveal the true intentions for leaving. “Let’s leave so I can show you who you belong to.”

Suga

The audacity of the guy who was so obviously flirting with you really took Yoongi by surprise, so it took him about twenty seconds to locate his gun in the back of his jeans, behind his jacket, when it usually took him five.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yoongi’s hand move behind his jacket and it didn’t take a genius to understand what he was going to do. You had no doubt Yoongi would actually shoot the guy right then and there.

“You’re really nice,” you told the guy who kept incessantly asking for your phone number. “But I have a boyfriend.”

“Come on, babe,” the guy continued. “He doesn’t have to know.”

Just as you opened your mouth to give him another subtle warning, you knew your boyfriend had done it for you. The guy in front of you stood up straight, feeling the cold metal of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

Slowly, he turned around to face Yoongi – or, rather, Yoongi’s pistol – and immediately raised his hands, all color draining from his face

“I’m s-sorry, man,” the guy said, somehow immediately understanding that the man, pointing this gun at him, was exactly the boyfriend you’ve told him about. “I was j-just talking.”

“Pathetic,” Yoongi spat, hearing the guy stutter. “Where’s your cockiness now, you fucking son of a bitch? What were you so keen on not letting me know, huh? Come on, tell me all about it. What were you planning to do with my fucking girlfriend even when she told you she wasn’t interested in you, you pathetic dick?”

“N-nothing. I was just talking,” he repeated. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, I swear.”

Yoongi laughed dryly, having heard you tell the guy that you were taken. “Just how stupid do you think I am? On second thought, there’s no need to answer that. I’ll—”

“Yoongi, let him go,” you cut in, noticing the way Yoongi took the safety hook off. “He’s not worth the scene.”

Yoongi’s eyes drifted to you and almost immediately as he saw your disappointed – yet nervous – eyes, he started to lower the pistol.

“Get the fuck out of here, loser,” Yoongi snapped at the guy. “If I see you again, you’re fucking dead.”

The guy didn’t bother to reply with anything – he didn’t even thank you for basically saving him – as he immediately broke into a jog and ran down the street, away from you, his dignity long lost.

You sighed, glancing at Yoongi who had extended his hand for you to take. “You overreacted.”

“You underreacted,” he shot back, smiling softly when he felt you take his hand.

“That’s not a word,” you told him, staring straight ahead so you wouldn’t have to look at him and the smile that was back on his face.

Yoongi’s smile turned into a smirk after you said that. “You won’t be able to know any words when we’re done tonight.”

J-Hope

You and Hoseok trusted each other… to a certain extent. Both of you could name a few instances where you’ve gotten jealous and felt the need to interrupt each other’s conversations to announce your presence.

This night was one of those instances. Hoseok had a meeting with a businessman at a casino and he brought you – his lucky charm – along and then ended up having to leave you at a bar as he had to play poker with said businessman, while you weren’t interested.

When Hoseok returned an hour later – after having won the game – he found you laughing at something a guy standing next to you had said. Since he was too occupied with the game, Hoseok hadn’t checked up on you, so he had no clue how long you’ve been talking to this stranger but he could tell the guy was enjoying your company a little too much.

“I’m back, love,” Hoseok announced, instantly leaning in to place a kiss to your cheek in a rare public display of affection. “Hope you weren’t too bored.”

“Oh, no, I actually met—”

“We can head out now,” Hoseok interrupted, not interested in hearing anything about the guy next to you and how he’s entertained you while Hoseok was gone. “Do you want me to get your coat?”

“Yeah, let me just finish my drink,” you said.

Hoseok nodded and continued to stand next to you, refusing to leave your side now that he knew there was another guy here, waiting to have your attention focused on him.

However, you were feeling uncomfortable now, so you sighed, putting your drink back down on the bar and stepping off the bar stool.

“Let’s go,” you said and gave the guy you’ve been talking to before an apologetic look. “I’m going to go. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Y/n,” the guy replied, seemingly unphased by Hoseok’s sudden appearance, which irked Hoseok even more.

As soon as you and Hoseok were out of the casino and ready to go home, Hoseok gave you a sharp look.

“I’m glad you had a great night,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Even without me.”

“I had a shitty night,” you shot back, already having expected him to be bitter about the new acquaintance you’ve made. “You couldn’t have expected me to just have fun by myself for an hour while you were playing poker. Sure, that guy kept me company, but I was bored out of my mind. I don’t know why I came here with you.”

“Well, then,” Hoseok said, his mood changing within seconds, as he opened the car door for you. “The night is still young. Get in. I’ll make sure you don’t regret going out with me tonight.”

Namjoon was one of the most mature people in the Mafia you’ve ever seen. He handled everything gracefully, diplomatically, and with this subtle arrogance that slid past most people’s eyes but made you really impressed by him. He knew his worth and he made sure people respected it.

So, when the two of you headed to have dinner at a new restaurant that had opened downtown and you found out that the owner of the restaurant was your childhood friend, Namjoon was slightly unnerved, but kept his posture. That is, until said friend arrived to say hi to you and wouldn’t stop drooling over you.

“It’s really been too long,” your friend said. “What do you say we get a cup of coffee someday?”

Namjoon cleared his throat dramatically, earning concerned looks from both of you. “Sorry, something’s stuck in my throat. Y/n, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Uh… sure,” you said awkwardly, giving a quick smile to your friend. “Will you excuse us?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll see you around,” your friend said, waving at you as Namjoon lead you towards the exit of the restaurant.

You had assumed he’d want to talk outside so no one else would hear, but as soon as the two of you walked through the door of the restaurant, he took your hand and just kept walking.

“Joon,” you said, confused. “Where are we going?”

“To a different restaurant.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What? Why? We haven’t even tried the food at this one.”

“We’re not trying anything there,” Namjoon replied, his face still collected, even though his hand was now tightly squeezing yours. “I didn’t like… the atmosphere.”

“The atmosphere,” you scoffed. “Sure.”

Namjoon gave you a look. “Well, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re jealous. Pointlessly, might I add. We were just talking.”

“I am not jealous. I don’t get jealous. I’m never jealous.”

Namjoon could tell how pathetic this sounded but he had too much pride to admit the truth.

He was jealous. Very much so. And that is why, he was taking you to a different restaurant, never talking to you about this again, and later, making sure your mind was occupied with him and him only.

Jimin

Jimin had a tendency to get irrationally jealous about the smallest things but instead of getting extremely possessive, he just turned clingy and needy. It was truly fascinating to watch him suddenly become overly warm to you as soon as you focused your attention on your neighbour’s puppy for too long.

When it came to other people, however, Jimin was different. His neediness manifested itself in rough and aggressive behavior that you’ve only witnessed when he was doing business.

You weren’t expecting that side of Jimin to come out on the street, where you ran into an old friend and shared a hug with him. Jimin held your hand all through it, basically pulling you away from him. And when you gave Jimin a weird look, you were met with his angry eyes. Here we go…

“So nice to run into you here!” your friend said, making you turn back to look at him. “How have you been doing? You look great!”

“Thank—”

“We need to go,” Jimin stated, already pulling you in a different direction from the guy.

“Uh, right,” you said, choosing to just go with it or you knew Jimin would cause an even bigger scene. “Sorry. Great running into you. I hope to see you again!”

Your friend gave you a wave as Jimin started to walk faster, trying to put more distance between you and the guy as quickly as possible.

“No need to be so rude,” you mumbled, letting Jimin know that even if you went with him, you still disapproved of his behavior.

“You hope to see him again?” Jimin countered instead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! It’s just a nice thing to say.”

“A nice thing to say,” he repeated. “What else would you have said to him if I hadn’t pulled you away?”

“That my boyfriend is an idiot,” you retorted. “I don’t understand what your problem is, Jimin. He just said hi to me.”

“He hugged you.”

“That’s how people say hi!”

“He was looking at you with sex in his eyes.”

You scoffed at this. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

But Jimin was still watching you, his gaze ruthless.

“I’m not going to share you with anyone,” he said then.

“Yeah,” you replied. “You proved that to him.”

“I proved it to him,” he said. “It looks like I’ll have to prove it to you, too. Multiple times just to make sure you really know you’re mine.”

Taehyung and you were supposed to meet up at a park close to your house for a date night but he was running late. Some unplanned business had made him reach the park twenty minutes later than he had planned. Once he got out of his car, he literally sprinted to the bench where he knew you’d be waiting, but he stopped short once he saw you because you weren’t alone.

A guy dressed in sportswear was standing next to you, laughing at something you’ve said and making Taehyung want to shoot him on the spot.

“Hey, babe,” Taehyung called out to you from across the street before jogging towards you and kissing your cheek as soon as he was next to you. “Sorry I’m late. I texted you about the stuff I had to take care of.”

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a smile and then turning to look at the guy you’ve been talking to before. “I’m going to head out. It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too,” the guy replied, a wide smile on his face. Taehyung was ready to wipe it off his face with his fist. “I hope I can see you again sometime.”

You smiled as a response, allowing your boyfriend to guide you away from the guy and towards his car.

“So,” Taehyung said, not even trying to conceal the bitter tone in his voice. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know, some guy stopped by to tell me I looked like one of his classmates from school,” you replied. “Funny story, I actually happen to—”

“I’m sure it’s really not that funny,” he cut you off dryly.

You frowned, a little taken aback by the way he interrupted you. “What’s your problem?”

Never one to admit his feelings just like that, Taehyung ignored your question. “We’re going home.”

“Home?” you asked, confused. “I thought we were going to get dinner.”

“We were. I’ll cook you something at home,” he said. “Because if one more guy, who isn’t me, tries to hit on you, I swear I’ll kill them all.”

“Taehyung,” you said strictly, knowing that he’d stay true to his promise. “We were just talking.”

“That’s the way you see it,” Taehyung disagreed. “But he wanted to have sex with you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m a guy,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And I want to have sex with you basically 24/7.”

“That’s kind of unrealistic.”

Slowly, a smirk appeared on Taehyung’s face. “Is that a challenge? You know I never say no to a challenge.”

Jungkook

You didn’t know Jungkook was here. And, truth be told, he wasn’t planning on coming here, either. He knew you were going clubbing with your girlfriends, so he agreed to go out for drinks with his friends. He couldn’t have possible known both of you would end up in the same nightclub.

You were on the dancefloor, laughing at something your friends have just done, while he was leaning against the railing of the balcony overlooking the dancefloor, his eyes never leaving you. He followed every movement of your body until his eyes caught a male figure behind you.

“Hold this,” Jungkook told his friend, handing him his glass as he started to walk towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” his friend called out after him.

“Y/n’s here,” Jungkook replied simply and his friend needed no further explanations.

Jungkook was on his way to claim what was his.

By the time he finally reached the dancefloor and managed to walk through the thick crowds of dancing bodies, you were already yelling something at the guy, while he kept trying to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Hey!” Jungkook called out, his angry voice booming over the loud music of the club. “Get the fuck away from her.”

The guy was clearly drunk as he stumbled on his feet, attempting to turn around to look at Jungkook, while you frowned next to him, not having expected to see your boyfriend here.

“Hey, man, I’m just talking to her,” the guy replied.

“Talk to someone else,” Jungkook snapped, approaching you and wrapping his arm around your waist. “She’s not interested.”

“Whatever,” the guy said, clearly not in the mood to be starting any fights tonight.

He turned around the next second, disappearing into the crowd, while you turned to Jungkook, not knowing if you should ask him what he was doing here or thank him for saving you from that creep.

“We’re going home,” Jungkook stated before you made your decision.

“W-what? Why?” you asked. “That guy backed off. And I was screaming curses at him anyway, didn’t you see?”

“I saw that,” he said, leaning in closer to you until the smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol overwhelmed your senses. “Now I want you to scream something else. For me only.”

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

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finnofamerica · 6 years ago

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Pac-Man Pajamas - Michael Mell x Heere! Reader

Requested? Phfffttt no, but now that I finished writing I’m thinking of writing a second part. vote here.

Word Count: 1589

Summary: After Jeremy ditches Michael at the party, another Heere comes to his rescue.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mutual pining. Language. Jeremy being a dick.

|| Masterlist || Fandoms || Aesthetics/Playlists || To Do List || Request Here || 》Angst/Fluff《

“Hey, asshole! Where is Michael!” You yell at your brother, Jeremy, as he downs another beer.

“I dunno, the bathroom maybe.” He shrugs not a trace of concern in his voice.

“You left him in the bathroom?!” You raved. “Honestly, what the fuck Jeremy! You’ve only been best friends for twelve fucking years! Just - go fuck yourself Jer.”

“Y/n/n wai-!" He voice faltered as you flipped him off, searching for the upstairs bathroom.

///

"Michael in the bathroom at a party!" You hear the muffled voice through the door.

"Michael!" You called.

"WISHED I OFFED MYSELF INSTEAD WISHED I WAS NEVER BORN!!" His screaming splintering your heart into pieces.

"Michael!" You yelled again, beating and pounding the door that was blocking the way to your friend. Finally, it gave way, both the door and Michael broken.

"Michael," You wrapped your arms around him, letting him sob into you. "What happened?"

"He....he abandoned me." Michael sounded so fractured.

"Let's get you outside. Fresh air, okay?" You offered, letting him use you as support as you dragged him away.

"Y/n! You look so -!"

"Get the hell out of my way Jake!" You growled pushing him out of the way.

"Watch out everyone Y/n's on a war path!" He yelled causing a chorus of laughter.

It seemed to take hours to get him out to the Cruiser.

"Michael your keys. I gotta unlock the car," You prompted him softly. Helping him settle into the passenger seat once you got the car unlocked.

"He hates me, Y/n," Michael mumbled as you climbed in the driver's seat.

"He doesn't hate you. He's being an asshole because he got one of those - those, whatever you call it." You comforted, hiding your rage at your brother's actions toward his friend.

"A squip."

"Yeah, that thing."

"I should just kill myself, he wouldn't care," Michael admits bitterly.

"Mikey, everything about you is so beautiful. Everything about you makes me feel alive. Jeremy is a douchenozzle and we don't need him okay?" You hummed comfortingly. "Let's go home."

"Yeah," He agreed as you started up his PT Cruiser, his baby.

"Are your moms going to be up when we get to your place?" You asked, interrupting the silence.

"Probably not, I don't know." Michael shrugged.

"You have a house key right?"

"Yeah."

And silence some more, until you finally pulled into his driveway.

"C'mon, let's get you inside, yeah?" You gave him a smile.

"Why do you care so much, Y/n?" Michael questions.

"Because you're my friend," You lied effortlessly. After all, you'd been telling yourself that lie for years now.

"It's late, you should go home..." He said quietly.

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight. After all that Jeremy put you through, you need a friend." Not because I'm hopelessly in love with you, you thought. He gave you a relieved smile, taking your hand in his unbelievably warm one.

"Thank you," He whispered, pulling you in for the tightest hug you'd ever received. You almost let yourself enjoy his warmth, but you remembered that this hug was only because he was emotionally vulnerable right now.

He led you up to his room, where everything was so incredibly Michael. The retro game posters on the wall, and the Starwars bed sheets; it was him. Not to mention the cute little memorabilia from 12 years of him being friends with you and Jeremy. Suddenly, you were wondering how you’ve never been in his room before.

“Sorry for the mess,” Michael blushed with his apology.

“No, it’s okay, it’s homey.” You smiled. At least his room didn’t smell bad like Jeremy’s.

“Uh... do you need pajamas?” He shuffled awkwardly, trying not to look at your bare fake-blood covered legs underneath your shorts.

“Oh!” You blushed, “Could I also, maybe, wash up a little?”

“Yeah, of course, the bathroom is right across the hall. There will be fresh towels in there. You can use my Old Spice shampoo.” He offered, digging through his drawers.

“Okay, th-thank you.” You stuttered. You should be taking care of him, and instead, he ends up taking care of you.

12:23 am, read the time on your phone. You sighed, resting your head on the cold counter top by the sink. The mirror revealing the sticky blood splatter in your hair, the same crimson dripping from your red painted lips and creating ominous freckles across your collarbones and chest, staining the shirt you’d bought specifically for tonight and the shorts that you’d never wear again, a fake ax “embedded” in your skull.

You stripped yourself of your hippy braids, ax headband, and hippy jewelry, feeling slightly better. Feeling more like you. The rest of your clothes quickly following the accessories.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you let the warm water wash away the stress from today; your brother's attitude change, your crush, Michael. Smiling bitterly to yourself as a familiar melody came to your mind, singing softly so you wouldn't wake Michael's moms.

"'Cause trying not to love you, only goes so far.

Trying not to need you is tearing me apart.

Can't see the silver lining, from down here on the floor

And I just keep on trying, I don't know what for

'Cause trying not to love you only makes me love you more

'Cause trying not to love you, only makes me love you more." You finished off, jumping when you hear Michael clear his throat.

"Uh, I'm just gonna put these on the counter," The boy said, appreciative and angry at the thin opaque curtain that separated you from him. Cursing to himself as he remembered that you were his best friend's sister, the sister he's known for 12 years.

"T-thank you, Michael." You rested your head against the shower wall, the heat climbing to your face was totally from the shower and not because there was barely anything separating you from Michael's view right now. Listening intently for the sound of the door closing, before washing the suds from your hair.

"I'm so far out of my league," You hissed to yourself as you stanched the water flow and stepped out of the shower that had little frogs in the bottom to keep people from slipping.

You padded your way back to Michael's room, in his pajamas consisting of a pair of Pac-Man pajama bottoms and the sweater you’d bought him two Christmases ago. Your wet hair put into a loose braid, that way it won’t get everywhere.

"Michael?" You knocked, whisper-yelling through the door. You blushed heavily as he opened the door, no shirt in sight. Despite what most people at school seemed to think, he wasn't fat. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't toned. He had stretchmarks along his sides from his growth spurt that he had in the eighth grade, the same year he started growing into his looks. The same year you'd begun crushing on him.

"Are, um... Are you ready for bed?" He asked awkwardly.

"Yeah. I could....I could sleep on the couch in the basement if you want....or on the floor. You don't have to share if you don't want." You offered, tripping over your words.

"Do you.....not....want to share?" He asked, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped away from you.

"It's not that!" You said all too quickly, "It's just, the only time I slept over was last year on your birthday, and even then I slept on the couch in the basement while you and Jer slept on the floor."

Michael remembered that night as clear as if it was yesterday. You were shivering in your sleep and he gave you the afghan blanket that he'd been using.

"What kind of friend would I be if I let you sleep on the floor?" He echoed the same words he said the last time that you slept over. You smiled as you climbed into the bed, the blanket deceptively soft. Your weight shifting as Michael climbed in next to you.

"Does crying make me weak?" Michael asked breaking the comfortable silence between you.

"No." You paused for a second. "I think crying makes your stronger."

"You think so?"

"Definitely."

The soothing hum of Micahel's lava lamp surrounded the both of you until you spoke up again.

"You know that no matter what you're not going to lose me right?" You asked, barely above a whisper, observing the puffiness of his eyes. His adorable chocolate brown eyes locking on to yours in the dim moonlight.

"I know." He swallowed.

"Good." You covered your mouth as you yawned.

"You're too good to us, Y/n/n," Michael whispered, taking your hand again as your eyes fell closed. "Thank you for staying with me."

"You welcome," You hummed, shuffling closer to him, letting his warmth envelop you as you tried to fight falling sleep until his breathing evened out. Feeling a little guilty, you finally succumbed to his warmth and the comfort of sleep.

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@moonlitdiggory @siriuslyimmoony

#michael mell x reader #michael mell #michael mell imagine #bmc michael #be more chill #be more chill x reader #my poor baby #i love him

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jesbakescookies · 6 years ago

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Sons Of Anarchy Fanfiction: Hold Me Down

Challenge submission for @soythedemonqueen ❤️❤️❤️

My choice was the song Hold Me Down by Halsey

SOA: Sons Of Anarchy Fanfiction: Happy x OC

Summary:

When a gun deal doesn’t go as planned, Happy meets a blonde singer looking for a bit of rough. Smut with very little plot.

Rating: Explicit

Happy leaned against the large bar top with Tig, both men scanning the room for the men they were expecting. It was supposed to be an easy meet and greet before any real exchanges occurred. The group was late causing tensions to rise among the men. Jax sat nearby, heavy rings drumming on the polished wood counter.

"Thought you said they knew the meet time." Jax drawled, his irritated eyes landing on Juice.

"I did and they do. They must be running late."

"They better show up soon. This place is about to get real loud, real soon." Tig jutted his chin towards the stage as a few roadies began setting up musical equipment.

"It’s why we chose this spot." Juice replied, his eyes sliding over them nervously. "Lots of people to keep things from getting bloody but nobody’s gonna hear shit."

Happy grunted at the statement, shrugging a shoulder while rolling a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other before rasping, "Don’t mind blood."

"I’m with you on that, Killah." Tig drawled, his unsettling blue eyes filled with excitement as he swiped a hungry tongue across his teeth.

"No blood. Just business." Jax spoke gruffly, his eyes amused and lips pulling into a crooked grin. "For now at least."

Happy smirked, chewing the toothpick as he watched a few musicians take the stage. "Just say the word, Prez."

Sliding his dark eyes over the crowd, Happy noticed most wore leather jackets and torn jeans. The crowd seemed to be a mix of rednecks and punks, a strange collection of faces pierced with hardware and biceps scratched with confederate flag tattoos.

"Only bonus if these fucks don’t show up, there is plenty of needy pussy in here." Tig murmured, his hand stroking at his goatee in thought. "What about you Hap, you down for some tang?"

Happy snorted, rolling his eyes over to the man lazily. "Only if it’s free."

"Yeah, Yeah. You frugal fuck." Tig muttered, before motioning to the stage. "I wonder what kind of hipster bullshit this is."

"Juice, these fucks aren’t shown’." Jax grumbled, fifteen minutes later. "I want us to roll out."

"You want me to stick around, see if they show?" Tig asked, his eyes still scanning the room for a piece of tail.

"Nah. I want Hap to do it. Got a feeling he’ll keep his dick in his pants long enough to make sure we don’t miss the fuckers."

"Jax, come on. Help a horny brother out." Tig complained.

"No, Tig. You’re with me, were goin’ to Ma’s. We got shit to discuss."

"You sure you don’t need me with, Bro?" Happy joked, "last time you talked to Gemma you ended up with a black eye."

"I’ll be fine." Jax replied, with a cocky grin. "Thanks for the concern, killah. But I can handle my mother."

"Right, and my dick shoots liquid gold instead of baby batter." Tig deadpanned, gripping Happy’s shoulder before stage whispering, "Nail some tight pussy for me, Hap. Tell me all about it tomorrow."

Happy rolled his shoulder to dislodge Tig’s hand and grunted, "Fuck off."

"Thanks brother." Jax drawled, slapping his hand on Happys broad back. "Just a hour of so. Then head home, get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long one."

"Got it, Prez."

Nova climbed onto the stage in the grimy bar, the location just another stop on a long stream of shitty gigs across California. Her band, Havoc, toured the majority of the sunny state for the better part of the year. If Nova never stepped inside another shady as fuck bar, it’d be too soon.

"Come on Nova, one more and we can head home." Her best friend and bass player spoke as Nova yawned widely.

"Yeah, Yeah. Remind me again why I agreed to being in a band with you?"

"Well, my stunning good looks and fuck-awesome bass skills I believe."

"Or you bribed me with alcohol and promises of seeing the sights. Here we are in some shithole in Oakland and the only sights I’ve seen is the inside of our crap tour van and the peeling wallpaper of one roach motel after a-fucking-nother."

"Come on, don't be like that."

"Whatever, look I’m gonna need some time off after this. I’m burnt out."

The crowd began whistling and cheering for music as the rest of the band took their spots.

"Alright, Alright. We’ll take time off and recoup. We can start the next album in a couple weeks."

"No, Eddie. You don’t get it, like more than a few weeks. Like more like a few months."

"Nova."

"No, don't Nova me. This is the last show for awhile, now let’s just get it over with."

Moving to the microphone to end the conversation, Nova threw the crowd a forced grin and announced, "Thanks for coming out tonight, we’re Havoc." The music started up instantly, Nova singing through their normal set with ease. She scanned the crowd while going through the motions, her hips swaying to the music as she sung. The crowd looked to be enjoying themselves, some of the people in the front singing along with her. There was a certain flattery to the sight, however, Nova couldn’t help but want to walk away. She wasn’t sure why her music career had become so unfulfilling, but every gig was like torture and every song felt forced.

She wanted out.

Letting her eyes trail lazily over the faces in the room, her eyes caught on a man leaning against the bar. The dark pits that were his eyes pinned her to her spot on the stage, the heat in them sending shivers up her spine. He wore a dark leather vest over a dark hoodie and worn jeans. His clothing fit in amongst the other leather clad listeners, but his stance had him sticking out. With his arms crossed and broad shoulders raised stiffly, she almost thought he was security but realized she was wrong when he sipped a beer moments later. She watched him periodically as she sung, her gaze hooked on his shape and dark unrelenting gaze.

They we’re coming to the end of the set when a drunk listener tried to join the stage, knocking into Nova. Growling under her breath she brought her heel down on his foot, while jamming her elbow into his nose to feel a satisfying crunch.

"Fuck off." She grunted shoving him towards the edge and into the hands of the bouncers. The crowd cheered as the bloodied faced man was hauled away. Nova returned to her microphone and drawled, "Anyone else want a broken nose? No? Good. Here’s our last song."

Eddie scowled at her irritated words and attitude but she brushed it off, sipping her beer before singing the first lines of the last song.

“My demons are begging me to open up my mouth

I need them, mechanically make the words come out

They fight me, vigorous and angry, watch them pounce

Ignite me, licking up the flames they bring about”

Happy watched as the blonde began singing the last song of their set. She swayed her hips and gripped the microphone with closed eyes while crooning. He felt a smirk pull at his lips as he noticed blood splatter on her tight shirt, the sight turning him on as he replayed her quick defensive moves when the guy rushed the stage. She’d broken his nose without much effort, her well placed hit something to envy. There weren’t many women around the clubhouse that could put a drunk bastard in his place, most wouldn’t even try. The sight had his dick twitching and his mouth watering.

“Hold me down, hold me down

Throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

Knock me out, knock me out

Saying that I want more, this is what I live for”

He watched her tight body move with the music, her long legs painted in black and perky tits stretching the cotton of her T-shirt. Happy wanted to see where the ink lining her arms ended and if there was anymore under her clothing. Her blonde hair was hanging in loose waves, the fringe in the front hanging in her eyes as she met his gaze. He bit his toothpick with a growl when her wet pink tongue slid across her bottom lip between lyrics, the pouty curves looking as though they were made to wrap around his dick.

Happy wanted her and he’d have her if he could catch her before the night was over. He was sure of it when she climbed down from the stage at the end of their set and headed for the bar. She was stopped a few times by fans but soon she ended up just a few feet away from Happy’s spot on the end. He listened to her order a Jack and coke, hold the coke and grinned. She took a healthy gulp when it arrived before her bright blue eyes slid over to his.

"You always stare so much?" She asked, her voice husky from the booze and long set of songs.

Happy flashed her a set of sharp teeth before rasping, "You always break dudes noses when they push up on you?"

"Only when they deserve it. You didn’t answer my question." She murmured, sipping her drink again.

Happy moved closer, his head dipping to her ear. "Only when it’s a sexy bitch I wanna fuck."

She scoffed, gulping the rest of her drink and motioning for another. "That line work ever?"

"Always." He rasped lowly, his eyes trailing over her pale skin and petite body. "You wanna get out of here? Let me show you.”

The girl peered at him over the rim of the new glass she was drinking from, her lust unsurprising to Happy. He knew how to reel in woman like her, girls who wanted aggressive men. Blunt always worked to dampen their panties.

"Depends." She murmured, turning slightly to face him. "Your dick as big as your ego?"

"Bigger, little girl. Much bigger."

The blonde laughed quietly, her blue eyes playful as he continued to stare intently at her. "What’s your name?" She asked, her pink lips pulled into a sexy smirk.

"Happy."

"Seems like a misnomer."

Rolling his broad shoulder, he ignored her statement. Most people thought it was an ironic name for a somber motorcycle club enforcer. "You gonna tell me yours?"

"Nova."

"Nova, huh?" He rasped in amusement, his teeth flashing a teasing grin before asking, "Your daddy a greaser?"

"Nope. Astrophysicist."

"Really?"

"Nah," she laughed, "just sounds better than I was named after the car my dad fucked my ma in."

Happy chuckled deeply, the sound rumbling out of his chest surprising to both of them.

"You got a nice laugh." She flirted, her lips quirked into a coy smile.

Grunting at her, Happy discarded the toothpick in an ashtray and leaned in closer. "And you got a nice rack. Now you gonna show it to me or what?"

Nova wasn’t sure how she ended up on the back of Happy's bike heading towards god knows where but she wasn’t going to question it. His broad back was warm against her front, his hard abs flexing under her arms circling his stomach. She couldn’t help but slid a hand under his hoodie and shirt to feel him, the rippled skin shuddering as she raked her nails gently across it.

"Better stop girl, or else." He hollered over the loud engine propelling them at high speeds along the long stretch of empty roadway. They were traveling a dark interstate, the surrounding land just acres of grass speckled with trees.

"Or else what?" She purred against his warm neck, her teeth nipping his ear.

Rather than answer, Happy growled deeply as her hand slid further down to stroke the hard shape forming below his jeans. The bike was suddenly pulling off the interstate and down a dirt side road before he stopped below a large tree. The almost full moon filtered through the low hanging branches and allowed Nova to see they were in the middle of nowhere. She should’ve been scared to be alone with a strange man with no witnesses. His leather motorcycle kutte bared intimidating patches claiming him as an Unholy One and Sgt at Arms. Nova wasn’t naive, Happy was dangerous but she was also too curious for her own good.

She wanted to see just how rough a man he was.

The bike was parked, the kickstand shoved down harshly as Happy tugged her from the ride.

"Gonna get it, little girl." He threatened, his hand sinking into her windblown hair as he backed her against the seat of his Harley.

"And you’re gonna give it to me, tough guy?" She gasped as he tugged her head back and rocked between her legs.

"You’re a mouthy bitch." He grunted, nipping her neck only to lap the sting away. "Should use it for something’ else."

"Like singing?" Nova quipped, pulling the zipper of his hoodie open and sliding her hands under his T-shirt. His skin was hot and stretched over cords of muscle, the tension rippling under the surface making her aware of just how dangerous he was. Happy was solid muscle and held himself as though he knew how to use it. He could hurt her if he wanted, he could do just about anything he wanted. Nova wasn’t even sure she’d stop him.

"Like sucking." Happy growled into her mouth as he ravished it, his hand gripping her jaw and throat. Nova moaned as his tongue dove and twisted around her own, sucking on the curling muscle. His hands clutched her hips and ass while he ground against her spread thighs. Nova bit his lip, sucking on it greedily making him bare his teeth.

Happy curled his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and rubbed the thin material of her panties.

"Soaked, little girl."

"Someone’s turning me on." Her voice turned breathy as his fingertips swept through her lips.

"Oh yeah? Who?" Happy’s rasp had goosebumps breaking out across her arms and breast, nothing had ever sounded so thigh quivering.

"Some hot biker. You wouldn’t know him." Nova groaned as his fingers sunk inside her, the heavy rings on his hand cold against her skin.

"Mmm. There’s something hot." He mumbled along her shoulder and against her collarbone as he pushed her shirt up and off with his free hand. "N’wet."

"Oh fuck." Her mouth dropped open when his thick rough thumb swept across her clit. "Yes."

Happy laughed gruffly, while shoving his large calloused palm under her bra to tug on her nipple. "Gonna cum for me already. Dirty little slut."

"Fuck yes."

"Good girl, let me hear you." Happy's gravel filled words felt hot and wet against her chest as he dipped to suck on the tip he’d been twisting. Nova threw her head back as her body turned into a tightly wound knot, her hands curled into the front of his kutte. Stars burst behind her eyelids as she moaned and writhed against his deep plunging fingers and the wet suction of his hot mouth. She came long and hard until her limbs trembled weakly.

"Happy." She gasped when he bit into the soft curve of her breast before rising to grin down at her. His smile was feral and his piercing black eyes predatory, as he slowly sucked his fingers clean.

"Jesus Christ." Nova panted, her eyes dilating at the sight of his pitch colored eyes eating her alive.

"Taste like cherrys." He rasped gruffly, tugging her face to his by the nape of her neck to share the flavor.

Nova stroked the throbbing shape under the worn denim, "You gonna put this to use, player?"

With little hesitation, Happy yanked her from her spot on the Harley and spun her around. He bent her over the thick leather seat and pulled her leggings down sharply.

“Fuck. Look at you." He rumbled, slapping her ass before grabbing it greedily. "Horny little bitch all grinding on my dick. Dripping all over my leather, girl."

"Yes." Nova hissed as he ground his denim covered dick against her bare ass. "What’re you gonna do about it, tough guy?"

Happy’s chest rumbled against her back as he growled into the curve of her neck, twisting her hair around his fist. "Gonna hold you down and fuck you ‘til you scream, little slut."

"Fuck." She groaned as he yanked his belt open, the leather smacking her trembling thighs before she felt his scorching heat against her folds. Nova groaned as Happy rocked against her wet core, her walls tightening in anticipation.

"Do it, Happy." She panted, her blue eyes flicking over her tattooed shoulder at the man behind her. His eyes were chunks of coal, the dark voids only visible by the moonlight reflecting off the shiny chrome of the bike.

"Hold me down and fuck me."

"Gonna make you cum, baby. " He growled into her ear, his hot wet tongue tasting the skin lazily. "Like. A lot."

Happy clutched onto Nova’s hips as he sunk inside her with a throaty snarl. He clenched his eyes shut, dropping his head backwards as he felt her walls shudder against his less than subtle girth.

"Yeah. Take it." He grunted, as she pushed back into his hips. "Fillin’ you up good huh, baby girl?"

"Yes." She panted, her back arched as Happy pounded into her supple body. Nova’s skin was smooth and pale, ink splashed along her spine and ribs before it curled around her hip. His fingers dug into the pliable flesh but also stroked the dark images embedded in her skin.

He couldn’t believe he had her bent over his bike in the middle of fucking nowhere. It wasn’t what he’d planned but it was definitely checking off another line on his bucket list. He’d always wanted to bend a bitch over his ride and the perky titted blonde, with her curvy ass and long legs seemed to fit perfectly. Especially with her spiky heels propped up on his foot rest.

"Oh god." She moaned as his hand sunk into her hair, pulling her head back sharply as he plunged into her quickly. "Happy! Fu-ck."

"Yeah. Happy’s fuckin’ you." He snarled, rocking into her heat with deep and thorough thrusts. His hand circled her throat, his fingers resting over her thrumming pulse. "Fuckin you good."

"Yes." Nova hissed, her eyes fluttering as he worked her over.

Happy drove into her a few more times before he pulled out and spun her around. Nova stepped out of her leggings and practically climbed his body as he hoisted her up. He shuffled with her wrapped around his torso, pressing her against the trunk of the tree. His hips kept pistoning into her, while his blunt fingernails dug into her ass and thighs. Happy wanted to mark her, to have her feel him the next day whenever she sat down. He wanted any other pussy ass bitches she fucked to know who her ass belonged too.

"I’m ownin’ this ass." He snarled into her neck, his teeth raking up the side. "It’s mine."

Her breath was shuddered and gasped into his ear, the sound tightening his balls and creating a feral growl to rumble his ribs.

Nova was crying out and writhing as his hips rutted into her weeping core, his dick filling her up and spreading her open. She was so soaked, their skin slid and slapped vulgarly together with every thrust.

"That’s it." He rasped, his voice gravelly as she clawed at his shoulders, her walls clenching and fluttering around his dick. "Cum for me."

"Happy." Nova moaned, her swollen lips parted and eyes closed, as he cursed into her breasts. Her body was clutching onto every part of him, her pussy sucking him in and nails digging into the tan flesh of his neck and chest. The woman writhed against him as she came, her pussy slathering him with her arousal.

"God girl." He panted against her sweaty chest, his tongue licking a salty path up to her ear as he growled, "Gonna fill you now. Want that you little horny bitch?"

"Yes."

"Yeah you do, slut." Happy snarled, slamming his dick into her greedy core with no restraint. His knees almost buckled as the heat and tension building in his balls broke. His dick pulsed and throbbed as he shot his load as deep as possible inside her hot little hole. Nova moaned and sighed as he rocked lazily into her, their combined fluids soaked her ass and inner thighs.

Happy stumbled back and set her down, both of them collapsing onto the grass below the tree.

He panted heavily, his hand resting on his chest as he looked over at Nova. Blonde hair tousled and her bare tits puckered in the cool air.

She smirked at him with swollen lips and hooded eyes, the girl too good looking for a tattooed killer like him.

He watched her laying there, sprawled out thoroughly fucked. All raw and gorgeous.

It had to be the reason for the slip of the tongue.

"This mean we’re namin’ our kid Harley?" He asked with a lazy grin, the words falling from his lips before his brain caught up to them. Happy had no fucking idea where the thought came from, but blamed it on the lack of blood in his brain and the tequila they’d shared.

Nova released a breathy laugh, her eyes sparkling at the question and replied, "Suppose it could be worse, could’ve fucked in a Hummer."

Thanks for reading!

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